iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiri i..e [# 19 ,th' .•♦f /jid* $ r ,Ki«^ tr ^j,.o iiiiiiiiiitijiiiiiiiiiiiinriiiiiii' A LUCKY YOUNG WOMAN, The Author of "As in a Looking-Glass," 'Social Vicissitudes," &c. Three vols, crown 8vo, 31^. 6^. PRESS OPINIONS '• See. here are the adventures of a very charming lass." Bv F C PhUips, Author of As m a Looking-Glass. ?L ^htacterla're cnsply sketched, the touch .true and bold. The story's fresh and full of go, and oapUal y told. my /. it bound in lavender ? I am ^siomsked- Why • lay it up in lavender/ when bound to be well read. -Pu.ck. ..The story isone of modern li.,and.inhap..n.a.t.^^^ S:^r;i;tS:X-^. natural is a pleasant, chatty story." — Vanity Fair. her sweetest notes ; m the whole range . i^^possible to prais* Marcia Conyers is a noble study of Enghs ^^^^^l, L concise. H. Mr. Philips' style too highly ; :t :s br.lhant. full of colon . ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^ doesnotaffect ordinary humour. but h,s -■^\^'""^'2' to the end. ' A Lucky Young It rank of English novelists."-^.. SUP^.ns Ee...o. .. „ Mr. Philips is a resist, as some of Hs ^^^^^^^ Z^^;^. Uom the oppressive gloom which pervades ^J^J^f/ ;;j:7„;° ^uine humour with We can bestow unstinted praise on the ^^'^^^^^rlTsort of aristocratic Pecksniff. -- -• rr r^IlTr- wtlf rrtrC^ young woman.. . an e. :^::2:fo";;::j^^ DOWNEyTT^^^^Ts^^^^T^- garden, LONDON. WARD & AS IN A LOOKING-GLASS. BY F. C. PHILIPS, Author of "A Lucky Youni; Woman." With a Frontispiece by Gordon Browne. Third Edition. Crown 8vo, 6.f. " Clever beyond any common standard of cleverness." — Daily Telegraph. " Remarkably clever, full of sustained interest." — World. " Marks a distinct epoch in novel-making." — Si. Stepliens Review. "There are ingenuity and originality in the conception of the book, and power in its working out." — Scotsman. "A powerful tragedy, a portfolio of character sketches, and a diorama of society scenes. Its characters are all real and living personages." — Globe. "This original and realistic novel is distinctly cl^v&r."— Mornings Posi. "It will be praised here, censured there, and read everywhere ; for it is uncon- ventional and original and in every sense a most attractive and remarkable novel." ^Li/e. " That Mr. Philips story nas hit the public taste is sufficiently evident from the fact that it has reached a second edition before we have found time to notice it. Its success is not astonishing ; for it shows abundant cleverness, much knowledge of some curious phases of life, and a real insight into certain portions of that mysterious organ, the female heart. " —.S"/. /aiiies's Gazette. '' Mrs. Despard is her own heroine in these pages, and confides to her diary the doings and sayings of her daily life, and, with singular unreserve, the motives which influence and shape her actions He paints this woman as she is. The story is so shrewd and graphic, and Mrs. Despard is so cleverly wicked, that it would be a comedy were it not always working up to a possible tragedy." — Literary World. "The pictures of life at Monte Carlo are very clever, and indeed the book is throughout exceedingly graphic ; the book has a certain value as revealing the real condition, the opinions, and the life of a considerable section of the wealthy pleasure- loving world of the day." — Pictorial World. " Unless Pope was a terrible libeller, which perhaps he was, every woman is at heart a rake. Mr. Philips does not prove the truth of his motto in the cunningly devised fable which bears the appropriate title 'As in a Looking-Glass ; ' but he certainly draws the reflection of an accomplished rake who is at the same time a very woman Mr. Philips' story is a work of art, and, being much superior to the rough sketches of an average novelist, it discharges the true function of every work of art by representing things as they actually are, and teaching the observer to dis- criminate between appearances and realities." — Saturday Review. WARD & DOWNEY, 12 York St., Covent Garden, London. SOCIAL VICISSITUDES "Saltantpne -prfsa BALI.ANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. EUINUURGH AND LONDON L SOCIAL VICISSITUDES F. C. PHILIPS AUTHOR OF 'as IN A LOOKING-GLASS," "a LUCKY YOUNG WOMAN," ETC. LONDON WARD & DOWNEY, 12 YORK ST., COVENT GARDEN 1886 [/4// rights reserved^ CONTENTS. PA&lf The Tiger's Eye .1 EoTAL Recognition 9 Natural Jurisprudence . ...... 19 The Little Menage in South Street ..... 26 The Church and the Stage 36 The Shadow on the Blind ....... 44 The Biter Bit 57 ''RiEN NE VA Plus" ... .... 64 "There's many a Slip " -73 A Modern Hermit ......... 81 Viscount Lackland ; or, Usury ...... 89 Tit for Tat 95 Le Beyers de la M^daille 102 Episcopal Discipline ........ 108 A Prudent Marriage . . . . . . . ' nS A Modern Othello .124 The Cave op Trophonius . 136 A Modern Election ........ 145 A Military Matchmaker . . . . . . • 151 The New Inn 169 A Modern Judge . . . . . . . . .178 University Discipline . . . . . . . .185 Between the Lines . -193 •vi CONTENTS. PAGE St. James's visits St. George's 198 A Modern Esau 208 Le Dessous des Cartes . .217 The Schooner and the Launch 224 What we are Coming to 233 Am I A Failure? 241 "Vestigia Nulla Ketrorsum" 248 The Clerical Element ........ 256 "Killing no Murder" 264 "A New Way to pay Old Debts" ..... 280 A University Career . 287 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. THE TIGER'S EYE. Colonel Vandeleuk was an officer who, on many occa- sions, Jiad done a good deal more than smell powder. As a mere boy, fresh from Eton, he went ont straight to the Crimea, and got his first promotion for heading a little party of volnnteers who captured a rifle-pit and from it turned the enemy's line by taking them in Hank. This distinguished service had marked him out very early in his career, and he was one of those whose interest at the Horse Guards had been strictly due to personal merit, and not to private influence. At the time of our story he was still in the prime of life, capa])le of any amount of hardship and fatigue, a keen sportsman, and, among men at any rate, a universal favourite. Nor were his good looks spoiled in any way by his glass eye. Some sand, thrown up by a Eussian shell which had burst in the trenches, had struck him • B 2 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. in the face, and his right eye had to be sacrificed. In its place he carried an eye of glass, which was perfectly well matched, and almost defied detection, his own features being, as a rule, if not exactly stolid, certainly very far from vivacious. He had made but one mistake in life. At the age of forty-five he had married a girl of eighteen, and he was now playing Hercules to her Omphale, and the veriest slave of her caprices, down to the slightest detail. The match had been a matter of regret to all his friends, many of whom had found that the young wife's intolerable self-assertion and petulance made it almost impossible for them any longer to see their old comrade, except on rare occasions at the club. Now, it so happened that the Colonel and his wife were staying at the Bedford Hotel at Brighton, and that Sir Greville Sykes was also fixed in quarters at the Old Ship. Vandelcur and Sykes had known each other for some years, and so it was only natural tliat the A^uuleleurs coming across Sykes at IMuttou's should ask him to dinner, and afterwards see a good deal of him, and that they should make u]) between them, mure or less, a little party of three. A stroke of luck liad befallen Vandeleur. An old uncle, a retired chief clerk in Chancery, had died suddenly, leaving him all his money. Ninety-five THE TIGER'S EYE, J thousand pounds is a very comfortable sum. The sooner you get it out of the liands of the hiwyers and into your own, the better. So Vandeleur was always hurrying up to London, and, as he expressed it, pegging iiway at the musty old dullards of Lincoln's Inn Fields. One day lie had a downright explosion w^ith tlie second partner of the eminent firm of Tail, Tail, Eemainder, and Tail, and had even gone the length of threatening to transfer his business to the younger and •quicker hands of Messrs. Shortcroft and Eaid. This so terrified tlie man of tape, that he not only promised to wind the whole business up in a fortnight, but actually ■suggested a cheque for a couple of thousand pounds for ••any little innnediate needs, and, what is more, drew the document and signed it. " This is jolly," said Vandeleur to himself. " It is now only twelve, and I can easily be back for •dinner." .So first he drove up to the bank and cashed the •cheque ; then he paid the bulk of the money into his ■own bank ; and then he had some sherry and a caviare sandwich at the liag. Next he strolled up into Bond ■Street and made some purchases — some gloves, a brace- let, and a sunshade — for his wife, together with a most ■charming silver chatelaine. And for himself, half a 4ozen boxes of cigars, and a walking-stick to wliich B 2 4 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. lie took a, fanc}-. Then lie returned to liis club to lunch. Being much encumbered with the dust of travel, he set to work about his ablutions in earnest, and before commencing them removed his glass eye. It somehow slipped through his fingers, fell with a crash on the stone Hoor, and splintered into a thousand fragments. Now, it is not so easy, as Vandeleur knew, to get a glass eye at a minute's notice. You must devote a morning to the carrying out of such a matter, and have your own eye very carefully matched. It is as trouble- some an undertaking as a visit to your dentist. >So he resolved to make a second visit to London next week, and bring up his wife, with carte, llanche to ransack IJond Street and Eegent Street on her own account. Meantime, he hurried round to tlie eminent taxidermist who had always set up all his ])ig game for him, and explained his position. " I don't want to go down to Brighton with a green ])atch, you know," he observed. " What can you do for me ? " " We don't keep human eyes, sir. You should go to an oiDtician's or a surgical instrument maker's." " So I will when I am next in town, or will come up on purpose to do it. But Vw only twenty minutes in which to catch my train, so you must fix me up somehow." THE TIGERS EYE, $ TliG sliopman hesitated, but at last produced a box with trays full of eyes of every kind. One was at last selected vvhicli fitted fairly well, " It will do," said the Colonel, as he looked at him- ■self in tlie glass. " At all events it is better than nothing. What beast was it meant for ? " " A tiger, sir." The Colonel lauglied as he took his change. " Begad, I ought to have known it," said he, " without being told ! If any one knows a tiger's eye, it's your humble •servant. I've shot them, ah ! by the score, the brutes." The shopman thought his customer was bouncing, .•and was just about to giggle, when he suddenly looked iit the Colonel, seemed to catch an awkward expression in his features, and recovered himself abruptly. Away rattled Vandeleur in a quick hansom to Victoria. " Drive sharp ! " he said. When deposited at Ihe station, he tendered the Jeliu his legal fare. Tlie fellow looked at it in disgust. " Why, what's this ? " he was beginning, when he suddenly seemed to think better of it. " Beg your pardon, sir ; I was a-tliinking it was from Camberwell." And he clambered into ]iis seat, and went meditatively away. " I'd as soon drive the devil hisself," he said, when he joined his friends upon the rank. " It was awful. Talk of ]\Ir. Newfield ! lie can look at you and reckon 3"ou up, he can. But no beak in London's in it with 6 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. this cove, ' Six iiioutlis,' I 'eard 'ini say. Leastways I 'eard 'ini look it. That's to say, I see 'iin look it." Innocent of all this, the Colonel purchased an assort- ment of papers and seated himself in a carriage. It was a very odd thing, he thought. Actually a lady who was in the same compartment whispered something to her husband in a state of great excitement. The guard was summoned, and they transferred themselves to another carriage. " A curious 1 )usiness," said the' Colonel ; " they can't take me for the ghost of Lefroy."' Then the train started, and lie settled down to his^ papers. From the station he drove to the Bedford, telling the- porter to bring up his packages. His wife was seated in tlie windoAv, busied with Ouida's latest effort of ima- gination. She jumped up and came to meet him. " I was wondering when you would return," she said. " I thought perhaps you might stop and dine at your club, and come down by the last train, or perhaps to- morrow morning." " Why should you think that ? " he asked, not at all unnaturally. It was annoying, when he had come down witli a lot of ])resents for her, that she should not be more cordial in lier welcome. She looked at her husband for a moment, made a step towards him, then turned round, threw herself upon the sofa, and burst into tears. THE TIGERS EYE. 7 "Oh, don't kill me! Don't kill me! I've beeu dreadfully wicked, liorril)ly ^Yicked, but don't kill me ! " ***** Colonel Vandeleur went Lack to town that night by the late express, and took up his quarters at an hotel in Jermyn Street much frequented by him in his bachelor days. Next morning he received a short letter from his wife, which was at once incoherent and yet explicit. Also it was truthful, which her letters, as a rule, were not. He meditated a good deal and went round to Lincoln's Inn Fields. Then he went to the club, hunted out an old friend, and took him tu dinner. They dined Utc-d- tetc in a private room, and sat talking until very small hours in the morning. The consultation over at last, the Colonel wrote a letter, and a confidential clerk from the office of his solicitors took it down next morning to Brighton to make sure of personal delivery. " At my time of life I am averse to, a scandal, nor have I any wish to marry again. I have no secrets and no attachment or even an ordinary entanglement that I have hidden from you. Your position will not be afitected. Your settlements will remain as they are. But I impose one condition on you. You will have to live at Southwold, whether you like the place or not, and I forbid you to leave it even for a day, except by '8 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. the written orders of my doctor, who will at any time come down from London to see you. " I may also tell you that your movements will he duly and regularly reported to me. A day will be enough for you to make your arrangements. On any l3usiness matter, however small, you may write to my solicitors. " There is thus nothing that need trouble you. Por myself, I am leaving England, and have no fixed plans. If you write to me, I shall refer the letter to my solicitors, so that you may spare yourself all attempts to shake an irrevocable determination. Were you not a Protestant, I should advise you to go into a convent. As it is, I have done the next best thing for you. " Chakles Vandeleur." ^ ^ '^ ^ % Mrs. Vandeleur is much respected at Southwold, where the curates and the old maids compare her troubles and sorrows to those of poor dear Lady Byron. She is very charitable and immensely energetic, and on minor points of parish administration the liector defers to her. Colonel Vandeleur himself is yachting and shooting, not extravagantly at all, but in true sportsmanlike fashion. His hair is grizzled, but he is still as erect as a dart, and, as his friends prtifanely put it, with covert allusion to tlie two principal misfortunes of his life, " his eye is not dim, nor his natural force abated." ( 9 ) ROYAL RECOGNITION. From "The Grand" Prance, on tonr, to H.B.H. the Prince of Mona, E.G., on hoard the Yacht "Alicia," Gowes, I. of W. Headquarteks " Merriment Army," Theatre Royal, Eyde, I. or W-, August 7, 1882. Sir, — 111 the first place, I huinljly beg to assure your Eoyal Highness of the feelings of respect and devotion with which I venture to address your Eoyal Highness. Secondly, I have the honour to inform your Eoyal High- ness that I have just taken up a strong position here, with a small but admirably equipped and well-drilled army, which is ready and willing at the word of com- mand to march to the assault of any number of hearts, ■even at the risk of encountering the Inirsting of laugliter, . the file-firing of applause, or the volley of enctjres. Thirdly, I am compelled by my responsiljle position to respectfully tvarn your Eoyal Highness that, on the slightest intimation of your Eoyal Highness's intention to enter into an engagement with me and the troops lo SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. which I have the honour of commanding, I shall (with- out further notice) attack the Alicia in force, board her, and (if possible) carry her by storm and kill all aboard with my new coruscations of wit. I am. Sir, with the deepest respect, Your lioyal Highness's Most devoted and obedient Servant, Airniuii Grinwell Pkance, General Commanding-in-CJiipf. From II.BJL the Frincr of Mona, to "The GrcnuV Prance, Theatre Royo.l, llydc. Yacijt " Alicia," Cowes, Tiiesday. The Prince of Mona has received General Prance'.* idtimatmn, and, in reply, begs to assure him that he is perfectly ready to engage the "Merriment Army"' at 9 P.M. to-morrow. At the same time the l^rince con- siders it only riglit to inform (!eneral Prance that he will liave to encounter, not only the whole of the Alicicis available forces, but also an appreciable con- tingent which the Prince has impressed from other ships now in harbour. The Prince can promise the General a "warm" reception. ROYAL RECOGNITION. n From Lady Goldmine, Steam Yacht " Pomiwso" Coiccs,. to the Hon. Mrs. Bliiesang, Yacht " Alicia" Coivt-s. Avgusf 8. ]\Iy dear MiiB. Blues ANG, — You will be glad to hear tliat we are ((hoard the dear Pomjwso at last. Sir Croesus insisted on staying in town till this morning,, owing to that tiresome Egyptian business, and I posi- tively drccalcd the arrival of the post. He was quite capable of giving up the regatta-week altogether, and I couldn't very well covtviission the Fom^wso without him, could I, dear f You see T am quite a sailor already. I suppose it is the result of being on salt water, though we are safe at anchor noiv, and sleep on shore, of course. But I am forgetting the object of my letter. Will you lunch with us to-morrow, at 1.30, cd)0<(rd/i I'm afraid you won't get anytliing much better than an able seaman's rations ("junk" and " six-water grog," perhaps, though what that is I don't know, " jolly tar " though I am), but I'm sure you won't mind " roughing it " for once. Our own party is only ten or twelve, and I have not sent out many cards, so we shall be quite "cnfaviille." Pi.S.V.P. by the pinnace. I was just going to put " bearer " ! Ever yours, Angelina Goldmlxe. 12 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES, P.S. — I have just heard, /'// ilic mcrrd diancc, that " The Grand " Prance is to sing to the Prince to- morrow night. 1 Iicar lie is excruciatingly funny. I do so JoiKj to liear him. Of course, I have never had the chance. I Itavc been taken uncc, -with a deep veil on, to the Eldorado ; but tlie Corinthian Saloon and the Alcazar are, alas I impossible. And to think that a iconl from you to the sweet Princess would enable me to hear Prance ! And aboard tlie Alicia, too ! From ilic Hon. Mrs. Blucscoir/ to Lady Goldmine. Yacut "Alicia," August 8, 1SS2. Dear Lady CJolumixe, — I am sorry to be unable to accept your kind in^•itation to lunch, as just at present my time is not my own. A few intimate friends of the Prince dine on board to-morrow; and there is, I believe, to lie a, litile nmsic on deck after- wards. Beyond this, 1 know nothing about H.R.H.'s .arrangements. Very truly yours, ]vriii:L Bluesang. ROYAL RECOGNITION. \y- From Orlando Kean Macreadij Keiiiblc Fitz-Iianter, of the Theatre Royal, Portsmouth, to H.R.H. the Prince of Mona, ICG., on hoard the Yacht " Alicia," Covjes, Isle of Wiijltt. August lo, 1S82. May it please your Tioyal Highness, Sii;, — It has come to ray ears, through sources which I deem to be sutllciently trustworthy, that, but yester- e'en, a person calling himself " The Grand " Prance had the inestimable honour of going through his perform- ance before your lioyal Highness and a distinguished circle of your Royal Highness's "most familiar friends." Although, owing to the underhand machinations of a cowardly clif|ue, I have as yet been debarred from the privilege of appearing before your Eoyal Highness on the boards of " Old Drury," the nightly and enthusiastic approbation of an appreciative although pro vine ial audience, and the many laudatory critiques which I herewith am bold to enclose, encourage me to hope that your Eoyal Highness, in your capacity of the most august as well as most enlightened patron of the drama wliom old England can boast, will deign to command the attendance of the most humble of " Her Majesty's Servants " on board the Alicia, when he will do his utmost to prove that there are still professors of the histrionic art among us capable of 14 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. interpreting the mind of the ])ivine Dard, although they may not be assisted by unlimited capital or gifted with an indistinct utterance and a shambling gait. I am, Sir, &c. &c. &c., Orlando Keax ]\Iaceeady Kemble Fitz-PiAnter. r.S. — I may add that my motives in addressing your Eoyal Highness are cntirchj disinterested. I should not ■dream of making any charge, however small, for my humble services. Fjviii a. Manuensis, Esq., Private Secretary to the Prince ofMuiia, to 0. K. If. K. Fitz- Ranter, Esq. Yacht "Alicia," August lo, 1882. Sir, — I am commanded by H.lt.H. the Prince of Mona to acknowledge tlie receipt of your letter. H.R.H. has no occasion for the services you are good ■enough to offer, T am, Sir, Szc. Sec, A. ]\Ianuexsis. From Sir Simon Loborn, Bnrt., Yacht " Nouvelor," Rydc, to the Viscountess Cheltenham, Gardenia Cottage, Cowes. August 8, 1882. My dear Lady Cheltenham, — You went into such ROYAL RECOGNITION. 1$ tits of laughter when we liad our little conversation at the garden party yesterday that I am afraid you thought I was joking. It certainly -k laughable that a man of my means should anticipate any difficulty in being elected to the li.Y.S. But, then, you see, the old fogies who work the oracle there knew my father, who, I am ashamed to say, /w.s once a navvy, and they can't for- get it, although I have done everything that a lavish expenditure can do to efface the stigma upon our escutcheon. Xow, I have set my mind upon getting into the R.Y.S. and I don't care what it costs me. I have Ijeen duly presented to the Prince of Mona, and have met him once or twice in a friendly way at garden parties and .smoking concerts. So, you see that, if my name happened to crop up in your next conversation with II.R.H., and you happened to say that a man who owns a steam yacht of 700 tons, a schooner of 300, and a 20-ton cutter (besides being real good company) owjht to belong to tlic Squadron, it is very likely that H.K.H. might back nui at the election next week. No one, however austere, could refuse yon^ anything, I am sure ; not even if you were to tell a fellow that life was very expensive, and duns very trouljlesome, and a friend's help very welcome. I know / should be too happy to riiceive any such confidence from Lady C, and to prove l6 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. myself worthy of it by prompt action and strict secrecy. Yours always sincerely, SiMOX LOBOEN. From Lady Clidtenham to 8ir Sim on Zohorn, IJarf. Gardenia Cottage, Cowes, August 9, 1S82. Dear Sir Simox, — Your too funny letter was handed to me just as my husband and I were embarking for the Alici((. Of course, I took it as it was meant — one of your amusing practical jokes — and laughed so much all tlie way that Lord Cheltenham (from whom, of course, I have no secret) insisted on sharing the fun. Well, he laughed a good deal, and then showed it to the Prince, who also laughed a good deal. But they both agreed that the Squadron was too " fogey " for a person of your infinite humour. And then they made me read it aloud, and we all roared with laughter. You will be glad to hear that the Princess was particularly amused, and suggested that you should take it to the Mediterranean Fleet, and make them all laugh out tliere. I am still laughing, so that I can hardly hold my pen. Yours, in fits, Blaxciie Cheltenham. P.S. — You will be pleased to know that my husband is still quite able to continue my pittance of ^5000 a year. ROYAL RECOGNITION. 17 From Hercules Q. Gonhcd, Yacht " Pride of Columhia," Cowcs, to H.B.H. the Prince of Mona, K.G. August 8, 1882. Sii;, — Some twenty years ago you were riding out with a party in the environs of New York. You stopped a few miles from the city and allowed a shabby young man to hold your horse while you got down to take a look round at the prospect. You kind of took to that young man's face ; and when he told you he was walking to New York to make his fortune, you gave him a silver dollar. That shabby young man marked it, and invested it on condition that the identical coin should be handed back to him if successful. He was. He has kept that dollar ever since. It is now mounted in diamonds, and will descend to his family as an heirloom. / am that shabby young man ; and your dollar has brought me millions. That is, your dollar, my brains, and GocVs blessing. Now, I feel sort of nervous writing to a future Emperor and King. I'm not posted in the etiquette of the British Court. But I want you, more'n I ever wanted anything, to visit your Dollar, where it hangs in my state cabin. If I could see you there, and shake you by the hand, and look at that ])ollar meantime, it would make me happy. i8 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. If it can't be done, I should value the cartes of your- self, your consort, and your children. You are a great prince, and I am a plain man. But there can't be any much harm in my saying, " God bless you ! " Hercules Q. Goahed. From the Prince of Mona to Hercules Q. Goahed, Esq. Yacht " Alicia," Tuesday Evening. The Prince of Mona has received Mr. Goahed's letter with much satisfaction. He encloses the latest photo- graphs of himself, the Princess, and his sons and daughters. The Prince will be happy to visit the Dollar to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock. Notice Board at li.Y.S. Castle, Cowes. HONORARY MEMBER. Hercules Q. Goahed, Esq., New York Yacht Clul), schooner yacht Pride of Colatnhia. Proposed by H.E.H. the Commodore. Seconded by Lord Cheltenham. ( >9 ) NATURAL JURISPRUDENCE. ScEXK. — The iinnripal hedroom of Mr. JUSTICE GrjprEli's ri/la at Usher. Time, 2 A.^r. His lordsliip is dis- corercd in led, snoriivj the sleep of the just. He is roused liij the cntnj of ^Mk. William Sikes. Mr. Jl' stick GrjrrEii {startimj vp in led). Hullo! AVho's there i Mr. William Sikes {rhecrfnllij). Only me, guv'nor. Mr, J. Vk. And who the devil are you, sir ? ]Mk. W. S. You'll know soon enough, guv'nor. {Sits ilovni in an easy-ehaiv .) My name's Sikes — William Sikes of Hoxton. Your lordship knows me and I know you. You keep quiet and civil for once in your life, and you're all right. Ah ! ring the bell, would ye ? Try .that again, and I'll crack your old head with the water-jug ! Mr. J. (I. (//(•/(/ vitli indignation). Leave the room, sir ! Mr. W. S. {pjleasantly). Ah, you always used to like to get rid o' me in a hurry. No ; I ain't going to leave the room, and it's no good your calling your servants. c 2 20 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Two of tlicm are jugged in the cellar, the t'other's in th& swim. And the women-folk are in bed with the sheets over their heads. Fust of all, let's make ourselves comfortable. You're a good judge of a cigar, you are. {Extracts a choice regalia from Ms 'pockd, liglits it, and onixes himself a stiff (jl ass from a spirit-case on the tcfltc.^ !N^ow, look here, you old pig, do you know me now ? You've had me to rights once or twice ; it's my turn now. ]\Ir. J. G. You will pay for this, sir ! I never forget a, face. ]\Ie. W. S. Don't you ? ISTow, take care ; none of your wiolent language. You've more to thank me for than you know of. I've two pals with me in this job. You gave one of 'em four-and-twenty not so long ago, and he wanted us to tie you up to the bedpost, shove a towel in your old mouth, and give you four dozen. He'd a-done it if I hadn't stopped him. I says, " No," I says, " no unnecessary wiolence ; his lordship 'nil do that's right and square. Let's act judicial," says I. IMt;. J. (r. You insolent blackguard ! Not so long ag(» you would all have swung foi" this. ]\I];. W. S. {vnth, a hroad f/riji). That job would a-suited you, my lord. ])on't 1 sec you at it, rolling it out, "place from whence you came, proper place of execution," all the rest of it ! I've heard you never take to your dinner so kindly as after a good hanging jYA TURAL jurisprudence. 2 r match. You a judge ! Ugh 1 What was her blessed Majesty about ? (A.ut, like a good and economical wife, she had hired her jewellery for the evening, or when she attended a drawing-room, from J\lessrs. l*olonius, of I5ond Street. This, she explained to liim, was a practice us common as to hire a brougham, and ]Messrs. l*olonius, THE LITTLE MENAGE IN SOUTH STREET. 31 with wliom her family had dealt for years, would always let her hav^e the same articles over again if she gave a few days' notice, so that, as she used laughingly to •say, her friends (|uite believed them to be her own, and could hardly conceal their envy. " I am a clever little wife, dearest, am I not ? " she would say, as she put up her face to be kissed before he took her out to some dinner or l)all. "Don't be afraid. I won't drop this pendant. Why " — and here •she would clap her little hands — " it would cost my •darling nearly a year's income." From the drawing-room he wandered upstairs. He was going to leave that night, and bury himself for a month in Brittany, He went into his dressing-room for a few odd things, and then took a look round the l)edroom. Suddenly a thought struck him, and he Tang the bell. It was answered by the housemaid. "Send Mary to me," lie said shortly, i^ow, Mary had been in the family in a double capacity. She waited at table and acted as ]Mrs. Fairholme's maid. " Mary," he said, •' I want the key of the wardrobe." He could not l)ring himself to mention his wife, even indirectly. " There are some things there which I must take back to Mr. Polonius before I go away to-night. 1 would rather not have them left in the house." Mary turned round to hunt for the key, but her face t>ecame very pale. 32 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. "You have Leen sitting up lately," lie said, as she- found the hey and brought it him. "You may go to-night to your people in the country. When I return,, I fear you must find another place. Where is the jewellery ? " ]\Iary, paler than ever, pointed out a large Eussian leather jewel-case, found him the hey of it, and fairly burst into tears. " They are all from ]\lr. i'olonius ? " he asked. " All, sir," sobbed Mary, " Poor dear mistress never went anywhere else." And so, with his own valise and with the case of jewellery, Fairholme drove straight to the emporium of tliiit prince among diamond merchants, and strode into the shop. " This," said he to the junior partner, who met him on the mat, "is the jewellery Mrs. Fairholme hired of you. I wish you to check it and give me a receipt. Y"ou may send in your account at once." The man looked l)ewildered, but he said nothing. He took the key Fairholme handed him, and opened the b(ix, remarking — for he could see Fairholme's deep mourning — that it was a fine day, an observation Ik; .seemed to think might prove inspiriting. " Not ours, sir," he said, as he opened the first morocco case — a necklace of ilinnionds and pearls. "These," and he ])ointcd to the name (m tlie white satin inside THE LITTLE MENAGE IN SOUTH STREET. 33 the lid, " are from Messrs. Triplet. ISTor these either ; nor yet these. I do not see anything of ours, sir, as yet." Evidently bewildered, the man lifted the upper tray. Under it were letters. Then, without moving a muscle of his face, he was about to replace the tray, when Fairliolme stopped him, took out the letters hurriedly, and begged him to make them up into a small parcel. This task the man accomplished, and Fairholme left the shop with the case in his hand and the letters in his pocket. When he had gone, the junior partner allowed his features to relax into a curious kind of smile. The jewels were left at his bankers', sealed up. There w^ere yet two hours for his train from Victoria. So he turned into the Marlborough, sat down at a table by the window, and ordered some brandy. He seldom or never touched brandy, so now it settled his nerves, and in a mechanical way he opened the packet. The letters in it told their own story. The jewellery had not been hired from Mr. Polouius, nor indeed from anybody else. Every article that he had left at the bankers' had its own little packet of letters. I hold that George Eairholme was doing nothing dishonourable in this, though I need not discuss the casuistry of the matter. He began with a letter from the Duke of Radnor. The coronet and crest struck D 34 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. him, as lie liad not the honour of the Duke's acquaint- ance, so lie opened the letter and read it. Then he read one or two of the others. Then he made a parcel of the lot, Avhich he carefully sealed up, and so left the club. There \vas still an hour to catch his train, so he had time to buy a despatch-box for the letters. He also pro- vided himself with cigars and a few other things of which a widow^er does not usually think on the day of his wife's funeral. And then he drove to Victoria. Here it liecame apparent that he had changed his plans. Anyhow, he abandoned the idea of Brittany and took a ticket to Paris, which he reached soon after six the next morning. He devoted the day to writing letters, mostly on busi- ness. He instructed his solicitors to arrange for the sale of the lease of the little house in South Street, with all its effects if possible, except a few of his own which he specified. He also wrote a short and carefully con- sidered letter to Lord Eustace Thorndyke, and another to the chief of his department at the Foreign Office, mentioning that he should probably apply for a fort- night's further leave of absence than he had obtained. This took time, but he did not seem to feel tired, although he had been many hours without sleep. He posted his letters himself, and then dined at the Cafe Anglais. No man ever selected a dinner more THE LITTLE MENAGE IN SOUTH STREET 35 carefully, or drank his champagne more deliberately or with greater appreciation. His dinner finished, he lit a cigar, then drove to the Varietes. Judic played that night in one of her most characteristic parts. The play was " Niniche," No one laughed at it more heartily than did George Fairholme. The play over, he strolled into Bignon's, and concluded the day with a supper of the kind which has made that establishment famous throughout Europe. D 2 ( 36 ) THE CHUECH AND THE STAGE. Scene. — T}ic Clidtcau cVArques, oicar Dieppe. The, Archbishop of Lancaster is discovered inspecting the mins with the aid of his " Baedeker." Turning a corner, he comes suddenly vpon Mr. Nash, of Nash's Theatre. A. OF L. Deliglited to meet you again, sir. I hope we shall again be near each other to-night at the tahle dlwtc. Allow me to say that 1 was much impressed witli your remarks on the policy of the Government. It seems to me tliat Mr. Gladstone sadly needs discre- tion. He puts his confidence too rashly in young and untried men. In political, as indeed in ecclesiastical,. matters, judgment is at present much needed. ]\Ir, Nash (checrfullg). You're quite riglit, your Grace. I am no politician myself, l)ut I can quite see how the public is led astray. I was very much interested in what you were saying last night about tlie uncertainty of the popular judgment. Why, you never can tell whether a piece will run a thousand nights, or whether you will have to take down the THE CHURCH AND THE STAGE. 37 bills before the week is over. All I can see is, that the public are our masters ; aud it's my own private impression that they know aljout as little of dramatic art as they do of theology. A. OF L. I beg your pardon, sir. I was not aware that — may I take the liberty of asking ? — ur — I had — ur — in fact — ur — imagined that — ur — you were in some way connected with the diplomatic service. I presume, from what I gather Mk. Nash. Eight you are, your Grace. I am an actor, and have been so most of my life. My name's Nash, of Nash's Theatre. Low comedy is my par- ticular line, although I am considered uncommonly good in character parts. I wish I covdd see your Grace at my house now and again. I am sure you'd enjoy " Pots and Kettles," and " Twiddlecombe's Troubles " is really amusing, I give you my word, A. OF L. {ctrdiiepiscopaU y siirvcyinr/ his r/niters). I was not aware, Mv. Nash, to whom I was talking, althou.h I confess that it gives me great pleasure to meet you. I take considerable interest in the drama, and was much pleased with the manner in which the imdergraduates of St. Christopher's reproduced tlie ^' Supplices " of yEschylus the year before last. And this makes me the more regret that talents such as yours should be, as I cannot but think, thrown away. If the great gifts which you undoubtedly possess had 38 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. been, under Divine guidance, turned into another channel, what invahialile results might not have ensued i These are grave times, and every man should do what he can to aid the cause of the Faith. Me. IS'asii. I entirely agree with your Grace. The times are very grave — especially from your Grace's point of view. But it seems to me tliat it is the Church which is in fault, rather than the stage. You think I ought to put my gifts to higher purposes ? What do you do with your great gifts ? You took a first class in classics, and you were Warden of your college when my nephew was an undergraduate tliere. And you have written a book on " Prehistoric Pytha- goreanism," and another on the " Mutual Outlines of Intuition and Paith." But wliat do you do now ?' Literally nothing. You spend the Parliamentary season in London attending to your duties, as you call them, in the House of Lords. You pass the Vacation on the Continent, first sticking a notice in the papers to say that letters of emergency are to be addressed to your secretary. I really fail to see what a Bishop has to do except to ordain, to consecrate, and to confirm. A. OF L. I assure you, Mr. Nash, tlic work of a diocese in these days is overwhelming. Mit. Nask. I will take your Grace's word for it. 33ut you will allow me to use your Grace's own argu- THE CHURCH AND THE STAGE. 39 luent. I want to see the immense abilities of Ihe Episcopal Bench put to better purpose. It seems to me, in my humble judgment, that the Bishops are not such a power for good as they ought to be. The fact is, your Grace, that of late years the Church has somehow ceased to draw. A. OF L. The expression is painfully familiar, Mr. Xash. Mr. Nasii. I beg your Grace's pardon, I am sure ; but you know^ what I mean. The Church has got no real hold on public feeling. An eminent preacher is not half so well known as an eminent actor. There is not a man alive in these days with the power that used to be wielded by men such as Wesley and Irving — who, by-the-way, were Nonconformists. Why, if pho- tography be the mere test of popularity, the Bishops of the Established Church are actually eclipsed by the principal Nonconformist ministers. A. OF L. I presume, of course, Mr. Nash, that you are speaking in earnest ; if so, I must remind you that the theatre is only a place of idle amusement, and has attractions of its own for the thoughtless crowds by whom it is frequented. Mr. Nash. That is exactly where your Grace is wrong. The crowds that frequent a theatre are not at all thoughtless. The pieces that draw the largest houses always have something in them. 40 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. A, OF L. Surely, Mr. Nash, what are called bur- lesques Mr. Nash. Burlesques, your Grace, are as played out as Eitualism. The public wants a piece prettily mounted, but it wants something more. You must have real wit, and in serious pieces you must have real feeling. I happen to be proud of my calling, and I am certain that the hold of the stage upon the public in England at the present day is as great as it was in Athens in the days of Sophocles, with whom your Grace is better acquainted than I am. Everybody talks about a new play. Who ever talks about a new sermon ? Everybody knows our chief actors ; they are as well known as Cabinet ]\Iinisters. Who knows the names of the Bishops, or even how many of them there are ? Every penny paper keeps a dramatic critic. Wlien do you ever see a report of a sermon ? If there were any vitality in the Church it would come out in Convocation. Who ever reads the debates in Convoca- tion, or troubles about them ? A. OF L. The Cliurcli, ]\Ir. Nash, does its work in its own way. It has no adventitious advantages. Mr. Nash. The Church has every advantage, your Grace. Look at ]\Ioody and Sankey. They had nothing in the way of stage effects beyond a harmonium. Look at the Salvation Army. Not tliat I am at all too fond of it myself. But look how it gets hold of the people. THE CHURCH AND THE STAGE. 41 Now, the Church of England, somehow, doesn't do this. Eitualism never had any hold on the masses, who are always suspicious of anything like Eoman Catholicism. The Low Church set — the Clapham School — is defunct. Not even a maid-of-all-work thinks it wrong to enjoy her Sunday holiday, and nobody that I know of reads Mrs. Hannah More. Broad Church is too shadowy for the English mind, which never really appreciates the higher criticism. If the Church wishes to be a power, it must make a new departure for itself. There is more connection than might be supposed between the Eeformatiou and the great outburst of the Elizabethan drama. The stage was never so full of life as it is at this minute. Why is the Church so dead ? A. OF L. Although I cannot agree with your remarks, Mr. Nash, they yet are extremely suggestive. I cannot, of course, admit that the stage is at all educating the national mind. Mr. Nash. Of course not. Your Grace does not ever go to theatres, and has no means of judging. But what is the Church doing ? A. OF L. Tell me, sir, what you can suggest that tlie Church ought to do, or what it is that she leaves undone. Mr. Nash. There are the cathedrals, your Crace. They are the finest public buildings in England ; and they are practically useless. The English ritual — if a 42 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. layman may speak on such a subject — is very attractive, English clergymen — some of them — are men of great ability. Wlien I am at Oxford by any accident, I never miss University sermon in the morning, and I] enjoy evening chapel at ]\Iagdalen or New. But, take England all over, the Church wants life, else Dissent would not be so strong as it is. Let the best men preach, your Grace. Make more use of your cathe- drals. Have shorter services, and make them more attractive, and the Church will then get hold of the people, as it has got hold of them in the country parts of France. And let me advise your Grace to go to the theatre once or twice, and see for yourself one or two of the kinds of plays that are really successful, and ask yourself what it is in them that makes tliem take. A. or L. {u-itli a dignified smile). I cannot promise to take your advice, Mr. Nash, but much of what you have said has interested me profoundly. {Assumes the air of one who considers the converscdion to have been closed hy an af-projiricdc hcnediction.) Me. Nash {tedcing the hint). Your Grace is too kind. I dare pay all tliis is new to you. If you want to move people, you must give them something new, and you must let it be good as well. I've been on the stage for thirty years, and I ought to know. (Bows his fareiccll.) A. OF L. {meditatively). I should certainly never have taken him for an actor. I never knew those kind THE CHURCH AND THE STAGE. 43 of people were ever gentlemen, or even educated, I often wish myself that we were more like the judges — more of a power. I'm sure I take great trouble over my charges ; and I was five years over my " Harmony of the ]\Iajor and Minor Prophets," which not even tlio Spectator has noticed. I see whom he had in his mind. He was thinking of men like Liddon, Farrar, and Kingsley. But men of that sort are always dangerous (shakes his head j^rofoimdly). You are never sure what they may not commit you to. Me. Nash {assuming his stock facial expression of intense silent enjoyment). lium old buffer ! Got a good appearance. Well preserved. Well got up. Fine voice. Pleasant manners. He ought to take, but he doesn't. Why on earth is it that parsons, big and little alike, do get so abominably cramped in their style ? That's what I wanted to tell him. However, it's no business of mine, and it will be all the same a hundred years hence. ( 44 ) THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. Sam Chapman was a Yarmouth man, and skipper of a large ketch, wliich regularly trawled on the Dogger Bank. The vessel was Sam's own. During his early days he had been a seafaring man, and had visited every part of the world. But he was Norfolk to tlie backbone, and more Yarmouth than Norfolk. So when his old mother died, and he sold up her boarding and lodging house, and generally realized her estate, and discovered that he was worth nearly a couple of thou- sand pounds, he had a smack built for him in the yard of Messrs. I'ellowes, and found himself master of his own vessel, and with a comfortable sum at the bank. Sam was now some thirty years of age ; sun- burned like any Spaniard, with crisp curly hair, dark- brown eyes, large white teeth, and an innucnse physique. His Ijuild was tliat of a l)car, liis manners were those of a schoolboy, his laugli was exhilarating ; but he had a will of liis own, and he could use his fists u])on provocation. One way and anotlier, Sam was making about two THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. 45 luinclred and fifty pounds a year. He owned no man as master, and so got full price for his fish. When on shore he had always gold in his pocket, and he used to sit among the notables, in the smoking-rooms of the Angel in the market-place, and the Eoyal and the Crown and Anchor on the old quay, and discuss the affairs of State and the condition of the fish-market. Sam was a warm man. The big salesmen would associate with him ; the editor of the leading Yarmouth paper did not contradict him. He could have been in the Town Council if he had pleased. And when he returned one day for his week on shore, after eight weeks on the Bank, he found he had been elected churchwarden. Clearly, then, Sam ought to get married. Everybody told him so. And Sam accordingly did marry the prettiest girl in Yarmouth — where Ijeauty is more common than might be supposed. The marriage for a time was happy. Sam was proud of his wife, and Mrs. Chapman w^as proud of her handsome husljand, wdio could take his ketch out through the Gat on the darkest night, drink his rum-and-water against the oldest skipper in the town, and punch the head of any man in Yarmouth, Lowestoft, or even Gorleston. Sam took a charming little house in Eow 11 84, one of the most fashionable Eows in Yarmouth. There were a parlour, and a kitchen, and a back yard, and two bedrooms ; and Sam furnished tlie house from tup 46 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. to bottom in the most approved style, and living up portraits of tlio Pioyal Family, and had the door and shutters painted in bright green nicely picked out with vermilion, and had put upon the door an un- obtrusive brass plate with the inscription "Saml, Chapman, Master Mariner." He used to be away for his eight weeks on the Bank, and then spend his week on shore while the Mary Jane was refitting. Only one thing troubled him. He was a kind-hearted man, and fond of children ; and he had no family. After three or four years, dark suspicions began to gather in Sam's mind, and he confided them to his brother skippers in the smoking-room of the Angel, not four hundred yards from Eow 1 1 84. ""VVlien I came back o' Monday," said Sam, "she'd got a new silk dress, and she said she'd bout it out o' her savins. I didn't say nout, but I arst her where she'd bout it, and she said at Skipley's for five pound, and it was very cheap. So I goes round to Skipley, and I sees old Ketteridge, his managing man. She had bout the dress there, and she'd had it made there. That were trew, but the dress and the trimmins were seventeen pound fifteen ; so I says to Ketteridge, ' How was it paid ? ' 'In gold,' says he. Now, I don't like the look 0' that;" and Sam brought his fist down on the table with a blow that would have stunned a pig. THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. 47 Now, Sam's friends had known perfectly well what was coming. People talk a good deal at Yarmouth. They talk in the market-place, and on the fish- wharf, and along the quay ; and they chat at their doors in the Eows. Mrs. Chapman's gorgeous apparel and her general " goings on " had long been discussed at Yarmouth tea-tables ; but Sam was so good a fellow that no man liked to tell him what might, after all, be mere conjecture. " Young women '11 allers be young women," said a gentleman of authority in the herring trade. " They likes dress. It comes natural to 'em. Don't you get them ideas into your head, Sam." And in this sage judgment the other notables con- curred. But the old salesman was uneasy in his mind, and Sam was moody. " If I catch him," said Sam, " I'll nmrder him ! " And so the matter dropped. It was about the autumn equinox when the Mary Jane was towed down river by the United Service, and Sam stood boldly away through the Gat. The wind began to freshen, and presently a regular north- easter burst upon the vessel — one of those north-easters that come tearing down from the North Sea and sweep the Norfolk coast. The Mary Jane was well handled, but the weather was too much for her. She carried lier maintop-mast and mizentop-mast. Her mainsail was 48 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. blown into ribbons. And when the gale subsided she- lay-to under jib and mizen. Late in the evening of the next day the United Service spied her on the horizon, steamed up to her, and towed her into Yarmouth. Sam, who was tired and weary, sought the friendly shelter of the smoking-room of the Crown and Anchor. There was no occasion for sympathy, for Sam was a solvent man, the Ilanj Jane was insured, and the worst of the business was the loss of a week to [make her good again. But, of course, Sam was a hero, and he told his tale several times over several glasses of rum- and-water, until the clock reached the fatal hour of eleven and the company was turned out. Then Sam walked home to Eow 1 1 84. He passed through the little wicket gateway, and made his way along the cobble-paved alley till ]ic reached his own house. The passage and p)arlour window were dark, but in the window above there was a light. Somehow or other the silk dress came into Sam's mind, and he filled his pipe, forgetting to light it, and leaned against the opposite wall. Presently upon the blind appeared the shadow of Mrs. Chapman, who was letting down her hair and then coiling it u]). Sam watched intently, for the hour was late, and he felt curious as to where liis wife had been spending the evening. Then, suddenly, tliere appeared on the blind a second shadow. It was not THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. 49 Snm's shadow, and it was not that of Mrs. Chapman. The second shadow attempted to caress the first, and the first shadow hit the second back with the hairbrush, Sam said nothing and did nothing. He waited till the light was put out. Then he waited and meditated for a good hour. Smacksmen are not always quick at making up their mind. But he realized the situation at last, and he also recollected that there was no egress from the house except by the little passage which passed the door of the sitting-room. Crossing the Eow in a stride and a half, Sam battered at his own knocker violently. After a time the upper window opened, and Mrs. Chapman put out her head. " Go away," said that virtuous spouse, " or my husband will come down and thrash you." Sam battered again. " Go away," said the lady, " or I'll shriek for the police.''^ " You come down, Polly, and let me in," said Sam. " It's me — it's Sam." " It ain't," said Mrs. Chapman. " Sam^s at sea." And she shut the window. Then Sam wrenched up a cobble out of the footway, and sent it through the window with a crash. This l)rought Mrs. Chapman to the window again. " Come down," he said, " and let me in, or I'll put my back against the door and burst it.' In a few seconds Mrs. Chapman was at the door, E 50 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. a few clothes liurried on her, and her face like ashes. " I didn't know it was you, Sam, dear. I thought you were at sea." " So I were, but I've come back." " What has happened, Sam, dear ? " " Plenty and enow. Shipwreck." "Oh! Sam, I'm so glad you're back safe. I was praying for you on my knees to-night when the wind blew." " Were you ? " said Sam. " Yes, Sam, dear ; and then, when I heard the knock- ing at the door, I was so frightened. Do sit down, deary, for a little. The fire's alight still. Let me pull your boots off for you and bring you some beer." "You may bring me a jug of beer," said Sam, " but I'll keep my boots on." And he sat down in the large Windsor chair tliat faced the door of the little sitting- room. " 1^11 just go and get the beer, dear,'' said Mrs. Chapman ; and she was going to shut after her the door into the passage. " Leave that door open," said Sam. " I alius like a door open." ]\Irs. Chapman went for tlui beer, and returned with it, and with a heavy heart. She did not know how lonrf Sam had been standing in tlie How. She had no THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. 51 idea liow many cards lie held in liis liand. lUit she felt tliere was danger ahout, and slie. was almost paralyzed with terror. At Sam's bidding she filled his glass, heaped coals upon the fire, and sat down opposite to him. It was now nearly two o'clock in the morning. Sam lit his pipe and smoked and said nothing. The wretclied woman sat and watched hhn, wondering what was to come. " Hadn't I better shut the door, Sam ? There's a terrible draught." " I alius like a door ojien," re])eated Sam. " I like to hear the old clock in the passage,'" Now, this was untrue, and Mrs. Chapman knew it. Presently she said patiently, " Sam, dear, I'm tired. Let me go up and get the room ready for you. You must want sleep badly." " I don't want no sleep," answered Sam. " I like sitting here afore the fire with you." This also was untrue, and Mrs. Chapman knew as much. The clock in the passage struck half-past two, and three, and four, and Sam sat smoking on steadily, watching the passage, and also watching his wife's face grow paler and paler. But he smoked in silence, and his demeanour was absolutely inscrutable. Soon after four, Sam's quick ear detected a movement in the room above, and heard the window gently opened. .Sam got up out of his chair, and stepped as quietly as E 2 52 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. lie could into the passage. Mrs. Chapman, in her chair;, fairly swooned with terror and tension, Sam waited with his hand on the latch of the street-door until he heard something drop into the Kow from the window above. Then he came out at one step, and laid hold of the man he had been waiting for. That man never told his grievances in a police-court,. or sued Sam for assault. But how Sam dealt with him is matter of tradition on Yarmouth quay to this day. When he was found by the police, lying senseless in the middle of the market-place, he had a dislocated ankle, three or four broken ribs, and hardly a tooth left in his head. He was a young solicitor, so perliaps he had a wholesome horror of law. Anyhow, he went home, and, as soon as he could, sold his Yarmouth practice, and settled down somewhere in Northumber- land at a considerable distance from the sea-coast. Sam returned, and sat dow^n again. Presently his wife came to herself, and looked at him in si^eechless agony. "There's been a drunken man in tlie IJow," said Sam, " and I've a-kicked him into maiket-place. Get me another jug of beer." By this time Mrs. Chapman knew all. Slie brought the beer, and sat down in abject silence while her lord and master replenished his glass. Sam sat, and smoked and smoked and smoked, while- THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND. 53 the wretched woman opposite him could hear the beating of her own terrified heart. The clock in the passage struck five, and then six, and then seven, and then eight. As it finished the last stroke of eight, Sam got up out of his chair and strode to the passage. The miserable woman cluno; to him. " For God's sake, forgive me, Sam ! " she cried. *' Do forgive me ! I will be good ! Indeed I will ! " Sam made no answer, but he extracted a light walking-stick from the umbrella-stand, and he then and there gave his wife a beating of which Norfolk wives speak to this day with Ijated breath. Mrs. Chapman staggered to the house of a neighbour — a kindly soul not without frailties of her own — and was there helped to bed more dead than alive. Having got so much of his business off his mind, Sam walked down to the quay, and entered the office of Mr. Trumbell, auctioneer, estate agent, valuer, sur- veyor, shipbroker, &c. " Mr. Trumbell/' he said, " you've heard of my loss ; what'll you give me for the M(ir]j Jane as she stands, and get what you can out of the insurance of her '{ " Mr. Trumbell gasped. " My dear Chapman, you mustn't take things this way. Look here. If you want a hundred, or a couple of hundred, have it from me. Your bill is all the security I want." " If you don't buy the Mar]) Jane" said Sam, " I'll 54 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. sell lier myself at auction this afternoon at Bridge Stairs, I'll give you ten minutes to consider." jSTow Mr. Trumbell \Yas a man of the world, and he knew Sam Chapman to he a man of his word. So he said, "Well, Sam, I'll take lier. Fellowes shall throw liis eye over her. She was built in his yard. It won't take him half an hour, and he'll do what's fair between man and man." " Eight you are," said Sam. " Send round to him at once. I'll come to you for your cheque at four o'clock this afternoon." This did not astonish Trumbell, for he was. a wealthy man, and large transactions in ready cash are not uncommon in the shipping business. But he was fairly amazed when Sam said, " And now, Trumbell, there's anotlier thing. I want you tO' sell off my sticks in Bow 1 184. It's getting on for ten. Get some of your men, and come along at once." Trumbell, who was an honest man, expostulated in- vain. He pointed out that the sale would be a forced one, and at a ruinous loss ; that the furniture was all new ; tliat they ought to have a catalogue printed, and advertise the sale in the papers. Sam was ol)durate. So the bellman was sent for, and he made pro- clamation with his bell along the quay, and on the fish- wharf, and in the market-place, and on the sands ; and the neighbours, all more or less ignorant of wliat had THE SHADOW ON THE BLIND, 55 happened, came to buy. Triiinbell was a man who took a pride in his work as an auctioneer, and he has been heard to say he could liave cried over the prices. When the sale was over, even to the smallest stick and scantiest scrap of carpet in the little house, Sam walked down with Trumbell to his office. " I'll take your chef[ue for the auction money, Trumbell," he said, " and your cheque for the smack." So the two cheques were given on the eminent house of Lacon on the old quay. There was just time to cash them before four o'clock, and Sam changed them into notes, drawing out his own balance at the same time. Whatever ideas ]\Ir. Trumbell may have had, lie kept them to himself. Sam engaged the great Nelson room at the Crown and Anchor, and dined there in state with Trumbell and some twenty other friends whom he collected. Everybody knew what had happened, but nobody alluded to it. A good deal of wine was drunk, and after the wine a good deal of punch. Then Sam rose to his legs, and said, " flood-bye, boys. I'm off to London by the last train." And off he was, and he has not since been seen in Yarmouth. He is heard of from time to time. He has been seen at Barcelona, at Buenos Ayres, and at San Francisco. He does not look a day older, and is as handsome as ever. 56 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Mrs. Chapman, on the other hand, has become jpass^e. She has never thoroughly recovered from the effect of that night of terror. If you visit Yarmouth during the season, you can see her on the pier, showily dressed, and evidently painted. But she is not received in Yarmouth society, and everybody in Yarmouth sym- pathizes with Sam. ( 57 ) THE BITER BIT. From Miss Ada Norton, 15A Lclnstcr Gardens, W., to the Hon. Mrs. Masher, Harhawaij Hall, near Malton, Yorkshire. February 15, 1886. My ever deaeest Di, — You will be surprised at hearing from me again so soon after my last letter ; but when I tell you that this one is strictly on business you will understand my object, and will further it (I am sure, dear), if at all 'possible. As you know, I have been doing the Brighton season under the wing of our dear Ethel. With her position, as the wife of the great Sir Timothy Porker, and the cludchvhic of the biggest house in l*almyra Square, she was, of course, able to give me . heaps of opportunities. She did her very best, that I v:Ul say — and so did I. Well, although I told you the other day that I expected at least two of " them " to declare themselves before wc left Brighton, here we are again back in London, with my prospects of making a good match no farther advanced than before we left Leinster (lardens. 58 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. All, if poor, dear ^Manima were only alive ! A mother can land many a big, undecided fish, where even the best of chaperons is powerless. But I must not com- plain — Ethel has been most sympathetic throughout; London is already quite full ; and I am to stay on here until Easter. That is, unless ! Unless you ask me to come and stay with yov., dear, for a few weeks ! Don't look so horrified at my cool impertinence, Di ; I shouldn't suggest such a thing, if it were not that I feel that you are a true friend. Were we not known at school as the Three Graces ? and did we not vow an offensive and defensive alliance against every eligible 2Xirti in the Idngdom ? Being the only maiden out of tlie three with any money at all, by rights I should have gone off first. Three hundred a year is not a fortune, true enough ; but it inspires confidence. Now you arc the Hon. ]\lrs. Masher, future Viscountess Toffton ; Ethel is Lady rorker, future millionaire; and I well, I am nobody. Now I want to be somebody ! To come to the point. This morning Ethel received a letter from a friend of hers who is staying with Lord and Lady Paddington. Among other tit-bits of news, she revealed the fact that one of tlie guests at I'addington Towers is a ]\Ir. Templeton, who has THE BITER BIT. 59" lately come into an oiormous fortune, from a distant relative. Xow, Paddington Towers is only two miles from Harkaway Hall. And you live at Harkaway Hail. Need I say more ? Write soon to your ever devoted Ada. P.S. — Of course you will lam this letter as soon as read. From the Hon. Mrs. Masher to Miss Ada JSwion. Ftihruanj i6, i8S6. My deakest Ada, — Come, by all means, and stay as long as you like. I will meet the train whicli arrives at Malton, 3.55 r.:\i., the day after to-morrow. Yours in haste, Diaxa JMashei;. P.S. — Mr. Templeton dined here yesterday. He is quite too pleasant. From Pdcliard Templdon, Fsq., Paddiivjton Toicers, near Malton, York, to Captain Su:ift, Grand Hotel, Paris. February 24, 1S86. Dear Old Boy, — It's freezing hard to-day, so there's no Imntiiig: tlie ice won't bear, so there's no skating; •6o SOCIAL VICISSITUDES, tlie women won't bo down for another hour, after the ball last nidit, so there's no fiirtinfr. What can I do better than ease my conscience while I have leisure to feel its sting, and answer your last jovial effusion ? I have been here about a fortnight, and have had several good runs with the York and Ainsty, and one or two good bags in the coverts. Old Paddington is a jare good sort ; there are some good people staying in the house ; and we have had some good theatricals, good dances, and good dinners. However, until a few days ago, I was boring myself, notwithstanding all the efforts of my gracious hostess. Whether it is that I am sinking into the sere and yellow, or whether it is that one has gone through the country-house routine so often ; I was distinctly boring myself. 1 think, however, I must confess tliat tlie truth of it is that 1 am beginning to feel the necessity of settling down. My life has not been all cakes and ale, as you know ; and now I should like to enjoy myself a little with a congenial com])anion. 1 am now in a posiiion to marry, and (without vanity) to marry well. But, alas ! the women are all so palpal)ly looking out for rich liusbands, that 1 liatc the siglit of them. I should say hnlal. Vox, a few days ago, 1 made a most charming ac(juaintaiiL'e, and 1 have found it improve upon further aehter of dear old Ikibb of New York, who was- 76 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. so tremendously kind to me when I passed tlirougli on my way to Niagara. I am only too charmed to have the opportunity of doing all that I can to mark my sense of her father's cordiality. From Lady Cheltenham, Lakes Hotel, Windermere, to Capt. the Hon. C. FUz-Blarncy, Juhj 20, 1885. Dear Capt. Fitz-Blahney, — I had no intention of <;oming to town at all this year ; hut as my friend, Miss Eabb, wished to be presented, and to take a peep at English society, I took a house for a month. Miss Babb, I am sorry to say, came to the conclusion that we amuse ourselves 'moult tristement in Loudon, and so has persuaded me to take her to Trouville. We arc here for a time to satisfy her romantic yearning to breathe this poetry-laden air, and to prepare for the dis- sipation of those quiet little Trench watering-places. The " dear old Babb " you mention will not serve you much, I fear, with us, as ]\Iiss Babb's father died thirty years ago, only two years after she was born. 'i'hat was, perhaps, as well ; for it would have been a great grief to liim when tlie small-pox spoilt her Ijcauty .so sadly. 1 have no more time to waste on you ; so, — ta, ta ! Yours truly, BLA^■CJIE ClIELTKNirAM. " THERE'S MANY A SLIP " 77 r.S. — I hear that j\Iiss Torchoy lias jilted you. Deluded girl ! She little knows what a treasure she has lost. "The disinterested love of an honest heart " N'est ce 2ms ? Telegram from tlic Crqit. the Hon. C. Fltz- Blarney to Manager, Lakes Hotel, Windermere. July 21, 18S5. Shall arrive this afternoon, five sharp. Keep best rooms you have at liberty for nie. From Ca]jt. the Hon. C, Fltz-Blarncy to Miss Eemcmtha Babh {delivered hg hand under cover of a flat candlestick). WlXDERMERE, yltf^ZfSf 5, 1885. ]\Iv DEAREST FpjEND, — Forgive the way I address you. This is my first letter to you. And, after the happy fortnight I have passed in your company, I e((n oiot say "Dear Miss Babb," and I da,rc not say • what so fain I would. So let it stand. I hope I may call you " my friend." I know you are the dearest I ever had. One short fort- night has proved to me that there is, at least, one woman who can understand the yearnings, the cravings, the sufferings of a man's world-lacerated heart ! 1 feel that in you I have found a friend. 78 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. T)ut I do not write to tell you wliat you know as well :as I do, or as Lady Clielteuhani. I write to tell you more than Lady Cheltenham's constant interference at sympathetic moments will allow me to say in words. In finding a friend, I have lost my heart. I love you, Semantha ! Therefore I leave you. And to-morrow. For you are rich, and I am poor ! For the same reason, I broke off my engagement to ]\Iiss Torchey. Lady Cheltenham would smile incredulously at this, no doubt! ]>ut the proof of the fact lies litre ; — for honour's sake, I refused an alliance with a woman whom I only liked. Now, for the same honour's sake, I refrain from breath- ing a word of love to one whom I whom I ( )h, that you too were poor ! How I would work for you 1 How T would slave ! How I would Farewell, Semantlia ! Fare thee well ! Ever and only yours, ClIAKLIE. Forgive this blurred and hurried scrawl. A man is not always master of feelings as dec]i as those I am now trying to control. " THERE'S MANY A SLIP " 79 From Miss Scmaniha Bahh to Capt. the Hon. C. Fltz- Blarncy {delivered ly hand, under cover of a hreak- fast-cuj)), August 6, 1885. If you really must go, you can say (jood-hy to me after breakfast on the island. I shall go out in a canoe. I am real nurry for you. Perhaps you won't need to go at all though. Perhaps ! From Capt. the Hon. C. Fit r.- Blarney, Lanyham Hotel, W., to Benjamin Ahrams, Esq^. August 21, 1885. My owx precious Darling, — Just time to tell you of a dreadful and cruel disappointment. Can't arrange legal matters till 27th, although I have moved heaven and earth to get away to-morrow. Don't forget your silly old lover ; and, above all, don't let the Frenchmen make love to you. More by next post. In greatest haste. Your ever devoted and adoring Charlie. A thousand thanks for tlic cheque, which will set my poor old father free at last. But without your love, what comfort would even the sight of a father's jo}- be to one so deep in love as I ? 8o SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. From Ca'pt. the Ron. C. Fitz-Blarney, to Miss Scmanthcc Bath, Hotel cle Peiris, Troumlle. August 21, 1885. Dear Benjy, — Enclosed I send yon a cheque for the balance of our little account. I had to kid precious strong to get it, Init at all events there it is. You won't doubt mij honour again, I do'iit think. And I think YOU are not sorry that you didn't bring an officer and a gentleman to smash for once. Well, let bygones be bygones ! Pussy de Clare is helping me to celebrate the burial of my bachelorhood ; we have some fellows coming to dinner to-night ; and the address is "Eoseleaf Lodge, Brompton Eoad." Come, if you like, at eight sharp ; and bring some one nice with you. lUit mind she is not American, heavily pitted, and thirty-three, as I should politely decline such a painful reminder of what waits me at Trouville. Yours forgivingly, C. Pitz-Blakney. The iireeediny returned, eiddrcssed to Capt. the Honourable Charles Fitz-Blarney, in the handu-riting of Miss Semantha Ball, postmark " Trouville." ( 8i A MODEEN HERMIT. He was, "beyond all question, a very curious man ; and I came across him in an unexpected manner. I was on a tricycle tour in the north of Devon ; and I suddenly discovered that I wanted oil. I came to this conclusion at the top of a steep hill. Below me the road ran down to a small stream, which marked out the valley. Over the stream ran a bridge ; and at the corner of the bridge was a small cottage with a patch of garden. As I dismounted from my vehicle, I discerned my friend. He was dressed in a loose suit of tweed, and wore a straw hat with an unusually broad brim ; and he was engaged in pruning and trimming a black Hamburg grape-vine that was trailed in rich clusters round about his chimney-stack. It was a model of a cottage. Commencing with the bridge, there ran along the side of the road a low stone wall with a little gate in it. This formed one boundary of the estate. Then a thick hedge of hawthorn ran in a semi-circle down to the river. The river itself formed the third boundary. Towards the edge of the stream sloped down a smooth G 82 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. lawn of fresh turf, radiant with small beds of flowers. The rest of the garden was conducted upon economical principles. There were lettuces and cabbages and rhubarb ; there were some fine raspberry-canes ; there was a plantation of gooseberry and currant trees ; there was also an asparagus bed, a cucumber frame, and a patch reserved for vegetable marrows. But everywhere, in and between the beds, and about the borders, were standard roses, rich in all the luxuriance of their magnificent blossom. He was halfway up his ladder, against the chimney- stack, busy with his vine, when 1 called out to ask him if he could oblige me with a little oil. He turned his head, descended the ladder, and opened the little gate as I dismounted. I explained my difficulty — that my bearings had become heated ; and I soon found myself inside his cottage, which consisted, so far as I could see, of two little rooms and a garret in the roof. The one was fitted as a kitchen, with a coal-bunker, a cooking- stove, a small copper, aiul a dresser, with pots ajid kettles below it, and al)undance of clean crockery on its upper shelves. The sitting-room — the second — re- minded me of my own old college chambers — except that there was a certain nautical atmosphere about it. In one corner were tliree sliip's l)unks, fitted against the wall and ranged one above another. Tightly screwed to the mantelpiece was a ship's chronometer in its case. A MODERN HERMIT. 83 There were no chairs, but tliere were settles against the wall. And in every nook and corner there were book- shelves crowded with books. The little matter of the oil was soon arranged. But after I had got my bearings into working order and was about to resume my journey, my friend invited me to stay and smoke a pipe. I have not as yet described his appearance. He seemed some tifty years of age, but time had dealt kindly with him. His hair was closely cropped, but he wore an immense beard which rolled down over his tlannel shirt. His chest was deep, Ms shoulders were broad, his limbs were muscular, his whole build was somewhat heavy and Ijearish, and there was a curious look in his dark brown eyes, as if he were looking at things and thinking of things many hundreds of miles away. While noticing these facts, I had lit my pipe in compliance with his invitation, but I was astonished to see him open a bunker under one of the settles, and produce a bottle of what proved to be genuine Leoville, and of a very good season. He also Y)laced on the table, from out of a cupboard in the chimney corner, a box of cigars, the brand and quality of which were beyond dispute. I preferred, however, 'to remain faitliful to my well-used briar-root, and, as i was lighting it, I complimented my host on the extent of his library. " It is not so large as I could wish," he said, " but I c; 2 84 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. have chosen it very carefully. Up there on the little- shelf are all the classics worth reading, in the Tauchnitz. I have no room for such duffers as Livy, Sallust, and Eutropius. One must economize space in a hut like this. My French library is scanty. You will lind Montaigne, Brantome, Eabelais, Moliere, and a few odd volumes of Balzac, Voltaire, and George Sand. As for German " — here he burst into a tremendous laugh — *' I cannot read it, and I do not intend to learn. My English books are enough to last anybody through the longest winter. "With Ben Jonson, and Defoe, and Eielding, and a few other such friends, a man need never feel dull or wearied." " Then you live here all the year round ? " I asked. " Yes," he replied, " T have ])een here now for some years, and I shall probably stop here for many years to- come. The place suits me. My rent is only twenty pounds, and my landlord is good enough to allow me tO' roam through his woods and to fish his waters as I please. I do not abuse the permission, and it adds greatly to my enjoyment. I am fond of flowers. I grow my own fruit and vegetables, as you can see. l^oultry and pigeons are destructive, but I have some fine rabbits. I would keep a pig, were it not for the trouble of attending to the beast." I began to feel strangely interested. My new friend A MODERN HERMIT. 85 had spoken without the least reserve, and yet there was evidently some sort of a secret about him. In a tentative kind of way I asked him whether he found life dull. " ISFot at all," he replied. " Nigger here " — Nigger was an overgrown bulldog, who was at the moment stretched out at full length, precisely where the patch of warm sunshine slanted on the threshold — " is capital •company. You know what Landor said : that he was sorry for the man wlio had got a wife, and had not got a dog. Then I have my garden ; and I can catch eels from the lawn. In the evening I go down to the Horse and Groom. The big men of the ^•illage — the butcher, and baker, and candlestick-maker — discuss afi'airs of State there, and are very severe on Mr. Gladstone. Then, too, the curate looks in now and again, and drinks tea and plays chess, and tries to gently coax me into the Tight path. What path are you in yourself ?" I was a little bit upset by the suddenness of the . Possibly, sir. But if young men like Lord Lackland were commonly prudent, they would raise money — if they had to raise it at all — in a legitimate manner, through the regular channel, and at a reason- able rate. ]\Ik. E. "Peasonal»le rate," Air. B. ! Mr. B. ]\Iy name is Barker, Mr. Eike. Mr. E. Very well, ]\Ir. Barker, tlien. " Eeasonaljle rate " ! Eeasonable gammon ! J^ook here : what do i/oic do ? You won't lend a cent without security up to the hilt, and you charge five per cent, for doing it. It pays you a precious deal better tlian investing in Consols, and it's quite as safe. Then, a nice little lawver's bill 92 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. you run up over the job, you and your son-in-law the conveyancer who prepares the deeds, which are all common form, you know ; as common form as a bill of exchange. And I suppose solicitors never get commis- sion on life insurance. And then, as soon as you can decently work it, your client is " Aery sorr}', but he is obliged to call his money in." And so you have to find another client and transfer the securities to him, and go through the whole rig over again. Mk, B. I do not know if you mean to be offensive, sir. Mr. E. Not a bit of it. But I know this, that, what with one thing and another, you make thirty per cent, ■on your money, with security as safe as the Bank. I take no security, and when 1 have reckoned my losses perhaps I make fifty. I wish I was in the legitimate line myself, l)ut I'm bringing my boy up to it anyhow. He's at Eton, you know, along with your sons. They're rather thick, I believe. ]\Iii. B. (disconcerted). I was not aware of the fact. Mi;. E. (ehcerftd/j/). Oh yes. 1 mean ]ny boy to be respectable, you know. Live in CJrosvcnor Square; go to church ; take the cliair at missionary meetings like you fellows do. I'm too fond of the tables, I am. And 1' like baccarat, and I'm fond of horsellesh; and every now and then I get tlic "knock" pretty heavy, I can tell you. ]]ut the boy's a good boy; not a young rip VISCOUNT LACKLAND; OR, USURY. 93. like Lackland. And (meditativehj) I shouldn't mind seeing him county member. And Lackland Towers might suit him some day. Odder things have happened. Mr. B. Mr. Eike, your sentiments towards your son do you every credit, but the Lackland estate is strict!}' entailed. Mr. E. {knocking aiuay an inch and a half of ash). Is it ? Well, entails don't always last, and there are other firms than yours, Mr. Barker. But really I should like to settle this matter amicably. {Rises.) Mr. B. {rising also). Sir, in cases such as this, T always advise my clients to avoid, if possible, the enor- mous expense and painful publicity of litigation. Mr. E. {stretching his legs). I reckon they don't find private arrangements very much cheaper, anyhow. Your firm have a fine business, Mr. B. And I like that place of yours in Berkshire very much. You made a good bargain when you bought up the equity of it. Mr. B. {'preserving his eq^ianimity). Well, Mr. Eike, I am sure you have no personal feeling in Lord Lackland's- matters. Mr. E. {emphatically). Xot a d — n ! Mr. B. And I should wish, for the sake of the family, that matters were arranged without scandal. I have heard something of the Viscount's entanglements ^ 4)4. SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. besides, Lord Bareacres is in precarious health, and any .sudden shock Mr. E. {drDhj). Is he ? I didn't know it. Well, Mr. Barker, I'm at the Hotel de Paris, ]\Ionte Carlo. If you'll dine with me to night Mk. B. I am very mucli afraid I am engaged. But I am here for some time ; we shall meet again, no doubt. ■{Offers his hand, which Mr. E. shakes heartily. Aside to himself, resuming his seat, and forgetful of his " Gcdig- nani " and the 23ros2Ject) That's a dangerous fellow ! 1 must wire to Draft. Thirty thousand, he said. He'll take twenty at onee. The Bank will do it for us at four. We nmst make it five and a half, and the costs will come to something. A very dangerous fellow indeed ! {Meditates.) Mr. E. {to hirascif as he saunters in a sedisficd lounge towards the Gare, en route for Monte Carlo). Sly old scoundrel ! IMeans mischief, or he wouldn't have ended &o civilly. Wants his own pick at the bones, does he ? Infernal old hypocrite! He'd stand in with me to- morrow, if I gave him the chance. You are a nailer, you .are, ]\Ir. 1j., you and your piety ; but you ain't a patch on Sol Isaacs. Sol will best you yet, my boy. {Throws away his cigar, and whistles the Glo7i-Glou duct from *' La Mascottc " in an undertone of quiet content.) ( 95 ) TIT FOR TAT. From Miss Dorothy Sampson, 17 Pomona Gardens, Baysiuatcr, to Sir Reginald Foglc, Bart., Baccarat aid), Fcdl Mall, S.W. July 20, 1885. My darling Regy, — I feel most acutely that it is not for me to write to you first, after the way in which you treated me at Lady Cheltenham's last night, even if it were only to ask you for an explanation of your extraordinary behaviour. Instead of coming to claim the dance I had promised you, although you had acknowledged IMamma's bow, and therefore must have known tliat / was there, you filled your card nearly up before coming near me. And when I said, as vjas only 'natural, that it was rather unusual conduct, you went off in a huff, talking about returning presents and never seeing each other again, and so on. Ikit, Kegy, you know I love you. Although you have run through so much money, and have been so wild, I am quite ready to wait till you get that appointment ; and we can satisfy Papa that, at all events, you are a 96 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. i:jood boy. So, you can't call me so very unkind, after all, can you ? This is our first quarrel — let it be our last. I shall expect you to call to-morrow afternoon to be forgiven. Yours still the same, DOLLIE. From Sir Beginald Foglc, Bart., to Miss Dorothy Sampson. July 21, 1885. My dear Miss Sampson, — I have just received your very kind letter, and for which I thank you sincerely. At the same time, you must be aware from what you have seen of me that I am not a man to come to a determination lightly, nor, having come to it, lightly to depart from it. T have lately noticed (and specially the night before last) the lamentable incompatibility of our tempers. Tar be it from me to blame you for the misunderstanding between us ! On the contrary, let us both be thankful that you are not yet irrevocably bound to one possessed of a heart so sensitive as not to be able to support a slight, however unmerited, from the object of his affections. I therefore think it better far — " Best for yon, and best for me " TIT FOR TAT. 97 — tliat we should part. Enclosed you will find the letters you have addressed to me, and the cigar-case. I will leave the rest to your discretion. My letters to you, I know, are in good hands. Believe always that I shall entertain the deepest respect for you. I trust that the end of our engage- ment will not also prove the end of our friendship. Forgive me if I give you pain. It is only to save you misery. Always most sincerely yours, Eeginald Fogle. P.S. — I am sure you will not misinterpret me if I add that I hear your father, although one of the most respected merchants in Leeds, is not tlu Mr. Sampson of Leeds. Now, how could we live ? I, depending upon the remote possibility of an appointment of £200 a year — you, with the tastes, habits, and aspirations of an extravagant woman. Impossible ! From Miss Dorothy Sampson to Sir Reginald Fogle, Bart. November 21, 1885. Deak Sir Eeginald, — I was glad to meet you in Piccadilly the other day, but I was sorry to see you look so pre-occupied. I do trust it is not the little II 98 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. mistake which I made in entrusting my life's happiness to your care which occasions your grief. I assure you that your letter to me after Lady Cheltenham's ball quite dispelled any girlish folly I might have retained in my head. Why did you tell me, by-the-way, that " the appoint- ment " was a certainty of iJ"2000 a year, if it was only an improbability of i^200 ? But, as the actors say, " a truce to this." I have been enjoying myself vastly ; and I trust that, for all your careworn looks, you have l^een doing the same. We are at home on Wednesdays. Pray call ; that is, if you meant what you said about " friendship " in your letter. Sincerely yours, DorvOTiiY Sampsox. P.S, — Talking of friendship, I am ready to prove my friendship for you. Listen ! ]\Irs. Thompson is staying at the Grand Hotel, Brighton, with her two daughters. One is lovely — one is plain. But one has just come into lier godmother's money (i^i 50,000). I am sorry to say that I hear it is the plain one. Wliy not go down and make love to her? She is very romantic, so pray (loiit talk about settlements if you want to succeed. If you marry her, don't forget that you owe it to the friendship of your old friend Dollie. TIT FOR TA T. 99 From Sir Reginald Foglc, Bart., Grand Hotel, Brighton, to James Simillcr, Ehci., Baccarat Club, Fall Mall, S. W. January 5, 1886. Dear Jimjiy, — Just received yours. I can only say that it is all right. It will be all settled in a day or two. 1 am very sorry that I can't promise you any- thing just at present, as the L;irl is very peculiar, and won't even listen to the mention of anything connected with money. However, I've done tlie trick this time, I think. She's booked, 1 feel sure. The sister is one of the sweetest girls I ever saw, and strch a beauty, but "where tlie treasure is there must my heart be also!" Mg one, Sarah (pretty name, isn't it ?), is most certainly plain, but she is well gilt. ^150,000 is not so bad, is it, old man ? You shall have the amount I owe you as soon as the wedding is over. Yours always, Eegy. P.S. — I would send you something on account, only the expenses of the wedding and the honeymoon will make more than a big hole in my ready money. And, until we are married, I can't claim much control over liers ; can I ? II 2 joo SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. From Sir Ilcginold Foglc, Bart., Grand notcl^ Brighton, to Miss Sarah Thompson, Grand Hotel, Brighton. January 8, 1886. I love you madly, passionately, and you know it- Think me foolish, think me — well, anything you please ;. but believe in my sincerity when I tell you that 1 can- not stay on here — nay, more, that I cannot stay in England — unless you deliver me from this awful sus- pense. Shall I go, or not ? Tell me, darling Sarah. Yours ever, and always, Eeginald. Frorti the " Times" of the 2$th of February 1886. On the 23rd inst., at St. Vitus's, Bays water, by tlie Eev. Aloysius Brown (uncle of tlie bride) assisted by Canon Cruttwell, Vicar of the I'arish, Sir Eeginald Fogle, Bart., of Fogie Hall, Brokenshire, to Sarah, elder daughter of John Thompson, Esq., of 15 Modderit Square, Bayswater, W. From Miss Dorothy Sampson, to Sir Reginald Fogle, Bart., Hotel dcs Frinees, Faris. February 29, 1886. Dear Sir Eeginald, — Allow me to congratulate you TIT FOR TAT. lor ■on the occasion of your wedding, which I saw announced in the Times of the 25th. I am afraid you must be a sadly changeable man. I remember you once wrote to me to say that you could not marry unless the young lady had money. Why did you go and fall in love with Miss Sarah Thompson, when it is her pretty sister, Miss Blanche Thompson, to whom the i^ 150,000 was left ? However, to a man possessed of a sensitive heart like yours, the mere suggestion of a mercenary motive must be unutterably disgusting. So I will say no more ])ut this — that your disinterested choice does equal honour to your head and your heart. Yours, Dorothy Sampson. I don't quite remember whether, in my last letter to you, I said that the money had been left to Sarah. Did I? ( 102 ) LE EEYEES DE LA MEDAILLE. From James Haddcrhj, Esq., Manager of the Hilarity Theatre, Piccadilly, to Lord Eustace Wayle, Crocus- Cluh, Pall Mcdl. January 22, 1881. My dear Lord Eustace, — I was not surprised at receiving your letter, as I have suspected you, for some- time i)ast, of a more than decided partiahty for Miss Undine Duval ; I have now and then fancied that she might one day return it. You could not liave done better than apply to me. An actress may deceive her own family as to her morals and her manners, but she will find it very hard to take in her manager. As Miss Duval has been a member of my company for over two years, I am therefore speaking with authority when I say tliat I should no more believe an imputation against her character than against my own sister's. ft is true that she takes leg-parts in opcra-bouffe, and that she has always had hosts of admirers ; but she is a LE RE VERS DE LA MEDAILLE. 103 lady, if ever there was one, and whoever may speak lightly of her lies in his tliroat. It is obvious that my testimony must be disinterested, since, if you marry her, I lose the best " draw " I have had yet. "Well, then, I will conclude with this — if she consents to become your wife, you are a devilish lucky man ! Yours very sincerely, James Hadderly. From the Duke of jBarbellion, Castle Barhellion, N.B., to Lord Eustace Wayle, Grand Hotel, Paris. Fehruary 22, 1881. Dear Eustace, — As your letter, just received, informs me that your marriage with an actress is now a fait accompli, I shall not waste either time or paper with the enumeration of my various and very natural objections thereto. It is ridiculous to remind me that Dukes have some- times sought their wives on the stage. A Duke can do many things that a Duke's dependent cannot. But, after all, you arc one of my sons. On condition, therefore — ist. That your wife never again performs in public, and, 2nd. That you both live out of England, I wiU allow I04 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. you ;!^500 a year, upon which sum, together with the income of ;^300 you have under your poor mother's will, you ought to be able to live very comfortably, I warn you that the continuance of this allowance depends entirely upon your strict fulfilment of the conditions I impose. I thank you for the expression of your filial devotion. Yours affectionately, Bakbellion. From, Lady Eustace Wayle, Magnolia Villa, Ballaloola Boad, Melbourne, to Mrs. Duval, 173 Craven Street, Strand, January 30, 1883. You keep saying that I don't answer your inquiries about Eustace. Well, my dear Mother, I don't say anything about him, because there is nothing cheering to say. He cannot help being an invalid, poor fellow ; but I don't think that I should have married him if I had known that he was consumptive. Besides, what with doctors' bills, the delicacies he cannot live without, the carriage exercise he nmst have, and so on, we can- not make both ends meet. You may as well know it at once. I have had to go back to the stage. I feel that if once Eustace were to find that marriage had deprived him of his accustomed LE RE VERS DE LA MEDAILLE. 105 luxuries, he would cease to love me — perhaps cud by hating me. And so I have got an engagement at a Melbourne theatre at ;^I2 a week. It is a long drive from here, and when I have done at night I have to sit up, as a rule, nursing, till about three in the morning — some- times later. So it isn't a very lively state of things, is it, dearest Mother ? . . . . From Capt. Hugh Forrester, A.D.C., Government House, Melbourne, to Charles O'Shanter, Fsq., ^rd Life Ckiards, Knightsbridge. February 30, 1884. .... Who do you think is out here with his wife ? Who do you think lets his wife act in boys' parts at the Oaiety, and cops the salary to pay for his pretty victoria and line old port ? Why, Eustace Wayle, wlio used to be thought rather a good fellow, and has now turned into a selfish, invalidish beast. Poor Undine ! I used to be awfully fond of her — I am afraid I am so still. It is too dreadful to think of the life she must lead, particularly since the Duke's agents have found out that she has returned to the stage. It seems that the Duke stopped Wayle's allowance the moment he heard of it. And friend Wayle (who was ready enough to let her do it, as he thought, " on the <[uiet") now rounds on her, and says she has ruined lo6 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. him. It makes my l)looJ boil when he talks of it. Don't take any notice of what I say in this disjointed letter. Above all, don't think that Undine has ever given me the slightest encouragement to breathe a w^ord of my devotion. She is an angel ! . . . , From Messrs. Shortcroft & Baid, i 5 Lincoln s Inn Fields, to Lord Eustace Wmjle, MeXbourne. Jidy 10, 1884. My Lord, — We have the honour to inform you that,, according to the will of your lamented father, the Duke of Barbellion (whose decease we announced to you by telegram), you are entitled to the sum of ^50,000, free of legacy duty, which sum we hold at your disposal. Awaiting your lordship's instructions, we are, my lord. Your lordship's obedient Servants, SnoiiTCROFT & Eaid. From Captain Forrester, Lonys Ilotcl, Bond Street, W.^ to Lady Eustace Wayle, Grand Hotel, Brighton. January 17, 1885. ]\Iy dakling Undine, — I have just received your letter. You acknowledge that your married life has never been happy ; that, at the best, you have been nothing more than a nurse and a bread-winner; that your husband's conduct has every year become more LE RE VERS DE LA MEDAILLE. 107 selfish and cruel ; and that, now he has come into some money, he openly regrets having married you — and yet you refuse to come to my loving arms and tender cure. Well, I respect you for the refusal, darling. It shows you are worthy of my love. But, thanks be, there is a way out of the dilemma. Leave him. Come up to London. We will openly take apartments together as man and wife. But I pledge you my word of honour, as an officer and a gentleman, that I will only come to see you as I would a sislcr until he has got his divorce, and then — then, we will Ije married immediately ! Your ow^n, Hugh. Telegram from U. Wayle, Brighton, to Capt. Forrester, London, January 18, 1885. Meet me, Victoria, five-thirty this afternoon. Hava decided to act as you wish. Divorce Court Proceedings, siibseqiiently reported in the " Times:' Wayle v. Wayle and Forrester. This was an undefended action, and the allegations of the petitioner having been fully proved, the Court pronounced a decree nisi, with costs against the co- respondent. ( io8 ) EPISCOPAL DISCIPLINE. Scene : — Tlte Horticultural Fete at Crkhelhampton- on-Sea. The Bishop of Crichel, in an ■ apostolic attitude, is watching the conclusion of tlte lawn-tennis match for the championship of the county. The match is over, mid the conqueror, the Eev. Thomas Jones, B.A., raises his forefinger to the peak of his flannel cap) as lie crosses the shadoiu of the episcopal gaiters. The Bishop of Ceichel. Good-morning, Mr. Jones. You have won the match, I learn, Mk. Jones. Yes, my lord ; I have pulled it off tliis time ; glory be ! The Bishop. Really, Mr. Jones, that is not quite the language — ur — which — ur — I should have hoped to have heard Mk. Jones. Why, Bishop ? You're from Cambridge, and so am I. I was rowing in Third Trinity when your lordship was tutor at Kat's. I thought your lordship would be glad to know tliat we'd lowered the EPISCOPAL DISCIPLINE. 109 (lark blue. Colonel IJowyer, of the garrison, laid me a pony to ten on the Rural Dean, who was so great a player at Oxford. Used to play Mark Pattison, you know. The Bishop. I cannot altogether regret this meeting, Mr. Jones, because it — ur — gives me — ur — the oppor- tunity of saying a few words to you. Shall we walk aside ? Miu Jones {thrusting his racket under Ms arvi). Certainly, my lord. The Bishop. I have been anxious for this opportunity for a long time, Mr. Jones. ]\Ir. Jones. I live five miles from your lordship's Palace. A letter could easily have fetched me. The Bishop {sevcrchj). And I rejoice that it has come at last. The Archdeacon, Mr. Jones, does not speak well of you. I am told that you keep a yacht, that you hunt, and that you shoot ; and to-day I learn with amazement, from your own lips, that you bet ! Mr. Jones {pcnitentially). It was a very little bet, my lord. Only twenty-five pounds, and with my brother-in-law. The Bishop. Twenty-five pounds, Mr. Jones, is ]\Ir. Jones. The precise income of your lordship's private chaplain. Yes, my lord. I pay my own curate two hundred. The Bishop. Mr. Jones, the total value of your vicarage is only two hundred and seventy-five. «io SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. ]\Ir. Jones. Yes, my lord, with a very nice house and garden, and eighteen acres of glebe. But the parish is a very straggling one, so I keep a curate to do the light work for me. The Bishop {drumcrinfj). I would have you under- stand, Mr. Jones, that I am speaking seriously. Your levity is ill-assumed. When a beneficed clergyman in my diocese keeps a yacht, and hunts, and shoots, he sets a bad example, and neglects the — ur — opportunities of — ur — edification which have been graciously bestowed upon him. Mr. Jones {defiantly). IMy lord, you're Bishop of Crichel, and I am Vicar of Bebblehampton. By what right does your lordship speak to me in this way ? The Bishop. As being, by the grace of CJod, your ecclesiastical superior. Your conduct, j\Ir. Jones, has long pained me very deeply, and I must insist on an alteration. ]\Iu. Jones. Look here, my lord. I have two hundred and seventy-five a year. I pay two hundred out of my own pocket to a curate whom I am not obliged to keep. ]My brother, a medical man, wdio has no occasion to practise, lives with me at the Vicarage, and attends all the poor for nothing. ]\Iy curate looks after the old women and hears the children their Catechism. I, my- self, preach on Sundays, audit the parish charities, and EPISCOPAL DISCIPLINE. iir supplement the poor-law out of my private purse. I will not ask your lordship how your episcopal revenue is apportioned. The Bishop {uneasily). Sir, there are many demands which Mr. Jones. Yes, I know. Your lordship has a large family. The Bishop {reacMiKj hoiliiifj ])oint). 8ir ! Me. Jones {unabashed). Yes, my lord. There have been five good livings in your lordship's gift. Two have gone to your lordship's sons, and three to your lordship's sons-in-law. The Bishop (hoiling over). Sir ! I exercise the patron- age which Heaven has placed in my hands with a due regard Mk. Jones. Oh, yes, my lord. You never promote a man who rides to hounds, or follows the ])artridges, or keeps a fifteen-ton yawl. The Bishop {cJwking ivith indignation). Certainly not. And let me tell you, Mr, Jones, that I have warned you as a father might warn an erring son, and that, unless I soon hear differently from the Archdeacon, I shall feel it my painful duty to take the opinion of my Chancellor. Mr. Jones {placidly). Your fourth son-in-law and recognized leader of the Muckborough sessions. Very well, Bishop. I see him coming this way witli your 112 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. family party. Before they reach ear-shot, let me tell you just this — that you're a humbug. [The Bishop turns j^urpJc witli indignation. Me. Jones {idtcrly unmoved hy the episcopal wrath, and emphasizing his sentences ly slapping the jmIm of his hand with the rim of his tennis racket). Yes, my lord, a humbug. I care as little for your lordship as for your lordship's Archdeacon or your lordship's Chancellor. I rowed in the Third Trinity boat, and I was fourth classic. Your lordship never did anything at Cambridge, and you never would have been a Bishop but for the influence of your wife's brother's sister-in-law with her own sister, the wife of the Lord Chancellor. You do not yacht because you can't afford it, and would be sea-sick if you could. As for shooting and hunting, you know rather less about them than you do about cricket. "\"ou are notoriously mean in money matters ; and yet you dare to censure me, who spend in my parish very much more than my small stipend. The Bishop {recovering hreath). I was not aware, Mr. Jones, that the Lord had so blessed Mil. Jones {hrusrpicly). The Lord ! It was my uncle, Dan ]\Iurdoch, the ironmaster. The Bishop {gasping). Of Crartsherrie ? Me. Jones. Exactly so ; well, lie did liis duty by me, and so a few hundreds a year spent in my parish don't hurt me. EPISCOPAL DISCIPLINE. 113 The Bishop. Indeed. I was not aware that Provi- dence had — ur — so — ur; but — ur — here are my wife and daughters. ]\Iay we hope to see you and Mrs. Jones this evening at the Palace ? Me. JOiS^ES {good-naturedly). Thanks, my lord. I and my brother, the doctor, are both bachelors, and we dine to-night with the garrison. The Bishop {with episcopal persuasiveness). Then to- morrow evening. My wife and daughters will Me. Jones. I see them within ten yards, Bishop, and I am somewhat scantily dressed, I can't come to- morrow. I am off for two days' trawling. Good-bye, and think better of me. I entirely forgive the Archdeacon. [Exit. Mes. Bishop and the family appear on the scene. Mes. Bishop {authoritatively). I trust, Bishop, you have spoken to that man as he deserves. The Arch- deacon has just assured me The Bishop {testily). Bother the Archdeacon ! Mes. Bishop {horror-struck). Bishop ! The Bishop. Yes, Maria, Mr. Jones is a credit to the diocese. Eldest Miss Bishop {scornftdly). I don't think a clergyman a credit to the diocese, pa, when he smokes a short wooden pipe in the cut-flower tent, wears a black necktie, and actually drives up tlie officers from the barracks in their four-in-hand. I 114 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. The Bishop {sharply). Hold your tongue, Elizabeth ! Maria, a word with you {walks apart with Mrs. Bishop). The gifts of Providence are manifold. Mr. Jones has been amply blessed. He and his brother are nephews ^nd co-heirs of Mr. Murdoch, the great Iron King. Mr. Jones is doing admirable work in his parish. God has blessed his labours, and I feel it my duty to single him out for preferment. Elizabeth is twenty-seven, I think. Yes, exactly so. ]\Iaria, you will write and ask Mr. Jones and his brother t6 dinner. {Scene closes.) ( 115 ) A PRUDENT MARETAGE. Irom- Sir James Coynlcss, Bellwether Castle, Loamsliirc, to the Bowager Bady Hoohham, i/A Balmeircc Square, Brirjliton. Octoher 20, 1S75. jMy deah Lady Hookham, — I dare say you will be surprised at hearing from me, but when I tell you I am writing in the greatest perplexity, and upon the most delicate matter, you will, I am sure, understand my object in addressing you, and excuse the trouble I am giving you. You will see 1)y the address that we are at present still staying with the Bellwethers. Under ordinary circumstances our visit should now terminate ; but Evelina has been the life and soul of the party, and Lady Bellwether has fallen quite in love with her. And, on my side, Lord Bellwether, who is not so young as he was, and is very fond of a good opponent at chess, and a good listener to his interminable stories about George IV. — Lord Bellwether declares that I am the only man in tlie house worth associating with. That means, for me, free quarters till further notice ; I 2 Ii5 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. and for Evelina, the chance of securing one of the two- most eligible partis I have yet succeeded in finding for her. But, alas ! my dear lady, there is an adder in the path. What was the use the other day, when we went in a party to Carlingford Abbey, of my putting the wretched girl into the phaeton with young Lord Bullion because I was nervous, and " preferred Evelina's place in the landau with dear Lady Bellwether" ? What was the use, when Juteley, the rich cotton broker, came for a walk with my misguided daughter and myself, of my "having a warning of my old complaint," after a hundred yards or so, and leaving them to finish a two hours' stroll alone ? Alas ! my dear lady, none. Eor there has been staying in the house a certain George Lynch, who, I believe, is by trade a barrister, who I am certain is falling in love with Evelina, and who, I fear, is inducing her to reciprocate his folly. He certainly is not repulsive in appearance, nor is he dressed otherwise than as a gentleman. And he pos- sesses some sort of superficial talent in the scribbling. of rhymes and the tinkling of the pianoforte. But I feel sure he considers himself lucky if he makes ;^300 a year. This is bad enough, but the worst has to come : — Lady Bellwether favours and assists the fellow in his audacious design ! Prompt liighft' is, of course, the only way out of it. A PRUDENT MARRIAGE. 117 But here is the dilemma ; I am very comfortable here, and I don't want to fly. I want to slay on. Can you — ivill you, dear Augusta, help me in this delicate matter ? Could you — would you invite Evelina to stay with you at Brighton, at once, for a time ? If such a thing could be arranged, you would be the most beneficent " dca ex machind" ever heard of. Think of it, and write as quickly as ijossibk to your distracted James. I looked at your portrait last night ! Thirty years ago ! " Hcl uiilii prcclcrilos !" From George Lyneli, 3 Fmuj) Court, Middle Tcmjde, to Miss Coynless, 17A Pcdmcira Square, Brighton. Novemher 9, 1875. My own darlixg Lixa, — Little did I think when I was introduced to you by Lady Bellwether that, scarcely more than a fortnight after, we two should be standing under the beeches, in the glorious autumn sun, plighting our troth to each other ! You need not enjoin caution upon me, my sweet. And now to the main point in this scrawl. 1 am working very hard — going to make a fortune — for you. But I shall lose courage unless I see my swectlieart now and then — say once a fortnight. Ii8 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. It is now more than a fortnight since you left the Castle so suddenly. Will you slip out next Thursday morning, and meet me at the station, by the train which arrives from Victoria at eleven o'clock ? We can have a couple of hours on the downs all to ourselves ; and then I might meet you and the dragon in the afternoon hy accident in the King's Eoad. Say " Yes," and comfort the heart of Yours ever and only, Geoege. From Miss Coynlcss, Bricjldon, to Gconjc Lyneli, London.. January 20, 1876. My deaeest Geoege, — I write these few lines in yrcai distress of mind, to tell you that you must discontinue yoiir visits to Brigliton. I have long felt sure, from her manner, tliat some spy has been reporting our meetings to the dragon ; and it lias been painful enough to put up with tlie hints and innuendoes which have been heaped upon me in consequence. But after having been caught together in the waiting-room, as we were the other day, my life has been simply unendurahle. Well, then, be a good boy; wait till we come u]) to town. In greatest haste, your unhappy LliNA. A PRUDENT MARRIAGE. ii9 P.S. — Don't answer this, / fed sure she suspects something, and she is quite capable of opening my letters. P.r.S. — Of course I know Lord Eattelpayte. Isn't he one of Lady Hookham's oldest friends ? What of that ? Miss Coynless, Brighton, to George Lynch, London. February lo, 1876. Deae George, — I was very much surprised at meeting you yesterday morning on the pier, after my cles2')airing entreaty to you not to come down here again. Appa- rently you care little whether I am hullied to death by those upon whom I depend for a home, as long as you can indulge what you call " love," and what seems much more like a selfish desire to have your own way. But I was more than surprised at the letter which I have just received from you. What ! just because you find me listening to the band with Lord Eattelpayte, I am to be treated with eight pages of preaching and warning and recrimination ! I am quite aware that Lord E. is eccentric. And •what if he is? What if he does wear his hair in ringlets? What if he did go "hop, skip, and jump" down the pier the other day ? What if he did perform strange antics at the Levee last season ? That does not justify your most cruel accusation of 120 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. insanity ! Everybody knows luho he is. And an Earl can indulge in many freaks that would seem quite odd in the case of a nobody. As for your unjust suspicion about infidelity, I can only say that there is nothing whatever between Lord E. and myself but the most ordinary friendship. If you are so suspicious and so frightfully jealous now, what will you be when you are married ? I hope you are very, very sorry for ever having written such a letter. Yours sincerely, LiNA. From Sir James Coynless, Bart., 1 1 Bue de la Montague, Brussels, to the Earl of Battelpayte, 112 Bclgrave Square. April 30, 1876. My deah Loin) EATTELrAYTE, — The only objection 1 had to the brilliant ofler you have made to my beloved daughter was, in a word, the very brilliancy of it. It would be obviously unhtting that my dear child should contract an alliance so splendid that it would (owing to his straitened circumstances) either entirely separate her from her doting father, or reduce him to dependence upon the intermittent (and perhaps grudging) generosity of a son-in-law. A PR UDENT MA RRIA GE. 121 But the idea, which you say has occurred to your solicitors, of securing a suitahle annuity to the grand- father of the future Earl of Eattelpayte, in addition to the very handsome settlement you propose to make upon your bride, has put my scruples to flight. As long as honour is safe, you know, my dear lord 1 I have, therefore, no hesitation in giving my hearty consent to your proposal, and in praying Heaven to bless the union in which conjugal love will be blended with filial consideration and respect. I will duly inform you of my arrival in town, and meanwhile am, my dear lord, Yours most truly, James Coynless. Extract from the " Times" of May 9, 1876. Marriages. — On the 8th inst., at St. George's, Hanover Square, by the Lord Bishop of Paimtifoo, assisted by the Picv. A. Lowmass, the Paght Hon. the Earl of Fiattelpayte, to Evelina, only daughter of Sir James Coynless, Bart., of Blankton Lodge, Bucks. From the " Barridcrs Budrjct" of May i, 1886. We hear that among the next batch of Q.C.'s the Lord Chancellor has included the name of ]\Ir. George Lynch, of the Middle Temple and the Western Circuit. 122 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. We iinclerstaml, further, that in a few days Mr, Lynch will lead to the altar the Hon. Miss Blanche Codex, daughter of the Lord Chief Justice of England. On both occasions Mr. Lynch may feel sure of the hearty congratulations of his many friends in Loth branches of the profession. From the Countess of Mattel'paytc, Grimlcy Toicers, Cumherland, to George Lynch, EsSmitherson ? You never used to bet at Eton. Mr. John Smitherson. No, I never did ; and I don't now as a rule. But I made a fool of myself this time. Got the straight tip — Xaintrailles to wit ! I thought of going alu'oad this summer for a bit, so J put the pot on and over-boiled it. You know my governor. >Strictest Quaker in all Leeds. I daren't tell him. So here I am. Ah, Vandeleur ! I wish we were back at Eton. Viscount Hollycourt. And only in debt for tuck. Captain A^a.ndeleup.. Or you could lose your watch THE CAVE OF TROPHONIUS. 139 and get an order for a new one, and then lose that. {Lights afresh cigar.) Confidential Clerk [entering). Lord Hollycourt. (Retires with that nohleman.) The Honoueable Mr. Sparkingtox. I say, Winder, what will you give on his chance ? I don't think much of it. All the family land is in Ireland, and between Parnell and Gladstone Ireland is gone to the devil. I'll tell you what, I'll bet you a tenner it don't come oil'. Mr. Winder. No tenners to lose, my dear boy ; but I think it will. {WJiistlcs the Dead Mareh in ''Saul." Re-enter through ■private door Lord Holly- COURT, followed hg Mn. jMaurice Levisox himself. Mr. Maurice Levison is attired in a diamond stud and several diamond rings, relieved hy such minor accessories as varnished hoots, white gaiters, a blue New- market coat, curled hair, ohtriisive cuffs, and « crimson necktie.) Mr. Levisox. Good morning, my lord. Your Lord- ship shall hear from me at three o'clock precisely. Ah, Winder, my boy, how are you ? Come in. Pleasure first ; I always hate business. [Exeunt through jirivate door ]\Ir. Levisox and Mr. Wixder. Captain Vaxdeleur {anxiouslg) . Well ? Viscount Hollycourt. AVell ! Had to give him a letter to my bankers. Tlioy're to let him know what I40 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. my private account has Lecn for the last eighteen months. I think it will pass muster witli old Israel, and if it does, he'll do the job. He's coming to me at the club at three. That looks like business. Besides, he's got to go to Tattersall's himself. I expect we shall "'0 together. It will be a rare ioke. The Hoxoueable Mr. SrAUKi^'cxox. Ah, Hollycourt, there's money in a title. VisCOUXT HOLLYCOUKT. Sometimes. Anyhow, there's always money in a money-lend(;r, and if I {Enter from the inner room ]\Ir. Winder, wWi the step and manner of a Christian martyr goiny to the stake in red fire and limelight.) Omxes {cheerfully). "Winder's done the trick. ]\Ir. AVixder {casts his eye round and drops his voice to a ichispered imitation of the Icde Mr. Biickstone). My dear boys, I've done the Jew. Le Jew est fait. Vive le Jew!" {Rid)s his hands and takes his departure in a comic doid)lc shujjle) ^h\. Leyisox {opening jmvatc door). Captain Yan- deleur. Hoxoueable 'Mm. Srarkixgtox {as Yandeleur retires). Now, I'll lay Vandeleur gets his inoney. He's not much of his own, it's true ; but he has the run of Cheltenham House. He has great interest at tlie Horse Guards. lie's safe of a command — luke knows that, and Eike knows his customers. THE CAVE OF TROPHONIUS. 141 ViscouxT HoLLYCOURT. I liopc he woii't i^ct wliat lie wants, tliat's all ; there'll he the less chance for me. Old ]\Io never likes to shell out too much in one clay. Well, I'm off! {Exit) The Hoxourable Mr. Astley Spaekingtox {cm- 2)hatically). Selfish devil ! ]Me. Smitherson. Don't know him. But I like Vandeleur, and I hope he'll have luck. Why, talk Enter Cartain Vandeleur throwjh imvatc door. Sparkixgtox \ and - Well ? S:mithersox. ) Vaxdeleur {in whisper). All right. Said he'd do it •with the name of a man he named. That very man told me this morning he'd do anything ; so I said to old Mo, " I can get his name at fifty, but not at more." ]\Io grumbled, and we settled at sixty. Off to fetch my man. Ta-ta. Clerk {tliroiujh private door). Mr. Sparkington. {Diirinfj Mr. Sparkixgton's absence Mr. Smithersox walks up and down the room in a very arjitatcd condition, considts the Directories and Army List, and hetrat/s other signs of impatience. To him there enters throuf/h the 2nihlic door and unannounced, a (jcntleman of Hehreio persuasion, luho ccdmly sits doivn, lights a cigar and begins to read the piapers. Re-enter through the ptriratc door The Honourable Mi;. Sparkixgtox and Mr. Leyisox.) 142 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Mr. Levison. Xow, you've lieard my last, Mr. Sparkington. I'll settle your book for you myself on •our usual terms. But you don't get a cheque out of me. You'd only go down to Tattersall's and beg for time, and then you'd blew my cheque and come back to me when your time was up. Shall I settle your book, yes or no ? Mil. Sparkington. And twenty ready. Mr. Levison. Not a red cent. ]Mi;. Si'AiiKiNCTON {suWU/j). Then settle the book. [^Exit. Mr. Levison. Hullo, Jacobs, how are you ? Ready for you in a moment. {Turniiuj to Mr. Smitherson.) ]\ly private solicitor, Mr. Smitherson. All confidential. I've considered your letter. Sorry I can't do your business. You see you didn't mention any one. And you're only in lodgings oil' St. James's Square. And I don't think nnich of the Junior Cam and Isis Club. It's no show. Cood morniug. \Ej:it Mr. Smitherson. ]\Ir. Levison. AVdl, Sidney dacobs, how goes it ? I'm just off to Tattersall's. ^Vny news for me ? Mr. Jacobs. There's news for me. Are you stark, staring mad ? Mr. Levison. What do you mean ? ]\li;. jACOJiS. Who was that young chap you just kicked out ? ]\Ii;. Levison. Don't know him from Adam. He don't THE CAVE OF TROPHONIUS. 143 seem to liave any friends. Says he's been to Eton and to Oxford. Wants two hundred. They've all been to Eton and Oxford. Tliat cock won't fight. Me. Jacobs {solemnly). You're an ass. You don't even know your own Ijusiness. Mr. Levison. Don't I ? I know it better than you do your dirty law. Mr. Jacobs. Do you ? Well, I shall do that little bit myself. Ah, if young men would only come in the first instance to respectable professional practi- tioners ! Mr. Levisox {angrily). Stow your humbug ! AVhat do you mean ? Mr. Jacobs {yravdy shabimj his head in mock rebuke). Levison, Levison ! That mild young mug you've just kicked downstairs is the only son of Smitherson, Smitherson and Co., woollen warehouse at Leeds, and he hasn't a sister. ]\Ik. Levison {gaspingly). Good God ! Mr. Jacobs. Yes, Levison, yes. And he's the only nephew of Smitherson's patent manure works at Lime- house, and the manure works haven't a son. Fiii solicitor to the family. So I took care he didn't catch sight of me. Mr. Levisox {at the top of Ids voice). Benjamin! Benjamin ! {Enter confidential clerk.) Benjamin, you scoundrel, run after that gentleman at once — ]\lr. 144 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Smitlierson. If you dou't catch liini up, go to his lodgings, go to his chib, go everywhere. Tell him he can have a couple of tliousand. Bring liini back in half-an-hour, or you'll know why. And wlien you've found him, go to the Guards Club, and wait till Lord Holly court comes in, and tell him I'll do half, and not more. And now, Jacobs, business is over for the day. Light a cigar, and let's have a bottle of cham. and a biscuit before I go down to Tattersall's. ( 145 ) A MODEEN ELECTION. From Thomas Chccscman, Esq., Wliolcsale Chandler, 32 Queen Victoria Street, E.G., to Messrs. Shortcrojt & Raid, Lincoln's Inn Fields. May 20, 1885. SiE, — I have duly received your favour of yesterday's date. In answer, I beg to state that I still consider the price put upon the St. Maur Abbey Estate ridiculous high, and quite ;;^ 10,000 more than I should have bid under other circumstances. But as you say that if I don't close at once. Lord Eattlebury will, I'll give a point in your favour, and so the affair is settled. Please prepare all necessary documents as soon as 2)0ssihle, and write me when I can call and sign. I am, Sirs, Yours obediently, Thomas Cheeseman. P.S. — Having taken a fancy to the place, prompt attention to the above is politely requested. 146 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. From Lady Pursang, of Tlic Toivcrs, Slumherton, to the Rev. John Oldham, The Iicdori/, Slumherton. September 5, 1885. My deak Mk. Oldham, — Will you, or rather can you, dine with us to-night, cjifamille, at 8 o'clock ? Yours very truly, Laura Puusaxg. P.S. — You will never guess who called here yesterday ! Those odious Cheesemans, who have just l)0ught and re-decorated — or rather disfigured — dear old St. Maur Abbey. How I do pity poor Lady St. ]Maiir ! Of course / had not dreamt of calling upon thevi. But they came, nevertheless, principally, it seemed, to afford the dreadfvd man an opportunity of " 'oping that, bein' neighbours, we should be friendly, dro]) in on each other " (!), and so on. From the llcv. John Oldham to Lady Fiirsanrf. Scptemhcr 5, 1885. My deae Lady Pursaxc;, — I shall be cliarmed to dine to-night. With regard to "the odious one," I must tell you that he is anything but " odious " in my eyes just now. Tliis very morning I have received a cherpie for ;^S00 in aid of the Restoration Fund, and another for the same sum to be applied in the parish as A MODERN ELECTION. 147 I think fit, enclosed in a letter signed, " Thos. Clieese- raan." But (in your own words), you will never guess how the letter comes to an end ! " I am a plain man, and want no thanks. An acknowledgment in the local paper will suffice" (! 1 !). The italics are my own. Very sincerely yours, Joiix Oldham. From Thomas Cheese man, Escp, of Si. Maur Ahhcy, to the Secretary, Sliimherton Injirmar//, Octuher 5, 1885. Sir, — I have much satisfaction in enclosing a draft ior ;^i,ooo on my bankers in favour of the Borough Infirmary. As a local landowner I take the greatest interest in all local institutions. ]]eing a plain man, I neither expect nor do I wish for thanks for doing my duty according to my means. An acknowledgment in the local papers will suffice. Yours obediently, Thos. Cheeseman. Extract from the " Slumbcrton Sentinel," Novcmher 25, 1885. Last Tliursday the Vale of Heath hounds met on tlie lawn of St. ]\Iaur Abbey. The princely hospitality of the new owner, ]\Ir. Cheeseman, extended not only to L 2 148 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. the members of the Hunt and other usual recipients, hut to the vast crowd of spectators. Casks of ale were broached, a plentiful meal was welcome to each and all, even the poorest, and " all went merry as a marriage bell." Sir Hubert St. Maur certainly left many a sorrowful lieart when he quitted us ; but there is no doubt that the present munificent lord of St. ]\Iaur is an acquisition of the greatest moment to a rising and go-ahead borough like ours. On dit, that, in the event of Colonel Torakins' serious and long-continued illness deciding him to accept the Chiltern Hundreds, there is a some- body, not a hundred miles off, who miglit be induced to stand for the borough. To the Electors of the Borovjjli of Slumherton. St. Maur Abbey, January 2, 1886. Gentlemen, — In consequence of the sad demise of your late lamented representative in Imperial Parlia- mcnt his seat is vacant. I have the lionour to come forward as a candidate for that seat, and to solicit your votes. I am a plain man, and therefore will address you plainly. In politics, I say " Pailc Britannia ! " I am a Constitutionalist — that is, a good Liberal and no bad Conservative. A MODERN ELECTION. 149 Interference with farmers is un-English, in my opinion. Taxation shoukl ha ahke for all. I will vote against the admission of Atheists to Parliament ; hut otherwise will allow every man to think as he pleases. In local matters I say, " Slumberton for ever ! " I have already done some little for Slumberton. Let Slumberton elect me, and I will do more. Leaving my candidature in the hands of my intelli- gent and patriotic neighbours, and soliciting all their votes. I am. Gentlemen, Your obedient servant, Thomas Cheeseman. Telegram from Henry Blobhs, Election Agent, 200 Great George Street, Westminster, S.JV.,to Tliomcts Cheese- man, Esq., Slumberton. January 10, 1S86. Glad so many promises. Hope our men satisfy you. Report to-night that young St. Maur will contest. Carlton Club job. Telegram from Thomas Cherseman, Esrj., to Henry JUohbs. Let him come and try. Your men working to my .satisfaction. Election a certainty. ISO SOCIAL Vicissitudes Extracts from SjJi'cial Edition of the " Shionherton Scntind" January 13, 1886. BOROUGH ELECTION. State of the Poll. 12 noon. Thomas Cheeseman L. 372 Aubrey St. ]\Iaur C. 201 2 P.M. Cheeseman L. 585 St. ]\Iaiir C. 497 3 I'-^i- Cheeseman L. 609 • St. Maur C. 573 Close of the roll. St. Manr C. 675 Cheeseman L. 629 Mr. Aubrey St. Maur, the Conservative candidate, and son of Sir Hubert St. ]\Iaur, the late owner of St. ]\Iaur Abbey, was therefore declared by the ]\Iayor duly elected Member for the IJorough of Slinnberton by a majority of 46. Tlie result was received by a vast crowd, apparently not wholly composed of Mr. St. Maur's supporters, witli frantic and long-continued cheering. ( 151 ) A MILITARY MATCHMAKEE. 1. Mr. Moss Abeahajis, better known to his more familiar friends as Ikey Mo, was the largest money- lender in London. His transactions were on a colossal scale. Except for a duke or some peer of lesser rank with absolutely faultless introductions, he would under- take no business that was not in thousands. He had a great house in Portland Place and another in Palmeira Square, Brighton. He owned racehorses and also a club or two, having been blackballed successively at the Union, the Eeform, the Junior Athenteum, and tlie Devonshire. " Every gentleman," said ]\Ir. Abrahams, " ought to belong to a club ; " and so, as no club would have him, he started one or two on his own account, at which he was of course elected, and which paid him for his enterprise, both directly and indirectly. Mr. Moss Abrahams was a great patron of the drama. Most lessees owed him money, or might at any moment want to do so, and he as rigorously insisted on his 152 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. private box for all first niglits as if he were sole proprietor of a daily paper. His equipages were much admired. He had one or two steam-launches and a large steam-yacht, the Miriam. He banked with the Bank of England ; and he always spent the season at Monte Carlo, where he lived at the Hotel de Paris ; seldom lost, and occasionally broke the bank. For the rest, he was a little, fat, vulgar man, with execrable taste. Having a very red face and very pronounced features, he used to dye his whiskers black, and in summer time to disport himself in white gaiters, white waistcoat, a bright blue necktie, and a Newmarket coat, with a priceless orchid in its button-hole ; and thus apparelled he would swagger about in the liow, or strut into Tattersall's, or march down St, James's Street, staring in at White's, and Brooks's, and Boodle's, and Arthur's, and the Conservative, with the air of a man who could belong to them all if he pleased, but who scorned to do so. "He is a most insufferable little cad, that Moss Abrahams," said Lord Grey de IMelton, looking out of one of the windows at White's as Ikey paraded past with his IMalacca cane shouldered like a sword. " He's a rogue, who would be transported to-morrow if all his dirty doings were brought out," said the Honourable Oscar Snaffleton, of Her Majesty's 2nd Life Guards. A MILITAR V A/ A TCHMAKER. 1 5 3 "What do you think he had tlic clieek to do the other day?" lisped little Bernard Duval, of the Foreign Office. " He went to Dolly, old Skudmore's son, you know, and said, ' Look here, my lord, you owe me tive thousand.' Of course Dolly knew it, and of course Dolly couldn't pay it. ' Look here, my lord,' says Ikey, ' I'll show you I'm a gentleman. You get your father to put me up for the Eoyal Yacht Squadron. If I'm elected I'll hand you back all your stiff, and I'll give you a thou, into the bargain.'" " I hope Dolly kicked him downstairs," said Lord Melton. "I don't know," said little Duval; "but that's the story." Meantime ]\Ir. Abrahams had turned out of St. James's Street in the direction of St. James's Square, and entered one of his own clubs, where from the nominal proprietor down to the junior page, and the housekeeper to the lowest scullion, every employe held office at his nod. Something had evidently disquieted him, for he ordered a pint of champagne, although it was not yet one in the day, lit an immense cigar, and began to look at the ceiling. When a woman is making up her mind she looks at the ground; when a man is making up his mind he looks at the ceiling. I cannot tell you why it is so, but I know it to be a fact. 154 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. IMr. ]\ross Abrahams liaJ a number of things upon his mind, all of which had concurred to annoy him ; it is a way things have. In the first place, Adolphus Lapwing, eldest son of the Earl of Skudmore, had positively laughed at the idea of Mr. A])raliams seeking admission to the charmed circle of the J [oval Yacht Squadron. " Cuss his impudence," said Moss to himself between his teeth, " he shall pay for it. The Miriam hasn't her equal in the Solent, and I've spent thousands on her. The piano in the saloon is a Broadwood grand, and the glass, and plate, and china, and what not, are tip-top. Lazarus l)ought them in for me on purpose when we sold up Lord Swivvlechester. Lll go down there, though, this summer, if oidy to show them how T can do things ; and I daresay there'll be a few of them will be glad to see me outside their cursed cluij." And Mr. Abrahams grinned. But this was not the whole of his trouljles. In the first place, he had some lieavy charges »»n laud from a young nobl(;man who had died at Alalia shortly after coming into possession, and the administrators, together with the guardians of the infant heir, had actually been mean enough to bring a Chancery suit for an account^ and for all manner of things unheard of between gentlemen ; and had also actually gone to the length of imputing downiight fraud to ^Ir. Abrahams, than A MILITAR V MA TCHMAKER. 1 5 5 whom, as lie used to boast, a more straightforward man never did business in a straiglitforward way. '•' It's ungrateful, that's what it is," said ]\Ir. Abrahams, as he took n pull at his champagne, "but I shan't trouble about it. I shall leave it all to Clinch and Cutter, and I suppose they'll l)e able to tell mc what I've got to swear to, and get it down for me in black and white. I always hated law." This last remark was strictly true, for in early life, before j\Ir. ]\Ioss Abrahams liad amassed sufficient capital to start as a bill-broker and discounter, he had been involved in some little transactions which a high judicial functionary had declaretl to amount to a very aggra- vated case of bill-stealing. Then, too, there was his daughter Miriam — his only child. Now, ]\Iiriani was obstinately bent on marrying a young fool called Philip Tancred, who lived in lodgings in Chelsea, and exhibited at the Grosvenor Callery, an.d whom she had met at parties, and with whom her father had absolutely for- bidden her to communicate, and to whom her father would certainly never have lent a twenty-pound note without the additional security of a good name, having no faith in artists or literary men, or indeed in anybody except heirs to entailed estates, theatrical lessees, and men on the turf. Heirs to entailed estates he took a strictly commercial interest in, but he had also nil the instincts of his race lur u'aml)ling and for the drama. 156 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Beyond these he had no tastes whatever. He liked a L;ood dinner, however, and felt iiattered, and at least a .<|uarter of an inch taller and six square inches less bald, when in return for a certain nuniher of guineas he was enabled to })ut F.luG.S. after his name in the IJoyal lied-Book and on his cards, and to crowd with dukes and other " nobs " at the addresses of distinguished ex- plorers. These were ]\Ir. ]\loss Abrahams' cares, which somehow nnist have vanished by the time he had iinished his champagne and tlirown the stump of his cigar into the grate ; for as he rose from his easy-chair iind rearranged his orchid he distended his chest in the manner of a pouter pigeon, gave a cheerful cock to his curly-brimmed hat, assumed a military swagger such as may sometimes be observed in sergeant-majors of militia, and swore quite pleasantly at the waiter who humbly opened the door for his departure. 11. Colonel Wynnstay J )am])ier, of the Blues, only son of old j\Ir. Dampier of Medlicott Hall, Hertfordshire, was heavily in such few books as the business of Mr. Moss Abrahams made it necessary for him to keep. He had •commenced by borrowing a thousand pounds on a bill for lifteen hundred at six months, and so things had ^'one on until his debt amounted upon stamped paper to sometlnng like eighty thousand pounds. A MILITAR V MA TCHMAKER. \ 57 ^N'ow, Mr. ]\Ioss Abrahams was a very clever man. But so, too, was Colonel Dampier. The eighty thousand pounds nominal debt represented something like twenty- five thousand pounds actually advanced. The rest was made up of interest, commission charges on renewal, and other such items, extending over many years. Eor ]\Ir. Abrahams was a very clever man ; so clever, indeed, that he had never pressed Colonel Dampier for a moment, or even suggested unpleasant proceedings. He had made most careful inquiries, and had paid heavily for secret information. He had ascertained that the Dampiers succeeded son after father to ]\Iedlicott Hall since the days of Elizabeth. He knew that he was practically Colonel Dampier's only creditor. So he was waiting on for the old Squire's death, when he intended to propose- to the Colonel that all his bills sliould be burnt, and that he should marry Miriam. " It's as good as if I gave him eighty thou, witli her," said Mr. Abrahams ; " although I know precious well it ain't quite twenty-five. But he don't know that ; not he. He hasn't any idea. And she's a dam' good- looking girl, and had a splendid education. Plays the harp beautifully. She's fit to marry a coronet, she is." But Mr. Abrahams had too much common sense to wish to see his daughter marry a coronet. To see her mistress of j\Iedlicott Hall was quite suflficient for his ambition. It was a grand old Tudor mansion, witli 158 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. stone terraces and oaks about it, and elms in wliich the rooks cawed ; and ]\ross, who really lov^ed liis daughter, did not wish to see lier married too much above her rank, although lie could liave matched Iicr any day with a bankrupt earl. ]Medlicott Hall, he thought, was just about the proper place for her. .Vnd he was quite right ; for ^Miriam Abrahams was tall and handsome ; was well educated, intelligent, and sympathetic beyond most women of her age ; gracious in manner, and very good and gentle. When she had become ]Mrs. Dampier, Moss proposed to retire from business, lest his occupa- tion should embarrass his daughter and son-in-law, and render his own visit to tiie Hall a source of anxiety. He intended to realise ; to take a house on the Terrace at liichmond; to spend tlie season at ]\Ionte Carlo as usual, and to keep liis steam-yacht going during the calmer portions of tlie summer (lie w^as never a very good sailor), in spite of the slight jnit upon that noble vessel and liis important self liy the IJoyal Yacht ►Squadron. And this was the way in which Mr. Abrahams used to count his eggs and reckon his chickens. Xow, Colonel Dampier, of the lUues, was a gentleman, but he was also a very shrewd man of business. He had, for instance, never been suJIiciently foolish to have his name in the books of more tlian (me usurer at a time, or to get entangled in an action for divorce or A MILITARY MATCHMAKER. 159 iDrcach of promise, or to have less than a thousand pounds to his credit at Cox's. He was a reserved man with but few friends. These, however, knew him, and could always trust to his kindness and generosity. He had borrowed money of Abrahams because he did not wish to distress the old Squire, who was economical in his habits, although not at all penurious or even close, and for whom he had a very great affection. But he knew to a penny what money he had liad from Mr. Abrahams as well as did that gentleman himself, and he had made up his mind to pay the money-lender his twenty-five thousand pounds, witli whatever interest he should deem fair, and not a penny more. But there was also another matter tliat weighed with Colonel Dampier. I'hilip Tancred was liis close per- sonal friend. They had known each other from lads, and they had shared many curious adventures. Tan- cred, although he exhibited in the Grosvenor Gallery, was by no means an ethereal creature, for whom per- fumes and nmsic were sufficient sustenance. Where art was concerned he had all the sensitiveness of a woman, A touch of colour in the wrong place would at once give him the toothache, or, as ladies call it, neuralgia. ]hit he was as sinewy and active as a greyhound. He had the heart of a schoolboy. He would tumble out of bed at any iiour to net a river or trap a badger, or steal the advantage of a sli^lit l6o SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. hree/ce that ]iad spruiiLi; up during tlie night, and was sufficient to lift the yaclit four knots an hour. He could swim like an otter ; he had picked up a little fencing in Paris ; he could ride across country, even in a steeplechase; he could drive tandem, which is niucli more difficult, if you will take my word for it, than four-in-hand ; and he was considered one of the twenty best tennis-players in Europe. In addition to this he also came of a good old English family, although, as a younger son, his income was extremely small. Dampier liked Tancred, and Tancred liked Dampier ; and Dampier had, in a kind of way,, promised Tancred that if he would let things take- their course and not unduly trouble himself, he should marry Miriam^ daughter of Moss Abrahams, Esquire. Tancred, who had absolutely no knowledge of the world, trusted implicitly in Damj)ier. Dampier, who had considerable knowledge of the world, trusted im- plicitly to himself. "He ought to be very happy," said the Colonel, "if he gets back my twenty-five thousand pounds, with interest on it, settled on his daughter, and a good husband for her like dear old Philip. ]51ess his dear old nose!" — (only this was not the exact phrase the Colonel used) — " it's a very much better chance than, he had any right to expect. I think he ought to give me a liberal commission ; T do indeed." And A MILITARY MATCHMAKER. i6i Colonel Dampier tumbled into his little soldier's bed, and dreamed that the whole of the North-West Provinces had been invaded by an army of Parsee bill-discounters, and that he and the Duke of Cam- bridge and the Lord Mayor had been sent out with a flotilla of torpedo boats to save India, and that the campaign had been stopped by telegraphic orders from Downing Street because there did not exist in the world a sufficient supply of orchids to allow every English officer to go into battle with a flower in his button-hole worthy of his rank. This may seem non- sense ; anyhow, it is what Colonel Dampier dreamed. III. Early next morning Colonel Dampier, wliile stroll- ing about his room in his pyjamas, and discussing a moderate breakfast of tea and dry toast, received a telegram which made him ring his bell violently. His servant obeyed the summons, and in a few minutes the Colonel was on his way to the Horse Guards. Here he saw certain officials, and left an application for a fortnight's leave of absence. Within a few hours after this he was at Medlicott Hall. Medlicott Hall was sorely troubled. Old Squire Dampier had been suddenly stricken down with paralysis. The best local doctors were present in the hall, and there were two M i62 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. consulting physicians from London. V>\\t the confra- ternity all shook their heads. Squire Dampier, during the course of his dinner, had been seized all at once with utter powerlessness of the right side of his body. He had lifted his fork with his left hand, but had been unable to use his right arm to grasp his knife. He had risen from his chair, but his right leg had given way under him, and he had fallen heavily to the ground. He was now more or less unconscious. He did not even recognise his son. His left arm was all that he could move, and with that lie feebly tried to beat time on the counterpane. The principal London doctor took Colonel Dampier out, and asked him to join him in a walk under the verandah. " Your father. Colonel Dampier," said the great medical man, " will never recover consciousness. A large blood-vessel has broken on the brain, and there has been another rupture in the spinal cord, producing hemiplegia. Do you Icnow if your father has left a will ; for I ought to tell you tliat lie is not now competent to make one ? " Colonel Dampier laughed lightly — a laugh not suffi- cient to break the solemnity of the question. " There has not been a will with us Dampiers, Sir Mattlicw," lie answered that eminent physician, "since the days of Elizabeth. Medlicott Hall has always A MILITARY MATCHMAKER. 163 .'gone from the father to the eldest son. We have been a united family, and have never disputed about portions, or charges, or settlements and division of the personalty, and have never had to call in the appraiser to determine the value of the plate and china. 1 am perfectly certain my father has left no will whatever. I am his only child, and the only representative of the household. Everything will come to me as a matter of course. I shall never marry, and when I die tlie property must go as the Crown lawyers please." Sir Matthew bowed assent, and intimated that as he liad now laid his views fully before Colonel Dampier, lie thought it would l)e most advisable that he should .see the old gentleman once again and then depart for town. So Sir Matthew earned another ten guineas for ■another consultation, and went home to Sackville Street, and Colonel Dampier sent a telegram off Ijy a groom, with instructions to gallop as liard as he could to the nearest station. The telegram ran to .this effect : — From Dampier, To Philip Tancred, Medlicott Hall, Cheyne Ftialto, Hertfordshire, Chelsea Come down at once. The old man • is dead already. Put e\'erything aside. M 2 i64 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. And then Colonel Dampier, who not only loved his father, but liked him (and lildng between men is a good deal stronger than love), lit a cigar and walked up and down the terrace on the south side of the house. He knew the whole story. He was entirely the master of the situation. When his father died — whicli was probably a matter of hours — he would not have a relative in the world ; and he had only one friend for whom he at all cared, Philip Tancred. Philip must marry Miriam — that was clear. Philip wished it, and IMiriam wished it ; and so the thing must be done. As for himself, his command as Colonel would expire in six months. He did not intend to make any application for further employment : he should take a yacht and roam the world. Thirteen years before this, Dampier had fallen in love, and had been treated as many men arc treated who believe a girl and her parents. He was cured for ever of any such follies. He knew his own mind, and he valued his own liberty. With the whole world now before him he would chase walrus in the Kara Sea, the grizzly in the Pocky Mountains, the ounces in the ranges of Afghanistan, the elephant in tlie jungles of Ceylon, and the tapir in tlie swamps of the Pornese Archipelago. He saw before him an absolutely infinite future of delight. Twenty years of hunting in all climates, to be followed by a peaceful A MILITAR V MA TCHMAKER. 165 old age in England as a county magistrate, master of foxhounds, and member of half a dozen of the Lest London clubs. That night the old Squire passed peacefully away. He recovered consciousness just before his death, and was able to whisper to the Colonel, who sat by the bedside, with the old man's hand in his, " God bless you, my dear boy. I am proud to leave behind me such a representative of the old name. Good-bye, Wynn." A mutual pressure of the two bauds followed. •Colonel Dampier kissed his father's forehead. A sigh of blended satisfaction and relief escaped the Squire's lips, and all was over. The next few days were passed in making prepa- rations for the funeral, and Colonel Dampier received much assistance and consolation from his old friend, Philip Tancred, who arrived at the Hall just before Mr. Dampier's death. On the morning after the funeral. Colonel Dampier called on the lord of the manor, Sir Wilfred Blundell. Sir Wilfred was the same age as the Colonel, and had Ijeen with him at Harrow, and also in the Blues, but had retired from the service on his marriage some ten years previously. Now, Medlicott Hall was copyhold, and was held from father to son, sul»ject to a fine being paid to the lord of the manor. And if this fine were not paid within ten days of the death of the tenant for life. l66 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. the estate would ]>e forfeited. Dauipicr explained to Blundell exactly how lie fouiul himself situated, and it was at once agreed that the tine should not be paid, and that the copyhold should lapse. Immediately after the Squire's death ]\Ir. Abrahams began to press for his money. His letters, however, remained unan- swered, and when Messrs. Clinch, Cutter, IMoses,. Sliadrach, and Clinch commenced proceedings against the Colonel, they were compelled to inform their client- that a forfeiture of the estate had taken place, and that the lord of the manor had taken possession. Poor Ikey tore his hair, and alternatively swore and cried. The man must be mad, he said. Tf he had wanted any more money he could have had it. There was only one thing to be done. He must go down himself to tlie Hall, and see if he could come to terms with Sir Wilfred. And accordingly he went down ta Medlicott Hall, and at the entrance of the Park who- should he see l)ut Colonel Dampier strolling along with Philip Tancred. It is difHcult to say which he hated most at tliat moment, his daughter's suitor or" the Colonel. He stopped his lly, and rushed up to- the two men, almost speechless with excitement. " AVhat do you mean by this business ? You have robbed me ! I'll prosecute you ! I'll let you and that, precious beggar with you — who, I'll take my oatli, has been in tlie conspiracy — know wJiat 1 can do. My people- A MILITAR Y MA TCH MAKER. 167 sliall apply for a warrant to-morrow. If it costs me ten thou., I'll ruin you. I'll have the Attorney-General. I'll have Charles Bustle. I'll have George Trueis. I'll have Montagu " " Poor old chap," said the Colonel laughing, " I think that I can spare you a good deal of this expense. Listen to me. Be reasonable. I know what money I've had as well as you do. I've kept a note of every- thing. Now, I'm willing to return your money and twenty-five per cent, interest. And I will do so on one condition, and on one condition only, and that is, that you allow your daughter to marry my friend Philip. They are devotedly attached to each other, and you have no right to come between them, I am going away — at least I shall do so directly after the wedding — and they can live here as much as tliey please." " But you've lost the estate. How can you let any- body live here ?" " We shall see about that. Do you accept my offer ? That's the present question," replied the Colonel. And Mr. Moss Abrahams did accept the Colonel's offer ; and the lord of the manor accepted Dampier as a fresh copyholder on the roll ; and the handsome Miriam became Mrs. Tancred ; and the wedding took place at the parish church at Medlicott, in the presence of the whole county, from the lord-lieutenant down to i68 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. the smallest farmer ; and Old Ikey, who had settled a hundred thousand pounds upon his daughter, was delighted to find every one very civil to him. On the night of the wedding, in the smoking-room, when every one had gone to bed but the Colonel and himself, Ikey said, " To-day has been the only really happy day I have ever had in my life. I must thank you. Colonel, for this ; neither you nor the young people shall iind me ungrateful. Good-night." ( 169 ) THE NEW INN. "YeL PliOCnTTAil PRiEPONO SuBUER^." Sceke: — Tlie " Gi-een Dragon" near SI lootcrs Hill. In front of the liouse is a large laivn with immense chestnuts running dovm to a pleasant trout stream. Higher iqy is a stone bridge, and heyond it an old mill. In the distance is the village church. The coffee-room ^vindows look out ujpon an exquisite garden. Add, according to taste, jpoultry, pigeons on the roof, ostlers in their shirts, chambermaids in muslin caijs, &c. Enter from a fly. Me. Quickett, of the firm of QuieJcetf, Driver, Quickett and Leech, Solicitors, of Lincoln's Inn Fields ; and Mr. Snelson, of the firm of Messrs. Snelson, Ledger and Co., Cliartered Accountants, of Coleman Street. Me. Quickett Qie is fifty-five years of age, stotct, double gold eye-glass, heavy uxdeh-chain, and black band to hcd ; the family solicitor cdl over. He addresses the young lady at the bar). Brandy cold, please, miss. And you, Snelson, the same I suppose. Let me see the landlord, please. We have to drive over to Twelve I70 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Elms Park, find want dinner on our return. {The yoiUKj Icuhj calh tlui landlord, who comes i)i from the (janlcn. He is ahout foii/j-Jivc, tall, swihurnt, OAid looks suspiciously like a countrii gentleman.) Mil. Q. Er — landlord, my friend and I have to go over to Twelve Elms. And — er — we want dinner at four. A little bit of fish, and a roast fowl, and an. omelette, or something of that sort, and some cheese- fingers. Warm a bottle of your best claret, and have a bottle of port that you can thoroughly recommend carefully decanted. The job will stand that, Snelson^ as " incidental expenses." ]\Ir. Snelson (Ac is tall, thin, hilious, with carefidbj trimmed lohiskers, of age ahsolutely uncertain, and with all the appearance of a City man in heavy htisiness). I hope so, I'm sure {chuckles). In fact, I know as much, Mr. Q. And a cigar, please. You don't smoke, I think, Snelson. No. Why (taking cigar from landlord),. God bless my soul, it's Mr. Hardwicke Percival ! Landlord {laughing heartily). At your good service, ]\Ir. Quickett. Mr. Q. Well ! {gasp>i) AVell ! Of all— of all ! Well ! I knew you'd left the Bar, but I though you'd gone abroad — to Ileidelburg. Well ! I am surprised. Mr. p. And why ? Mr. Q. Well, you know, it seems so odd. You a THE NEW INN. 171 University man, too. And your father with his posi- tion. And just as you were beginning to get intO' business. In a few years you would have had a good chance of silk. Well ! Ileally ! ]\Ie. p. I don't see it, Quickett, at all. I'd quite as soon keep an hotel as be in the wine trade, like the sou of a noble Duke we know ; or on the Stock Exchange,, as his cousin is. Keeping an hotel is an honest busi- ness and a profitable one. I like it quite as much as 1 should like banking, which is only pawnbroking and moneylending on a big scale, and in a swagger manner. You would not have been astonished if I had gone into a bank. Why should you think tlie worse of me because I am keeping a public-liouse ? Money is the- only thing in these days. Mr. S. {scntcntiously). Too true, I fear. Land is depreciating terribly — depreciating terribly. (Scrnti- nizes critwalhj a large fliotogra'ph of Twelve Ehas Park,, hanging in the liar, and becomes absorbed in- it.) Mr. Q. Well, well, but you were doing well at the Bar, you know; and the Bar is a profession for a gentleman. Every young barrister (shakes his head judicialbj) has the chance of being a judge, or even Chancellor. Besides, with your father's influence, you. would have been certain of a County Court judgeship. ;Mr. p. I quarrelled with my father, Quickett. Mr. Q. (whistling). The deuce, you did ! AVhy ? 172 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Mr. p. Because I insisted on coming here. He said T was a blackguard, and was disgracing tlie family ; and I told liim I would not take that language from any one — and I won't. Mr. Q. {cautiously). Well, well, I don't like strong language — I never did ; but I think it's a great pity — don't you, Snelson ? Mr. S. {tvho is noio ahsorhed in some plans of Tvxlve Elms Park which he has i^roduccd from his 2^ockct). Eh ? Oh, yes ! Oh, certainly ! Most certainly ! {Resumes his study of 2Jlans.) Mr. Q. And especially when you were getting on so well. Why, our list of fees used to be nearly a hundred guineas a term. Mr. p. Eight you are, my dear Quickett ; and 1 had my che({ue from you three times a year. But you were about the only client who did pay regularly — ^ might almost say the only one who paid at all. You don't know how I was robbed. ]\Ir. Q. (with an air of superior solvency). 1 can guess. I am quite aware that certain members of my branch of the profession Mr. p. Exactly so. And, besides, you must admit, Quickett, that the Bar is going to the deuce. Eor every brief to be held there arc twenty men fighting for it ; and the fees, except for a very few men, are getting smaller and smaller. Look at Chuckster now. He's a THE NEW INN. 173 good man. He's had silk for fifteen years, and you know that yon can command him any day for five guineas. ]\Ii!. Q. {emphatically). It's true. Mr. p. Yes. You don't charge five guineas, Quickett, for coming down liere to-day to throw your eye over Twelve Elms. I'll bet 3"ou a bottle your price is more like twenty. And so is Mr. Snelson's. Mr. S. {roused from his majj). Eh ! Oh, certainly ! As senior partner, I consider my day entitles me to thirty guineas and my expenses. {Ecsumes study of map.) Mr, p. {lighting one of his own cigars). Well, you see, there it is, Quickett. I had been about twenty years at the Bar, and I found I was making about £^qo a year gross. I am not vain. But I know I've good abilities, and I know I liked law. Take off expenses of chambers and circuit, and what was left me ; I couldn't educate my family on it. And I had to work like a slave. Chambers and courts every blessed day from ten to five. And I hate London, and like the country. I had a little money of my own, as you know, so I bought this place — it's a pretty place, with plenty of grounds — and now (don^'t be afraid I shall over- charge you and IMr. Snelson) I am saving money every year. My two boys are at liugby, I have a little house at Eastbourne for my wife and girls in the i74 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. ■suimner. T have glorious country air. 1 grow my own fruit and vegetables, keep my cows, feed my own pigs, slioot and fish, and in the hunting season get a couple of days a week with the hounds. I potter ahout all day long, and I am as happy as a man need be. My life is insured, and if I die to-morrow the business will fetch a good deal more than I gave for it. ]Me. Q. But how about Mrs. Percival and the young ladies ? How do they like it ? Surely they were brought up to a different style of life. ]\Ir. r. Well, you see, that was a little diflicult. But there is a private door to the house, and not one of them has ever been inside the bar, or knows how to draw a glass of ale. After I had been here a month or so, the parson found out who I was. Being an hotel- keeper, I belong to the superior branch of the j^rofession. I am no ordinary licenseil victualler. Then 1 was elected guardian and parish vestryman ; and then the parson's wife called. ]\Iy wife has her pony carriage, and she and the girls get quite as much society as they want, especially at Eastbourne. 1 don't blink matters. I make no secret of what T am and what I have been ; iind 1 find people take me for what they are kind enough to think I am worth. I had a case the other day in the County Court, and argued it myself. The judge recollected me. He was as jolly as possible. Came and dined with us, and I drove him over in my THE NEW INN. 175 dog- cart to catch the night mail. He had a look at my poultry and pigs ; praised my mulberries and peaches ; and, as I am a sinner, said he envied me. Mr. Q. {nicditatlvdy). Well, my dear Percival, it's an odd way of looking at things ; but perhaps you are right. 1 know I should like to retire myself. You know my little place at Ascot. AVell, I can't get down there for more than two or three days at a time. There are a lot of nobs among our clients, and they would get huffed in a minute if I didn't look to their business personally. They won't be put off with Driver, whose manners are not what they might be, and Leech is too young for them. But have you no ambition left? Mr. p. Not a bit, except it lie to live a quiet, happy, and healthy life. My business gives me no real trouble ; I only boss it. I should not have come out of my parlour, if you had not asked for me. I have all my books, and I read a good bit in the winter time. The country round here is splendid if you're fond of natural history. I have quite enough to do. Now, law makes the mind most infernally rusty. Mr. Q. Well, my dear sir, perhaps you are right. Every man knows his own business best. I am sorry, I must say. I had hoped to see you on the Bench some day, but Heaven only knows when it might Iiave been. Anyhow, you'll forgive an old man for telling 176 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. you tliat you were always a gentleman, and never possibly could bo anything else. And now, Snelson and I must be off to Twelve Elms. Good-bye for the present. Mr. p. (boiving vnth mock deference). Good-bye, gentlemen both. The dinner shall be ready. ******* So Quickett and Snelson drive to Twelve Elms, and negotiate a heavy mortgage on it, and find that the lly has been stored with creature comforts ; and on their return they find that they are to dine with Percival, who gives them a dinner of his own ordering, with his best wine. And after dinner they join the ladies, and have some music, and Percival drives them over to the station in his own phaeton at a tremendous pace, and they are soon rolling up to town by the express. Me. Q. a capital dinner and capital wine. I am sorry the young woman in the bar refused to give us a bill, but clearly he thought us his guests. {Opens haskel.) These cucumbers are splendid. Look at the asparagus — and here's seakale for you. Mr. S. a capital dinner, certainly. Mr. Q. And a capital fellow, Percival. Ah ! he might have been anything if he had liked. AVell, he seems hap])y enough, anyhow, and his wife and daughters are charming. Eh, Snelson ? THE NEW INN. 177 Mr. S. Oh ! Ah ! Yes, certainly. Mr. Q. Charming. I shall certainly go clown there again some Sunday, take a dozen fellows with me, and have a thundering good dinner for the benefit of the house. {Resigns himself to sleep, while Mr. Snelson fKjain 2mlls out his maps.) ( 178 ) A MODEEN JUDGE. Mr. Justice Jones is keeping his sixtieth hirthday. He has not celebrated it ]»y a dinner-party. Lady Jones is in her own room, and is sutl'ering from neuralgia. His eldest son is in Buller's column. His second son is at Liverpool, where he is flourishing immensely as a local barrister. The numerous daugh- ters of ]\Ir, Justice Jones are all married, and living in different parts of the world, one in a villa at Torquay, another at Hyderabad, another at a rectory in the Lincolnshire fens, another at Brussels. All liis children have written him the usual letters. But, none the less, his lordsliip is lonely. He has had his soup, and his slip and his cutlet, and he has done his duty by his pint of port. But he feels as if he wouhl like an hour at pool or a rubber at whist. He wishes he belonged to tlie (larrick or the Union, instead of the Athenajum. A sort of strange frenzy steals into' his brain, prompting him to ask the butler to take a chair, and light a cigar, and have a talk. Why should he not go to the theatre, or even to the music-hall ? Why A MODERN JUDGE. 179 not? liut lie is very tired, is Mr. Justice Jones. So he sits in liis easy-chair, and he looks at the fire, and he thinks. First, he remembers his old school-days — how he got the medal for Latin verse, and the pewter pot for tlie quarter-mile swimming race, and how he secured a scholarship, and took his first-class in Moderations, and played in the college eleven, and took his first- class in Greats, and entered at the Inner Temple, and got his Fellowship at Balliol. Those were bright and •cheerful days. Then came the drudgery of a Pleader's chambers, with their interminable shelves of reports. Then he remembers how he went sessions and circuit, and defended prisoners who had stolen eggs, or won money by the confidence trick, or mistaken some one else's house for their own, or broken the ribs of a county constable. And then came London business, with its pickings — a brougham smashed up hj an omnibus ; a money-lender who has exceeded his powers under a liill of sale ; the cook who sues the licensed victualler for breach of promise of marriage ; the sub- urban houseliolder who has got into a row with the jobljing builder over qualities and quantities ; tlie butcher whose account has been disputed. It was all practice, of course. Ikit how miserable and dull and flat and unprofitable it all was ! It paid, how- -ever, and ^Ir. Justice Jones remembers how he found N 2 i8o SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. himself makiiii;- £joo u year, and able to give up liis- fellowship and mam' ]\Iiss Edith Bumble, daughter of tlie second partner of Col)b, Dobbs, Bumble, Davis,. Quichsetter and Sharp, of the Old Jewry (Cobb had been dead for tw^enty years, but the name still brought clients). Miss Edith Bumble, now Lady Jones, was not exactly intelligent, nor altogether sympathetic. But the income of Mr. Jones leaped from ;^700 a year to a handsome total in four figures, and b}' the- time he was forty he had taken silk. To do him justice, he liad been a sound lawyer, and had deserved the success wliich had come to him in tliis somewhat roundabout way. He had a clear head. He knew his case law. He could write a clear and sensible opinion. He could address a jury in lucid and ordinary English. He could talk over an arbi- trator, and he coidd now and again teach tlie judges in liaiic their business. Nobody doulitcd liis ability,, or his energy, or his straightforwardness and cgurage. Nobody was astonished wdien he moved from Curzon Street to Prince's Gate, or when IMrs. Jones took to a two-horse victoria, or when he became meml)cr for the immaculate l)orough of (Ireat Kiddington, or when his portrait was hung in the Boyal Academy, or when lie bought himself a little estate in Essex, and sent his boys to Eton. And yet how dull his life had been !' Consultations at 9; ruljiug-room at 10; court at 10. 30. A MODERN JUDGE. i8r Jury cnse before j\Ir. IJaron lUunderstone, in which lie signally defeats Proser, Q.C. Then lunch — sandwiches, ■and some sherry from his flask. Then an argument iu Banc, in which — in his turn — he is utterly routed by ]\Ir. Serjeant Jorkins, whose masterly exposition of the law with regard to ancient wells elicits compliments from the Bench, and produces a profound article in the Times of the next morning. Then chambers, dusty and dirty, witli even the morocco chairs and bookcases looking riiujs his JkouI to ilie HaluU'). What can I do for your Grace ? The Duchess. You have done more than we can ever thank you for sufficiently already, Sergeant ; l)ut even now my friend and T are in difficulties. We wanted, as I told you, to see Eatcliffe Highway, and now here we are quite helpless. Why, we might have been arrested if it had not been for you ! Sergeant. Beg your Grace's pardon, but if the lad\' with you doesn't mind she could pawn that ring the conductor wouldn't take. There's a respectable shop just a few doors down. Duchess and Lady 0. Oh ! thank you ; tliat's capital. Lady 0. Will you take it and do it ? Sergeant. No, lady; they'd be asking me all kinds of questions. Take it in yourself, and {in a low tone) give the man your ladiesmaid's name and the right address. He'll give you a sovereign on it at once, and I'll show your Grace and the other lady to any part of the Highway you want. It isn't a safe place for ladies to cfo to alone. 204 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. III. The, Saloon at "Paddys Goose." That favourite East- end (novj) dance, the 3Iazurha, is hcing i^crformed vnth all tJte native vajour of St. Georges. The Sergeant is standing hy the tico ladies, heej)in(j v:ateh over them ivith a stern sense of his responsibility. The ladies themselves are almost choked with had tohacco smoke, tJtc fames of leer and spirits, the heat of the gas, and the j^cculiar aroma of damp sawdust. FiKST Sailor {approacldng the Duchess). Come along, Poll, let's toe it. Duchess. Sir ! Sergeant. Let the lady alone, Jack. First Sailor {to Duchess). Don't " sir " nic. I m\\i a warrant ofHcor. {To Sergeant Jackson). ■Ouglit to Le ashamed of yourself, you selfish luljber — watitimf two of 'em to yourself. "\Vhv don't you stand 'em a pot, and wet their gills ? Second Sailor. All alike, tliem lobsters ; always raean. (Addressing Lady 0.). Come, my pretty, you like a sailor, I can tell by the look of you. Come and liaYc a turn with me. Here, you (to Lot-roy), bring the lady a pint of stout. Lady 0. {in a whisper). ]\Iy dear, it's horrible. Do let us go. Miss McCarthy {from Tiger Bay). Yah! West- ST. JAMES'S VISITS ST. GEORGE'S. 205 end muck ! Wonder they dare come amongst honest folk. Miss Dwyer {hi a tone of conviction). The likes of them oucfht to be limbed — limbed ! Look at 'em, dressed and painted up — robbing honest men. Look at the paint on 'em. Makes decent folk sick, it does. \]\Iusic ceases, and the MazurJcct terminates icifh a stamp of extra energy. Band immediately strikes up the Ccdedonians. Duchess. We'll just see this, dear, and then we'll be "oin'f. I'm sure the Sercjeant will see us into a cab. Merciful Heavens {puts her handherehief hurriedly to her face)] There's Captain Graham, of the Greniidiers, with a friend. {In a whisper.) What are we to do ? He'll be certain to tell Stilton, and I shall never hear the end of it. Lady 0. {gretveJy and dcsperedehj). I shall begin to cry in a moment, I know I sliall. Captain Graham {strolling up, having recognized the Duchess and Lady 0., and dismissing the Sergeant with a nod). This is unexpected, Duchess. Whatever has brought you here ; and you, too, Lady Oaklands. Lady O. 01 1 ! don't, Captain Graham. Don't— don't say anything. I'm frightened out of my life. Do take us away — please do at once. Duchess. Yes, please take us away, Captain Graham, and thank the Serjfcant here. He has been so kind co6 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. iind attentive tons. That horrid conductor would have locked us up if he hadn't interfered. Captain Gkaiiam. Locked you up ! Conductor ! Duchess. Yes, Captain Graham. Locked us up because we hadn't any money to pay him ; the Sergeant here paid him liiniself, and then, as we were here, we thought we must see what the place was like, and so — {hesitating) — and so we had to pawn Lady Oaklands* ring, and the Sergeant said if we really wanted to see the place we had better let him come with us, as it wouldn't be safe to go alone, and we were just going to let him take us to a calj when we saw you. The fact is {lowering her voice) we've been " slunnning ; " but {hnighs) we'll never do it again. Captain Graham. Allow me (ofers his arm to Duchess). (To Lady Oaklands.) Mx friend, ]\Ir. Lortescue, will take charge of you. Sergeant Jackson, do you think you can find a cab ? Sergeant. Certainly, sir. Miss Dwyek. Yah ! Told yer so. There they go — the two of 'em. Llowed if they ain't collared three blokes between them ! ( With intense moral superiority.) Disgustin', I call it— disgustin'. Get out, yer muck ! * *- * *- * So ends an evening's Comedy of Errors. A week later, Sergeant Jackson becomes Sergeant-Major, fur reasons best known to his Colonel, but which will always ST. JAMES'S VISITS ST. GEORGE'S. 207 remain a mystery to his brothci' non-commissioned officers ; and at about the same time he receives a cheque, with which he opens a comfortable little banking account. It had always been his ambition to end his days as a licensed victualler, but it is now certain that his licensed house will be a hotel, doing a -"ood business. ( 2o8 ) A MODEEN ESAU. The Vanstones were country gentlemen long before the time of James the First. Their estate was in Kent, on the banks of tlie Whipple, and the mill on that river, the pool of which was famous for its trout, was said to be as old as the time of the Plantagenets, although not a fragment of the original structure was remaining when his blessed IMajesty King William the Fourth ascended the throne. The Vanstones had always been more or less eccentric,, and it was a fact among them, as among many other old English families, that the father always cordially hated the sons, while tlie sons impartially divided between themselves such surplus of hate as they could spare after satisfying their consciences with regard to their father. The Squire Yanstone of that time (all througli the great Civil War) sided with the King, for doing which he lost his life and liis estates. The latter, however, were restored to his son when Charles the Second came to the throne, and from tliat day to this the Vanstones have been squires of importance in Kent, and owners A MODERN ESA U. 209 of one of tlie largest estates in that " garden of Eng- land." Now, the late Squire Vanstone, who died some twenty years ago or more, had two sons, Godfrey and Owen, and through some neglect, oversight, or it may be even family quarrel, the entail had been broken, so that Squire Vanstone was absolute owner in what lawyers term the fee simple of every acre of land entered upon liis rent roll, comprising the house, the park with its outlying villages, a good deal of land let in farms to highly desirable tenants, and more espe- cially — for the purposes of this story — the mill which artists would come down from London to sketch, and to fish in the waters of which was a privilege whose value was known to the miller, while he almost paid his rent by the judicious use cf the knowledge. Of the old Squire's two sons the elder went into the army, and v/hile quartered at Canterbury mortally offended his father by marrying one of the daughters of a clergyman with a wretchedly small living, who was of no particular extraction, who had been a sizar at Cambridge, and had in no way whatever distinguished himself from the smallest Dissenting tub-thumper except by being the father of a most charming daughter — a distinction which tuli-thumpers seldom achieve. Old Vanstone was furious at the marriage. He sent his son a cheque for a hundred pounds, and told him p 2IO SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. that the keeper at the lodge gates had orders to refuse him admission. He sent for his lawyer, and had a will made in which he solemnly disinherited Esau, and made over everything to Jacob ; and Jacob, who was a good young man, and could consequently get at informa- tion by channels unknown to those of a worldly turn of mind, kept his own counsel, and, so far from stirring up his father's wrath, was always at hand to point out that errors of judgment are venial — that a man must leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife — that his elder brother, although impulsive, had yet behaved honourably, and so on, all of which, although doubtless well meant, only served to pour oil and sprinkle brimstone on the old gentleman's red-hot wrath. So the elder brother sold out of the army, and found, when he had realized everything, that he had some ;£"i500, or thereabouts, clear. Some nine-tenths of this sum he deposited with his wife's father, and, commend- ing his wife to the charge of her parents, started, with a few ten-pound notes, for the United States. A week after he had left Liverpool the war between the Northern and the Southern States had broken out. He had gone to seek his fortune, and lie put liis sword at the service of General Grant. He rose rapidly, distinguished him- self, and returned to England with w very considerable sum of money. And so ends the lirst chapter in liis history. A MODERN ESAU. 211 Godfrey Vanstone landed at Liverpool, where his wife and the boy, who had been born shortly after his 'departure, met him. His father, as he knew, had died during his absence, and had left everything to his younger brother. In want of a rest he proceeded with them to Clifton, where, for two or three weeks, he did actually nothing, except ride on the downs and saunter about the Bristol quays. Now the Bristol quays are strangely rich in old liook- shops, and Godfrey, strolling one day along what may be called the (^)uai D'Orsay of the famous western sea- port, came across a volume which interested him for the simple reason that upon the vellum outside it were stamped his family arms. He took it up, and found it to be an old county history of Kent, thickly inter- leaved and, as book collectors term it, " inlaid " with maps and plans. Many of these were of later date than the book itself. Many were earlier, and had been 1 )Ound in. The book took his fancy and excited his curiosity. " Where did this come from ? " he asked from tlie snulTy and l)ear(led Socius of the beetle-browed little .shop. " From Vanstone Hall, sir, Kent. Squire Vanstone lias been selling off his old library and laying down new books, and a lot of the old ones found their way diere. That large map, sir, in the middle is a map of p 2 212 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. the Vanstone estate itself. There is a lot of inter- leaving of that kind, and it makes the book interesting to gentlemen who know Kent, not to say valuable ta collectors." This last with a cough of apology and expectation. " I will give you," said Grodfrey, looking through it again carelessly, " thirty shillings for it." " Two pounds, sir," said the bookseller firmly. " The binding alone is in valuable preservation, and well worth the money I am asking as a specimen." Ultimately Godfrey became the purchaser of the volume for thirty-five shillings. He took it back to his hotel, locked it carefully up, enjoyed his evening as usual with a game of billiards and a cigar, and early next morning sallied out and bought himself a watch- maker's lens. He then sent his wife and boy out for a drive, and began to examine the book and its maps and other interleaved matter very curiously. This took liim some hours. The next day he went down again on to the Bristol quays, made inquiries, and retained the services of an old gentleman skilled in binding and black letter and press marks and colophons, and set him to work upon the 1jook. This worthy, after some hours' labour, a pint of .sherry, and a plate of sandwiches, had a report tonjake. The whole thing, he said, was very curious and very interestin'^ Xo doubt there was a mark, or had been A MODERN ESA U. 213 ti mark, in tlie shape of a cross upon the island in the mill pool. Certainly there was a number against that cross. Clearly, the number was 372. On page 372 was an account of the little island, calling particular attention to an enormous poplar, and this account had been underlined. Of that there could be no doubt. There were faint traces of writing at the foot of the page. Prom the character, the writing itself was about the time of the Commonwealth. It was in Latin, and it ran thus : — " Subter populum versus boream sex pedes mea omnia item (pitc ad Car. Humphrey, JNIicli. Pendelton, et Godf. Davenport pertinent. Quatuor pedes subter terram. Hugo Vanstone." The old gentleman could spell out the Latin, but he ■could not understand it. He finished his sherry and sandwiches, expressed prolix thanks for a couple of guineas, and went his way rejoicing. Godfrey Vanstone (Colonel U.S.A.) then transacted a little legal business. He managed — never mind how, the details are tedious — to obtain for himself, under an assumi'd name, a year's tenancy of the little island, with a proviso for a year's renewal, representing that he wanted it for bottom- fishing, and that full right of fishing from the shore was absolutely necessary. Then he left his wife and son in London and went down to the island himself, taking witli liim an old negro who had been his valet during part of the war, and who was -214 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. as faithful as a Newfoundland antl as reticent as an owl. Would he be recogni/ccd ? This he asked himself as he looked in the glass. Not unless he went about toO' much. He was as Ijronzed as a gipsy. He had grown an immense beard, and his hair fell down upon his- collar. No, he would pass. So down they went, and on the island they pitched a little tent, he and Sambo,, and began to fish. ]>ut where was the poplar ? He had never known or even heard of a poplar on the island. He recol- lected, however, the old saying, " As tall as the tree,, so deep the roots." And at last he fixed on the place where the poplar ought to have been, according to the best of his judgment and Ijelief. It was a spot rich in toadstools. That of itself meant decaying vegetable matter. Are not truffles found under the shelter of oaks ? Over tliis spot he pitched himself a second tent, under cover of which he and ]\Ir, Sambo commenced digging, Sand)0 was cheerful and serenely indirierent. As well a digging job for Sambo as any other jol). So they dug away until at about a de2)th of four feet Sambo struck his shovel against a big stone, jarred his elbow, and^ forgetting his reserve, cursed in his native African by all his African Clods. The digging was stopped for the day. On thc- morrow it was resumed. They uncovered a liat stone A MODERN ESAU. 215 about five feet by three. This they prized up witli a crowbar. Under it hiy what the disinherited son had been seekiug-. There in a confused heap was the family plate, mixed with the locks and bolts and handles of the long since decayed chest in which it had been buried. In what had once been the iron casing of a small box not two feet long by one and a half wide were the jewels. And to show that they had found everything and need search no farther, with the jewels was a " hatful," as the rustics term it, of gold and silver, which had been too heavy to carry away in its bulk. The discovery of the coins and their date clinched the matter. No more need to dig another square yard in the little island. ******* The treasure was cleverly taken away one foggy morning before sunrise in a tiny teakettle of a steam launch hired ad lioc, and on the third day it was safe in a room on the first floor in Jermyn Street. When matters came to be reckoned up, Godfrey Vanstone found himself with a trifle over thirty-seven thousand pounds and still in the prime of life. Helms a villa now at Cannes overlooking the glorious blue of the Mediterranean, where he lives happily with his wife for six months in the year. The summer is spent at Cowes or where else they please, for his 60- ton schooner will take him anywhere. .216 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. The l)oy is at Rugby. Mr. Sambo docs nothing. His curly locks are as white as snow and his nickname is " ]\Iassa Snowball." The whole truth of the story was never known. Godfrey and Mr. Sambo preserved a judicious silence. Vague guesses were made, but they never got beyond guesswork. Only two incidents to finish. Owen Yanstone was struck down in the lobby of the House of Commons with paralysis. He may live for years, but he will never again set foot to the ground. When he dies childless, the Vanstone estates will revert to Godfrey or to his heirs. But the brothers have not met, and will jiever meet again on this side, at any rate, of the grave. The second incident is the fate of the old county history. It is preserved in a casket specially made for it in the Paie de la Paix. AVhen he is asked why so costly a ]jox was ordered for so worthless an old book, Godfrey only laughs. " The volume," he says, when his laugh is over, " has family associations. It is the only family relic I have which I at all value." ( 217 ) LE DESSOUS DES CAKTES. From Eick6 Mcauscijs, Esq., of i6o Grosvcnor Square; Monplaisir, Coices, Isle of Wight ; and Pendragon Castle, Comioall ; to Captain the Hon. Vivian Roper, Lucidlits Club, Piccadilly. 1 60 Grosvexor Square, W. My dear Eoper, — I feel cure that you will be glad to see by the above address that your old friend Jos is once more within hail of the LucuUus. It was hard to tear oneself away from the dear old Castle — " Far from the madding crowd;' you know, and all that, eli ? — but, as my wife says, one owes a duty to society : what do you think ? Besides, her Grace the Duchess of Pen- dragon (valued friend of mine, the Duke) insists upon presenting her at the next Drawing-room ; and, unless we are to have another senson as dull as ditch-water, people in our position must come to the fore. I cannot disguise from myself the fact that when Mrs. Meauseys sweeps into a drawing-room with me on her arm (I mean, leaning upon my arm), attired in 2i8 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. the crimson velvet that so well becomes her dark style of l)eauty, and showing- oil" the ]\Ieauseys diamonds to their utmost advantage, she never fails to create a sensation. There is a stillness in the room, broken only by murmurs of universal admiration, that reminds me of the days of my youth, and the regalia-room at the Tower on a popular holiday. Talking of the Tower reminds me naturally of Pendragon Castle. You are, I believe, a connection of the Duke, and so probably knew it when the poor fellow was still able to keep open house. You ougld to sec it oww ! Since it came into my possession I have had it done up from top to bottom — such an improvement ! There was something in becoming lord of the Pendragon estates, a something in the fortunate discovery of the long-lost IMeauseys arms, crest, and motto (of course we have now resumed the original orthography of the grand old name — please note this with regard to future correspondence); there was a something in all this, I say, which enabled me to give up the fascinating atmosphere of the money market without a pang. Talking of finance, my dear Poper, reminds mc that I came across a l)it of blue paper of yours, which had somehow found its way into my desk. An acceptance for two-fifty, you see, rather overdue. I have nuich j)leasure in enclosing it, and begging you to take your own time about the trill in^ alfair. Between men of LE DESSOUS DES CARTES. 219. honour, don't you know ? Noblesse oblige, as our motto puts it. Say no more about it. I was glad to see you in the Park the other day with the Earl of Wessex, a member of the committee of your club, by the way. Why not bring him down again to-morrow ? I'could pick you up opposite the Achilles, and give you a trot round in the drag. And I dare say Mrs. ]\I. will have a chop or something ready for us later on. Yours always, EiCKE LIeauseys. P.S. — Mind you bring "VVessex. From Captain the Hon. Vivian Roper to Eiek6 Meauseys, Esq^. LucuLLus Club, Piccadilly, W. Deak Ike, — That's about right for spelling, isn't il ? Thanks for your letter and enclosure. As to the giddy " kite," since you insist upon it, I won't say another word about it. On my honour, I won't. Eely upon that. I am sorry, however, that neither I nor Lord Wessex will be able to join you in the I'ark this afternoon, as we are both commanded to attend the garden-party at Marlborough House. Lord Wessex dines with his mother to-night ; but I shall be happy to join you in the succulent chop towards nine. Laithfully yours, Vivian Eon:!:. 220 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. From Eick6 Ifeauseys, Esq., to Viscount Shillelagh, Lucullus Club. Gehenna Club, Kegent Street, W. My Lord, — I liappened to be waiting to-day in the hall of the Lucullus for my old friend his Grace the Duke of Pendragon, who had invited me to lunch, when you came in, and, going up to the list of candidates for election, indulged in a somewhat critical series of obser- vations thereupon. Amongst other caustic remarks, I was slightly surprised to hear the following : " Moses ? Why, verb imperative the past-participled impertinence of the past-participled blood-sucker ! I'm past-parti- cipled if I don't speak to every member of the club about it ! " As, upon referring to the list in question, I find that my name is the only one upon it which has the slightest resemblance to that of " Moses," I hereby require you to retract the whole of the first sentence T overlieard, and to fulfil the threat contained in the second sentence — in favour of my candidature. You are no doubt aware that your promissory note for £yooo odd fell due last week, and that, although I have ceased to amuse myself with dabbling in linance, I may still have something to say as to the renewal of this particular note. If you chose, you might even now make a friend of EiCKE Meauseys. LE DESSOUS DES CARTES. 221 From EicM Meauseys, Esq., to Messrs. Shadrach, Mcshacli^ & Ahcdnego, Solicitors, of lyy Old Jewry, E.G. 160 Grosvenor Square, W. Proceed at once against Lord Shillelagli with the utmost rigour of the law. Is " Go to the devil and do your worst ! " actionable ? Serve him this afternoon if possible, and mind, as publicly as possible. E. M. From Messrs. Shadrach, Mesliach, & Ahednego, to Eickd Meauseys, Esq. 177 Old Jewry, E.G. Yourself v. The Viscount Shillelagh. Dear Sir, — Your honoured favour to hand. In ac- cordance with your valued instructions, we hurried on preliminaries, and our JNIr. Abednego presented himself this morning at his lordship's chambers, St. James's Street. As his lordship was giving a large breakfast, the valet refused our junior partner admittance, until the diplomatic administration of a sovereign brought him to his senses. Our Mr. Abednego, therefore, was enabled, in accord- ance with your valued instructions, to serve tlie writ " as publicly as possible." "We have, however, to regret that his lordship thought fit to kick our Mr. Abednego 222 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. down his lordship's (extremely steep) stairs, A sum- mons for assault will, of course, be immediately served upon his lordship. AYe also rejoice to say that we have just received £7Z2>S ^^- S^''. from his lordship's .solicitors, in full payment of your claim against him. We are, dear Sir, very faithfully yours, SlIADKAGII, MesHACII, & AliEDNEGO. I'.S, — We understand that Lord Shillelagh is engaged to lie married to Miss Blobhs, the American heiress. From Eiche Mcauscys, Esq., to Sir Charles Punter, Bart., of Baccarat Hall, Leicester sliirc, and the Lucullus Cluh, Piccadilly, W. l*j;ivATE AND Confidential.] 160 Grosyexor Sqi'ake, W. j\Ir. Eicke ^Meauscys presents his com])liments to Sir Charles Punter, and ventures to hope that the fact that he will probably soon be able to meet Sir Charles as a brother member of the Lucullus will excuse his address- ing him (under tlie circumstances) without a formal introduction, liad news proverbially travels fast, and Mr. Meauseys has heard, like the rest of the world, of Sir Charles's heavy losses last Wednesday night. But, unlike the rest of the world, Mr. M. has a heart full of sympathy and a purse full of — well, enough to enable Sir Charles to retain his seat on the connnittee of tlie LE DESSOUS DES CARTES. 223 Lucnllus. Mr. Meauseys therefore l)eg.s io enclose a blank cheque, which he is hereby happy to authorize Sir (Jharles Punter to fill up for the full amount of his temporary necessities. P.S. — "A. friend in need is a friend indeed." How glad I should be if But fill up tlie cheque, dear Sir Charles. E. M. From the Manager of the London and Fendragon Bank, Cornhill, to Fickd Meauseys, Esq. DExVi; Sir, — I think it only right to inform you that Sir Charles Punter has presented your cheque for ^10,000, and has duly received that amount. I merely mention this as the writing (with the exception of your signature) was unknown to us. I am, dear Sir, your obedient Servant, John Cauteous, Manager. F.draet from Letter of Arthur Nemo, Esri., the Albang to Captain Qutdani, loofh Dragoon Guanh, the Curragh. And now for two bits of news. Charley Punter has paid up.! And Ikey Moses, the money-lender of Crcesus Chambers, the ruin of Lackland, Pendragon, and a host of otliers, has been elected by the Lucullus ! Sliillelagh, who blackballed him, is furious. ( 224 ) THE SCHOONER AND THE LAUNCH. I AVAS living at Erith, one of the most delightful little places between London and the i^Tore for those \vho really love Y)eace and quiet. A stockbroker, wise in his generation, had just built himself a summer bunga- low there on the edge of the chalk cliff, with a long strip of garden in which he took marvellous pride. I was {ilways going up and down tlie river ; sometimes in a little open boat of my own, with a huge lateen sail, sometimes on a tug, sometimes in a sailing-barge — for I made it my business to know skippers of every kind, and to be a welcome guest on their craft. But there was one man whom I could never get iiear. He kept entirely to himself. His erpials disliked him, and called him the " king of the bargemen," by way of mockery. He was a man of substance, for he owned one great billy-boy wliich he sailed himself, and in wliich he would fetch stone from Portland, or (jther such heavy cargoes, and, occasionally, if he wanted a long run, potatoes from Cornwall or the Islands. I used to meet him here and there upon the river, and I THE SCHOONER AND THE LAUNCH. 225 could see that I was talking to a man who was, and always had been, a gentleman. But he did not care for conversation, and skilfully avoided the least approach to anything like intimacy. It was only later that I heard his story, and understood why he had thus become a floating hermit. I cannot, of course, say how far tlie tale is correct in detail, but I know that its broader lines are true. In his younger days he had been an artist — a long- shore artist, painting beach and river sketches, and with a pretty little yacht of his own, in which he used to potter about the coast in quest of subjects. He could paint with feeling ; and with his own private fortune, and his two, or perhaps three, small pictures in each year's Academy, was comfortably off. I may add that he was married, and loved his wife. Fortunately for both, there were no children. It was the old story. His wife was young, pretty, and weak. She liked dresses which he could not afford, and hungered bitterly for jewellery almost beyond the reach of a painter. She wearied of her quiet life and its simple pleasures — her garden, and flowers, and hot- house, and her tranquil summers in the Channel Islands or on the French coast. The end of course came. She ran away with a rich man, the son of a Liverpool cotton-broker, a mere brute with a thin veneer of education and culture, upon him, and who had all that 226 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. "insolence of wealth" which the Greek dramatists regarded as the bitterest, upon a man, of possible divine curses. Her husband did not go to the Divorce Court. He went on painting as usual ; and whatever he may have suffered, he turned out as good work as ever — some people even said better. One night, in the middle of a driving snowstorm, she came back to a small cottage he had taken at Deal, and tapped at the window. She was alone, helpless, and evidently dying. Her cougli, and the Hush on her cheek, told their own story. He forgave her, and she died in his arms. Then lie left Deal, and for a year or two disappeared. When he was next seen, he had a small quick steam-launch, built almost on the lines of a torpedo-boat, in which he used to run about the coast between the North Foreland and the Scilly Islands. She was a strange craft, with marvellous speed, and when she dipped her funnel and burned smokeless coal, was hardly visible at any distance, except in the very clearest weather. He kept entirely to himself; and some people said that his trouble had more or less unhinged his mind ; others that he had turned his attention to marine engineering, and meant to make a fortune out of it; others that he liad always been an odd kind of fellow, wlio might do anything. His engineer and fireman were Sunderland men. THE SCHOONER AND THE LAUNCH. 227 His cook and valet was a Maltese, of whom nobody knew anything, except that he seemed much attached to his master, and to have a natural hatred towards the rest of mankind. The fourth hand was a hoy, who, when not engaged in dirty work, was always asleep. The Erith Yacht Club had at that time, and, for all I know, still keeps up, not only its rooms on shore, but also a floating-house moored close to the pier, from which it is entered by a gangway. It is, or once was, a topsail schooner, built for some rich man as a cruising yacht in which to visit the South Sea Islands and the China Seas, and, in a peaceable kind of way, emulate the adventures of Eajah Brooke in the Boijalist. The masts have now been taken out, and the interior of the A^essel fitted as a large saloon, with one or two bunks forward, behind a bulkhead, for members who may .suddenly find themselves in want of a bed, and beyond these again, a steward's room. The coffee-room, if I may so term the saloon, is a most pleasant resort on the morning of a hot summer Sunday ; and I was seated here one day, placidly enjoying a cheroot and a brandy- ;and-soda, with a good allowance of ice, when I again heard somebody among those who were present use the words " the king of the bargemen." I dropped my paper and listened at once. " It was a funny story," said one of the dozen or so (,i 2 228 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. of men wlio occupied the divans and arnicliairs, "his running down that yacht." " Not at all funny, if you knew all about it," said a second. " I don't believe anybody does know all about it, or ever will," sententiously remarked a third. Then there was a silence. " How was it ? " asked another member, pouring him- self out some claret. " It happened upon this wise," replied the member wiio had been the second to speak. " I think tliat 1 can cut the story short. His wife, you see — there always is a woman in affairs of this kind — was very pretty and very extravagant, and had many more whims than he could ever have gratified, if he had made four times the money he did ; and he nnist have made a pretty good income, too. Do you remember that odd poem of Browning's about the beautiful girl of rornic who was buried in her golden hair ? " The members of the Erith Yacht Club are not, as a rule, readers of the author of " Sordello." None of those present had even so mucli as heard of the poem in question. "Well," continued the speaker, witli that peculiar sense of enjoynu'ut wliicli is the reward of imparting knowledge, and is in many respects akin to ])ride, "liis wife, you know, bolted with another fellow — a fellow THE SCHOONER AND THE LAUNCH. 229 with a pot of money, wlio took her away with him in his yacht. I remember seeing the yacht at Cowes. A iine craft she was. Wlien he found she had gone, and with wliom, he moped for a long time down somewhere on the south coast. People say she came back to him and he forgave her. That I should very much doubt ; he wasn't that kind of man. Anyhow, she died— there's no doubt about that — and after her death he gave up painting altogether. It was rather a pity, I thought at the time, and I think so still, for very few men could touch him in his own line. Well, he had a sort of blockade-runner built for him by the Thorneycrofts. ,She was a venomous-looking thing, but could go any number of knots an hour, and he used to knock about the coast in her." " I'd sooner have a decent yawl about four times the size," observed a stout member from behind a cloud of .smoke in the corner of the saloon. " About a sixth the original expense, much less than a sixth the annual cost, .and twenty times the comfort." " So a lot of fellows said at the time," continued the .narrator. "Anyhow he gob this launch; and it is a .most curious thing that, one foggy night, she happened io run into a schooner yacht and cut her down to the •water's edge. Nobody knows the rights or wrongs of the collision. The launch was hardly damaged at all, .but the schooner was cut down almost to her keel ; for 230 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. tlie launch liad a Ldw lilce a ram, and went through the schooner's planks like a knife' through a piece of note- paper. The launch stood by and picked up the schooner's crew. Oddly enough, they were all saved except the owner. He did not go down with the schooner, which was raised the next week, but his body was picked up a fortnight afterwards. The crabs and congers had been so busy with it that it would never have been identified but for the clothes and the letters in the pockets. There was an inquest, of course, but nothing came of it. I think it was wliat you call an open verdict. At all events, no more was heard of the matter ; and I suppose the exact nautical rights and wrongs of the whole thing will, as I have said, never be settled. The only men on the deck of the launch at the moment of the collision were the owner himself, who was at the wheel, and a sort of valet he had, a fellow from the Mediterranean, wlio seems to have been sO' terrified that he entirely lost his head, and could give no account wliatever of how the thing happened. Anyhow, tlie crew of the scliooner were agreed that tlie launcli was not to blame; and 1 heard at the time that they were very liandsomely treated after- wards by its owner, although really there was not the least obligation on him to do anything of the kind." " It seems odd that onlv tlie owner should have trone THE SCHOONER AND THE LAUNCH. 231 down," observed the member from the corner of the room, " and nobody else." " So it does," dryly answered the narrator. •' Odd things do happen in this world. It came out at the inquest, when he was picked up, that his skull was smashed and all his lingers broken, as if they had some- how been jammed, I won't say hammered, but anyhow pinched and splintered into matchwood. But a collision at sea, after all, is just like a collision on a railway. There may be half-a-dozen fellows in the same carriage. One has both his thighs broken, and dies then and there of the shock ; another has his knee- pan put out ; and the other four escape with what they call in the papers ' no further injury than a severe shaking.' " " Who was the owner of the schooner ? " asked a young member who had not spoken before. " As bad an egg as ever lived," was the answer. " Son of some Manchester cotton-spinner or Liverpool stock- broker. Was kicked out of his regiment for something shady, and kicked out of his club, the Rag, because he couldn't explain why his Colonel was in the wrong and he in the right. Was blackballed at every other club afterwards. He was considered shady even on the Turf. One of his exploits was to run away with another fellow's wife — I can't remember whose. She was little better than a child, and as soon as he was 232 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. tired of her he kicked her out into the streets, and I believe the poor thing was frozen to death in the snow. At all events she died of his ill-treatment — there's very little doubt of that. He was always a cur, and drown- ing was too good a death for him." ( 233 WHAT WE ARE COMING TO. Scene : A Court of Justice. On the Bench, Mr. Justice MUDDLESIDES of the Quceiis Bench Division. In the hox, a j^ticMt hut evidently exasperated Jury. The tody of the Court is hlocJccd vjitli junior bar- risters, averaging cibont thrce-and-tioenty years of age. The v:cll of the Court is Mocked with vntnesses on the suhpcena and otherivise. TIic gcdlcry is paclced with spectators like sardines in a hox. On the Bench is the usual cdlovjancc of Countesses and other ornci' ments of Society. Associate (calling on case). Silvertongue v. Jawkins. j\Irs. Silvertongue, p)^('-i'idif in person {rising). I call the Archbishop of Canterbury upon his subpoena. Before he is sworn, I wish to say Mrs. Jaavkins, defendant in pierson (rising). And I wish most emphatically to point out Mrs. S. You sit down. This place is not a 1)ear- garden. I intend to conduct my case in my own way. Mrs. J. My lord, before the Archbishop is called, I wish to take a preliminary objection. 234 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Mrs. S. You can't. I defy you to do it. Mr. Justice M. lieally, ladies, if you conduct your own cases, you must follow the same rules as are imposed upon counsel. There can be no possible objec- tion to a witness unless he is incompetent to take the oath. ]\Irs. J. I shall argue that point presently. Before the Archbishop is called, I wish to read some letters which I have here. {Produces a hooJc about the size of a half-year s rolumc ef the " Times") Mr. Justice ]\I. AVhat liave these letters to do with the Archbishop's evidence i j\Irs. 8. Nothing whatever, and she knows it. Mrs. J. The Jury will see when I have read them. ]\Ir. Justice M. (y'ranV//). What is tlie date of these letters ? We have already had twenty-seven days occupied with the reading of letters which have had no bearing on the case, and which have been between per- sons wholly unconnected with it. ]\Irs. J. They arc a correspondence, my lord, which appeared between the years 1864 and 1872 in the Jfor/horour/h LuUpcndcnt, together with a series of twenty-seven leading articles in that journal, signed " Brutus." ]\Irs, S. " Brutus " is your own brother-in-law, and you know it. Mrs. J. He isn't. WHAT IVE ARE COMING TO. 235 Mrs. S. You know he is. You're a wicked woman ! Mr. Justice ]\I. The libel of which the plaintiff complains was written and published in the early part of 1884. I fail to see how the files of a paper twenty years ago can have anything to do with the case. Foreman of the Jury. My lord, we have already had a correspondence which passed between the plain- tiff and the defendant in the year 1835. Mrs. S. ijiimipinr) up). That's a wicked falsehood ! I wasn't born in 1835. I'm not forty; and I've only been eight times to the House of Lords. ]\Ir. Justice ]M. I will refer to my notes. Mrs. J. I shall not submit to your lordship's notes. Your lordship has been prejudiced against me from the first. The next case I have I shall subpoena your lord- ship, and ask you on oath if it isn't so {laughter in the hack benches). Those schoolboys behind me may laugh as much as they please. I know more law than all of them put together. The Court of Appeal ahvays listens to me, and the Master of the Eolls has compli- mented me five times. Mil. Justice M. I shall rule that letters and articles which appeared in a local paper twelve years before this action was brought are not admissible unless there is evidence to connect them with the plaintiff. Mrs. J. You will take a note that I ol)ject to your rulincr. 536 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. ]\Ir. Justice M. Certainly. Now, ]\Irs. Silvertongue, liis Grace has been waiting' in Court on his subpoena for a fortnight. What is he going to prove ? ]\Iks, S. That he considers my poetry to have a moral and religious tendency, and that the criticisms of the obby to-day ; but I am sure you will forgive me when I tell you that I met him on liyde Pier this morning, Jjeing wheeled about in a Bath-chair, and looking dread- THE CLERICAL ELEMENT. i^i fully ill. All that passed was this. I said : "I am more than sorry to see you looking so ill." And lie said : " Thank you, Annie dear. I love you. Go on, Jacob ! " And he left me there. From the licv. Charles Jones, JEsthmtcdas, to Miss Goldjicld, Coivcs. Aiigust II, 1885. My dearest Daughter, — Although my sacred duties are now more than usually onerous, I write to say that a marriage with one who, as a sailor, has passed the best years of his life in treading the paths of debauchery and reckless adventure, is wholly out of the question for you. Think no more of Lieutenant Eay, dear daughter. Your conversation with your cousin Eobert was a distinct infraction of the rule I have laid down for you. It must not occur again. Do not believe in the illness which tempted you to address this adventurer. It was put on to excite your pity. It is not you this man loves, but your money. I positively forbid you to speak to him again. Yours (in religion) most affectionately, EUPHEMISTUS, O.S.X. P.S. — The account for your Oratory comes to jC739 OS. /hi; and the improvements it has been your 262 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. privilege to undertake at St. AstliU'tala's come to- ;^I093 i/.s. 2r/., so that (incliulinii; your su])Scription of i^ioo towards the working expenses) the total amounts t'O ^1932 I/-*?. 9^'/. So you may send me a cheque for that sum. Tdcfjram from Ber. Chcirirs Jonrs, Manchester, to Miss GoJdJicld, Co ires. Aufjuat 15, 1S85. Cheque duly received and cashed. It is not only we wlio tliank vou, but the whole Churcli. From Miss Gohl field, Pier Hotel, Rj/de, to the Rev. Charles- Jones, St. JEsthcdaUa s. Avgust 23, 1885. Dear ]\Ik, Jones, — I have received your letter of the 2ist, informing me that you are willing to break your ride of celibacy in my favour. You assert that your sole object is " to save me from the advances of unsuital)le admirers, as well as from the- designs of low adventurers, and to retain me under the influence of Holy Church." Yon may set your mind at rest about " the unsuitable admirers." They were very nice, but I have sent them all to the riafouade led to the hymeneal altar Arabella, widow of the late Thomas Pudvine, of Leeds, England. The wedding- took place at the English Church, Kue Marboeuf ; and though, at the lady's express desire, it was a x^ry quiet ''KILLING NO murder:' 271 one, the bride's costume, diamonds, and remarkable beauty were the cynosure of every eye that was privi- leged to witness the interesting ceremony. It is rumoured that this was not only the alliance of two hearts, but also of two colossal fortunes ; and that the charming Marquise intends, next season, to show our grand ]),^clLutt how royally she can keep open house memc en plcine Repiibliquc After the dejeuner dc rigucur at the Continental, the happy couple started for the Isle of Wight, where they purpose spending the honeymoon prior to returning to London for the season. From the Jfen-ijuis de Ice Bfffuundc, Gene ml Post Oljiee, St. Martin' s-lc-G rand , ti) the Marrjitise de Bafouade, Ambassadors ffote', S. JF. May 2, 1885. Madame la ]\Iarquise, — Knowing what you do about yourself, you will not be surprised to hear that, when I left the hotel and yuu this morning, I left both without the remotest intention of returning to either. Until last I'riduy, I fully believed tliat you were what you represented yourself to be — a millionaire. Under that impression I married you ; and under that impression 1 have spent upon your worthless person ^^1300 of my liardly-earned gains at ecart('. You 272 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. were more clever ; you kept all your ready mouey iu your pocket. But when, after putting off so persistently my tender inquiries about your fortune, you positively refused to allow me to accompany you to your " solicitor's " last Friday, and, upon my insisting, " preferred " not to go at all, I began to smell a rat. Naturally enough, I employed a detective. Result — that there are two ]\Irs. Pudvines of Leeds now living, once widows. One was the wife of a pul)lican in Briggate, and is now my wife — that's you. The other was the wife of a millionaire, and is now the Viscountess Eattler — dcst unc autre affaire ! Well, I made a mistake. Having won ^2000 hard cash one night, I determined to turn respectable, and invest it in hooking a big matrimonial lish. And for once I overreached myself. One comfort is, that you will liave to pay the hotel bill, which I believe is ratlicr heavy. Another is, that I found you out in time, and have still a hundred or two left to start again with. The heavy trunks tliat belong to me will sell for something; they are good solid leather. So also will the Hour-bags with which they are filled. So you can't say that I left you entirely without resources. Of course, I took the precaution to remove my own personal effects ^?c^iY a ixtil. You remember how often ''KILLING NO murder:' 273 my poor " tailor " liad to call last week with my " new uniforms," wliicli never were "quite a fit!" Eeceive my blessing, and believe me to be, Your unfortunate husband, Marquis de la Bafouade. P.S. — Eecollect that if / have swindled you, you have swindled mc. Besides, if you do put the police on my track, I defy them to recognise me as I am dressed now. My own mother wouldn't know me ! From th:, Marquisi dc la Bufouadc, Ambassadors IToiel, S. TV., to Hercules Siioohs, Usq., Snooks Hall, Ahmydoji, Oxoii. May 2, 1885. yiY DEAREST Mr. Sxooks, — I write to you i)i despair. My husband (the supposed millionaire) has turned out to be not only an adventurer, but a common, swindler. After making me pay for cvcrytliiny we have had until the present day — after losing the wJiole of my Iccrye fortune at the yambliny table — he has Jled the country. He has left me here without a penny. Our bill here is very nearly one hundred and fifty jjounds. You loved me once. Need I say more ? Pray, 2^ray come up by the next train to rescue me from this feai'ful position. Delay would be fatal. If you are here to- T 274 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. morrow all may yet be well. If not — the exposure will Ull Your weeping, Akatjelt.a. P.S. — Fool that I was to entrust my all to him, on the faith of his " Brazilian estates ! " Fool, fool that I was, to reject the love of the best, the dearest, the most respedaUc of men, lioiccvcr tempting might have been the prospect of converting the jwor licathcn negroes iiv Brazil ! From Hereules Snoolcs, Fsq., to the Marqnise dc la Bafouade. May 3, 1 885. My dear ]\Iarquise, — Your letter just received has shocked me Ijeyond the power of words to express. In order to relieve your present trouble, and to enable you to tide over until your friends can take you in, I forward a draft (uncrossed) for ;^5co by the hands of a trusty servant. To do this, I shall have to give up ninny luxuries ; for, although I ixiw i^rettij v:ell off, I have, alas ! no estates in Brazil to fall back upon. But I act as my heart (which Uecds for you) dictates. I must, however, abstain from coming to see you. ]\ry principles are (thank Heaven !) stronger than my ''KILLING NO MURDER:' 275 inclination. I must refrain from exposing myself to your fatal fascinations, as long as you arc tlic wedded wife of another ! Yours in sorrow, but always truly, Hercules Sxooks. From Miss Priscilla Holder, Marah Lodge, Leamington, to the Prince Didlah Baffoo Alid, Temperance LLotel, John Street, Leamington. January 10, 18S6. Dear Prince and Fellow-worker, — For three days and three nights I have prayerfully considered your proposal of a matrimonial union between us. I have, moreover, weighed, from a more worldly point of view, the arguments for and against such a step. The disadvantages are obvious. I am a good deal older than you ; your complexion is (to say the least) swarthy, and, according to your own confession, you are not blessed with a fixed income. But your fervid elorjuence in pleading tlie cause of the Abyssinian mission for the conversion of the benighted heathen of the Soudan ; the testimony in your behalf of the ministers of my denomination ; our common Christianity ; and your royal rank ; all are in your favour. I yearn to be labouring in the Soudan. The ;^ 1 00,000 I possess does much in England; what would it not accomplish in the Soudan ? 276 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Therefore, as I could not carry out my missionary vocation, except as your wife, I consent to marry you, and to entrust to your care my liappiness and my fortune. Your attached Friend, Peiscilla Howler. Fruiii tlic Marrj_uls de la Bafuuadc, 1091 Pcntonvillc Road, B.C., to the. Marquise de la Bafouade, 31 Crux Boad, Baysvxdcr, W. January w, 1886. My dearest Wife, — Ever since I left you I have been wretched, ^Misfortunes have crowded upon me. I have suffered agonies of remorse. My life is a burden to me. I hear you are very poor. No doubt the preceding paragraph applies equally to you. If, then, your life is a burden to ijou, as it is to mc (I mean, of course, as mine is to me), join m3 Iiere to-mor- row. Tliis is my plan. I have purchased a bottle of laudanum. On your side, do you the same. "We will dine together, comfortably, and lov the last time, in my little room. Tlien comfortably, and for the last time, we will retire to the conjugal couch. And then, we will mutually forgive each other all our sins, drink off our respective bottles of laudanum, and ''KILLING NO MURDER." 277 meet a peaceful and painless death in each other's arms. Verdict : — Overdose of opiate. If this suggestion smiles upon you, reply (if your means permit) by telegram. I will then proceed to order a succulent repast — for the last time ! I have bought an ounce-bottle to make sure. You had better do the same. /, at all events, would not expose yoit, dearest, to the slightest chance of awaking alone in the next world. Your affectionate Husband, Makquis de la Bafouade. Telegram from the Marquise to the 3farqids. Junuarij 12, 1S86, 9 10 XM. Letter just received. Proposal most sympathetic to my state of mind. Agree joyfully. Will purchase necessary immediately. With you at seven to-night. Extract from " The Daily Tclegraqih," Fchruary 21, 1886. ]MiDDLESEX Sessions, February 20. (Before the Assistant-Judge.) ExTKAOiiDiNAiiY Case. — Alplionsc Duval {alias " ]\Iar- quis de la Bafouade," "Prince Dullah Bafibo Alid of 27S SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. Abyssinia," &c. &c.), aged fifty-two, and Arabella Duval {alias "Marquise de la Bafouade "), his wife, aged thirty- seven, w^erc indicted on a variety of counts, including obtaining money on false pretences, obtaining goods and lodging by fraud, illegally pawning, inciting to commit suicide, &c. It appeared that in the early days of last month, each of the prisoners, having a chance of con- tracting an advantageous marriage on the death of the other, purchased a bottle of laudanum with the osten- sible object of seeking death in the other's arms. Each, how^ever, had largely diluted the opiate with coloured water ; so that, when they woke from a deep sleep, they found that they had mutually intended to murder each other. A terrible scene followed, in consequence of which the female prisoner gave her husband in charge. Before the magistrate, she accused him of grievously assaulting her in order to obtain possession of a letter in which he incited her to conmiit suicide. He had succeeded in destroying the letter ; but the magistrate remanded him for inquiries. The publicity attached to this case brought up a host of witnesses from all parts of the country as to the fraudulent career of both parties ; and the result was tliat tlie magistrate caused the wife to be arrested, and fully committed both for trial. The jury yesterday found both prisoners guilty. His lordship, after commenting severely upon the infamous conduct of these clever swindlers, said that. ''KILLING NO MURDERP 279 although they liad not boon previously convicted in this country, in view of the murderous intent of the incite- ment to suicide he found it impossible to pass upon them a less severe sentence than that of five years' penal servitude, to be followed by three years' police I supervision. ( 2So *' A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." From liichard Morrison, 3 Essex Court, Tcm'ple, to Percy Montmorency Goslinrj, Esq., lOH The Allany, W. March 5, 18S5. My deau Gosling, — As it is now ne;iily three months since you attained your majority, and conse- quently assumed control of your fortune, I write to ask you if it would be convenient to you now to repay the £4.6'^ which I advanced to you at various times during the two years we spent togetlier abroad. When your uncle came to my chambers in January, 1 88 1, and offered me £600 a year and my expenses to take charge of a ward in Chancery on his " (Irand Tour " tlie prospect seemed very tempting. To a struggling Ijarrister £600 a year seems an inex- haustible mine of wealth. I now regret that I undertook the task, for I find it diflicult to fall back into the old sedentary life after so brilliant an episode of foreign travel ; but I spent a very pleasant time alu'oad with you, and I trust ".'i NEJV WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS." 28 r that yon, on yonr side, can look l)ack to our connection with satisfaction. I shall be very glad if you can let me have the money soon, as I should then he able to join my brother (the engineer) in a very profitable undertaking. Believe me always, Very sincerely yours, lilCHAKD MOEPJSON. P.S. — Piecollect that you never gave me I.O.U.'s for the advances, so this is strictly a debt of honour. From P. M. Gosling, Esq., to Riehard Morrison, Esq. March 17, 1885. Dear Old ]\Iax, — Have just got back from Paris, and found your letter. I daresay your account is all right, but I have nothing to do with any Ijack debts, you know, old chappie. You had better write to Shadrach, Meshach, & Abednego, the solicitors to my trustees, and they will put it all right. I hope you are all right and jolly. I had great fun over in Paris. They made me an honorary member of the Cassecou Club. We had great fun there almost every night. I won two thou, there last Friday. Why don't you try your luck at baccarat ? It's no end of a good game. As to my jDaying that ^^468, that's a good 'un. That goes down in the l)ill. Happy thought I Stick it down ;6^50O 282 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. The trustees won't be any the wiser. I am just off to Brioihton, so no more from Yours, all there, I'EKCY Montmorency Gosling. AVhat do yoxi think ? They have just made me a Deputy-Lieutenant for the county, I shall go to the next Levee in the uniform, which is very handsome. From 3Iessrs. Shadracli, Mcshach, & Alcdncgo, Solicitors, lyc Lincoln s Inn Fields, to Fuchard Morrison, Fsq. March 27, 1S85. Dear Sir, — "We have suljmitted your connnunication of the 1 8th inst. to the Trustees in re Gosling, and we are instructed to inform you that they absolutely decline to entertain your claim for ^468 upon the estate. Firstly — According to your own statement, you have no acknowledgment whatever of the various alleged loans v>'hich have culminated in so serious a liability. Secondly — Even if you possessed such acknowledg- ments the trustees would not, under the circumstances, feel disposed to overlook the fact that these loans were made to a minor. The infant was in receipt of an ample income, and any such loans nmst have been made for purposes which, doubtless, you would not care to have known. "A NEW IVA V TO PA V OLD DEBTS:' 2S3 The trustees are surprised that you, as a barrister, should have made such an application. We are, Sir, yours faithfully, SlIADEACH, MeSIIACII, & AbEDXEGO. From Richard Morrison, Esq., to P. 31. Gosling, Esq. March 28, 18S5. My DEAii Gosling, — I enclose the insulting reply that I have received from your solicitors to my appli- cation for the £468 you owe me. You will recollect that, on each occasion when I advanced you money, it was, as you said, with tears in your eyes, " to save your honour," and on your solemn promise that you would give up your fatal tendency to gambling and other ruinous dissipation. Each time I lent you the money against my better judgment, and after much hesitation. But I did it for your sake. Will you now, for your own sake, pay back the money which was lent to " save your honour ? " Yours, very sincerely, ElCHAED MOEEISON. P.S. — If you are temporarily pressed I am quite prepared to take it by instalments. 284 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. From the Same to tlic Same. June 28, 1S85. Deae Siii, — This is the seventh time I write to ask you to pay tlie tleljt of honour you owe me. Let me know, by return of post, whether you intend to settle up or not. " Yes " or " No " will be a sufficient answer. Yours faithfully, ElCHAED MOERISON. Post-card from P. M. Goslinf/, Psq., to B. Morrison, Esq. June 29, 1885. I am sur2)rised that you should continue to dun me for that coin, when I have referred you to the solicitors of my trustees. You know quite as well as I do that I am not responsible for the settlement of my estate during my minority. And, if I was, I have now a great many claims on my purse. IJesides, I don't know how on earth you have run it up to nearly ;^5C0. If tliere was not something fishy about it, the trustees would have paid up like a shot. PeKCY MoXTMOltENCY GOSLIXG. Post-card from P. Morrison Psci., to J\ M. GvsUiuj, Esq. June 30, 1885. SiE, — You need not fear tliat I shall ever again condescend to liuld any communication with you. I "A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEDTSr ■ 285 have, until now, boen accustomed to deal with !:rentle- men. You, sir, are an unmitigated young cad, and you have swindled me out of ;^468. ElCHARD Morjiisox. Kdrad from the '' Daihj Thunderer" Mareh 10, 1S86. Queen's Bexch Divisiox. Before 'Mw Justice Wiggixgtox and a Special Jury. GOSLIXG V. MORRISOX. This protracted case was brought to a conclusion this morning. It was an action for libel brought by jMr. Percy Montmorency Gosling, of Gander Hall, Loam- shire, against ]\Ir. liichard Morrison, of The Temple, Barrister-at-Law. i\Ir. Morrison, who liad travelled abroad for two years in charge of Mr. Gosling, then a Ward in Chancery, advanced him sums of money, from time to time, to the total amount of ^468. Upon payment being refused on the plea of infancy, and tliat the money had been advanced for improper purposes, Mr. Morrison addressed a post-card to the plaintill' containing the alleged libel— /.c, tliat ]\Ir. Gosling was " an unmitigated young cad " and had " swindled " him " out of i^468." Upon this Mr. G osling brought an action for libel against the defendant, and claimed ;^5ooo damages. The Attorney- General, ]\Ir. Gabbler, Q.O,, and ^h: 286 . SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. John Doc, appeared for the plaintiff; and the Solicitor- General, Mr. Talkeigh, Q.C., and Mr. liichard Eoe, appeared for the defendant. Mr. Justice Wiggington concluded his charge to the Jury by informing them that the principle of the law of libel was, that "the greater the truth, the greater the libel ;" and that, therefore, if they found that the plaintiff was indeed " an unmitigated young cad," and had indeed " swindled " the defendant " out of ^^468," they must, without hesitation, find for the plaintiff. The damages, of course, were a matter entirely within their province. The learned Judge then dismissed the Jury to their arduous duties. The Jury returned into Court, after an absence of five-eighths of a minute, with a verdict for the plaintiff, damages ;^5ooo. The learned Judge, expressing his entire concurrence ■with the verdict, gave judgment for the plaintiff, with _;^5000 damages and costs. ( --57 ) A UNIVERSITY CAREEE. Fovm JL-s. Martin, Bdlevuc Cottage, Harroiv-on-tlic-HiU, to Edmund Martin, Esr[., St. Elhs College, Go-ford. Odoher 14, 1883. My o^vx deak Boy, — Yom- iuteresting' letter arrived this moruincj while ^ve were at breakfast, and was verv welcome. I read it first, of course, and then Lily read it aloud for the benefit of Polly and Frank, ctnd her own. So my Ted is really an Oxford man at last ! I can hardly believe it. It seemed so imjDossible six months ago. Of course here, as a home-boarder, your education has been very inexpensive, but Oxford ! And to think that it is your own hard work that has got you there. Is not that glorious ? Oh, my boy, I sliall never forget the day when you won your Scholarship at St. Ebbs' I I think I almost, if not c[uite, cried with joy. I was proud enough of you here when you came out First of the whole School, when you got into the Cricket Eleven, when you won the Prize Poem. But I have far more cause for pride 288 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. and gratitude now that, instead of entering the C'liureli through a Theological College, as you would have had to 7), and therefore shall be obliged if you will settle up by Monday at the latest, as I have myself some debts of honour to meet on that date. Truly yours, J. Trumpington. From Asher Davis, Tobacconist and Wine Merchant, Broad Street, Oxford, to Edmu7ul Martin, Esq. June 20, 1884. Dear Sir, — If you will sign the enclosed bill for ;^250 at three months, and return it by bearer, I will forward you my cheque for ^^150. The six dozen 292 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. sherry and six boxes (lOo) cigars shall be delivered to-night. I am letting you have the money on very easy terms, as the Old Amontillado is dirt cheap at 84s., and the Cabanas at £4. 4s. are simply given away. Eespectfully yours, AsHER Davis. From Jewellers, Tailors, Tobacconists, Livery Stable Keepers, &c. &c. &c., to Edmund Martin, Esq. Odoher 21 to 31, 1884. Dear Sir, — We beg respectfully to draw your attention to our enclosed little account, and to remind you that we do not allow more than six months' credit except under special circumstances. Trusting for a continuance of past favours. We are, Sir, &c. &c. &c., " Dash, Dash, & Dash. Extract from Honours List in Modcrcdions, ptd)lished Dccemhcr 2, 1884. CLASS IV. Jacobus Snoggins e Coll. Magd. Edmundus Martin e Coll. Sanct. Ebb. A UNIVERSITY CAREER. 293 Telegram from Edmund Martin, Paddington Station, to the Rev. Todey Sterner, 31. A., St. Ebhs College, Oxford. Came up this morning without leave to see dentist. Just missed last train. Will return first train to-morrow. Full explanation. 8.20 p.Ji., January 24, 1885. From the Rev. Todey Sterner, M.A., Vice-Princi'pal of St. Ehbs, to Mrs. Martin, Bclleviic Cottage, Harroiv-on- the-Hill. February 5, 1885. Dear Madam, — In answer to your letter of the 2nd inst., I am desired by the Principal to say, that it is quite impossible for him to reverse his decision (in which I may say I fully concur), and that he regrets you should have thought it advisable to have written to him at all upon the subject. The forfeiture of your son's scholarship, and the removal of his name from the College books, are but the natural consequeuce of a University career of shameless debauchery. The extravagances which in the case of an Under- graduate of good position and means might be over- looked, cannot be tolerated for an instant in the person of a Stipendiary of this College. I am, Madam, faithfully yours, Todey Steener, M.A. 294 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. From Mrs. Martin, to the Rev. Todey Sterner, M.A. Fehmary 6, 1S85. Sir, — Your letter of yesterday's date requires an answer. It shall be brief and to the point. I will begin with your concluding paragraph. Firstly, I fail to see why " extravagances " should be- " overlooked " in any case. I fail to see why, just because he is at Oxford, an Undergraduate should indulge in vagaries which, in London, would certainly exclude him from society, and might possibly subject him to the attentions of the police. With regard to the difference between an Under- graduate of position and a Stipendiary, I should not, if I were you, w^eigh too much upon the point. Pray, Sir, what are you yourself but a Stipendiary of St. Ebbs ? A Stipendiary who neglects his duty. The colonel of a regiment (my brother was colonel of the 42nd Highlanders) is bound by no regulation to supervise the morals or expenditure of his ofificers, who, by the way, are men at large. But where is the colonel who, if he saw one of his subalterns indulge for a whole year in a "career of shameless debauchery," would not do his utmost, by kindly advice and remon- strance, to wean the poor fool from his evil courses ? You are jottid to look after young fellows fresh from A UNIVERSITY CAREER. 295 school and still " in statu pupillari " — Have you ever done so much as a regimental colonel ? Never ! AVith regard to the first paragraph of your letter, far be it from me to say one word in excuse of my poor lost boy's vices and follies. But this I vnll say : that, until my son went to Oxford, I never had occasion to feel anything but pride at his conduct. Some natures can go through the fire of temptation un- scathed. He, alas ! succumbed. But who put the temptation in his way ? You, sir ! Yes, you, and your system. You, who could abolish the fatal credit scandal. Let the University decree that no debt above ^10 shall be recoverable in the Vice-Chancellor's Court, and there will very soon be an end of tailors' and jewellers' and wine-merchants' extortions. You, who could abolish the fatal custom of giving " wines." The idea of mere boys, who at home drink a glass or two of claret after dinner with their fathers, sitting down to a wine-party that costs ;^20 or ^30. The idea of such parties being given in rotation through- out the term ! The idea of such gentlemen's sons learning to become drunkards within the sacred walls of St. Ebbs ! You, in fine, who can "gate" a man for missing Chapels and Lectures ; who can fine a man for not wearing his gown in the street ; but who, well knowing 296 SOCIAL VICISSITUDES. that all tliis " shameless debauchery " is going on, shut yours eyes until the inevitable crash arrives, and then, holding up your hands in liorror, expel your victims, and shut your eyes again until it is time to repeat the virtuous operation. You, sir, have ruined my son. I am, therefore, without the slightest respect, Yours, Agnes Martin. PRINTED nv HAI.I.ANTVNF, HANSON AND CO. LONDON AND EDINBURGH Si^fe^'^w^s^Si^^ ^^7W^^^^f:^%-^i»^ ^--i-^^-.J-; JUNE, 188G. 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THI-: DUKE'S SWEETUFAJIT. By ruciiAur) Dowlixg. UXDER ST. PAUHS. By BiciivrdDowt.ing. TEE OETLAVV OF ICEL.lXD. By Victor Hugo. JJOXEST DA VIE. Y,y Frank Barrett. ( 7 ) PRESS OPINIONS ON RECENT PUBLICATIONS. The LeMers of George Sand. Edited and ■\vitli a Bioi):raphy of George Sand, By R. L. de Beaufort. With six portraits of George Sand at various periods of her life. 3 vols., Demy 8vo., cloth. 86s. •' Charming, entertaining, interesting, instructive." — World. " Good as literature, but better as exponents of character." — 3Ir. Stcinhurnc. " The most important of recent contributions to biography The Letters were written to all sorts of people, and they discuss all sorts of questions. That they are extremely interesting it is scarcely necessary to say.'" — Graphic. "It is this second George Sand — good, kindly, unselfish, brave, devoted to duty, and, for all her genius, unaifectedly modest — it is this George Saud we can best study in her correspondence. And this points to what is, I think, the main interest and charm of her collected letters." — Academy. " Their intrinsic interest, the large additions that they make to the know- ledge of their author's character, the varied scenes and the numerous attractive personalities that they bring before us, can neither escape the notice, uor disappoint the expectation, of any competent reader. M. Ledos de Beaufort has, in some respects, improved the conditions in which the work comes before such a reader. We had occasion to comment on the very insufficient annotation of the Fi-ench edition. This, M. Ledos de Beaufort has largely and usefully increased. He has also been well advised in illustrating his volumes (which are handsomely printed i with six portraits, ranging from the early, and in every sense romantic, sketch of Delacroix to Nardar's photograph, taken when George Sand was an ohl woman The translation itself is, if not exactly a masterpiece, for the most part quite fluent and readable as well as exact. The biographical sketch preceding it is rather more exotic in style than the text, and leans decidedly more to the side of enthusiasm than to that of criticism ; but it contains a convenient statement of facts. Altogether the book may be very well recommended to English readers." — Athenceum. " Turning from novels to one of the greatest of novelists, ' though, perhaps. a little not so much read as she used to be,' we encounter the ' Letters of George Sand,' translated by M. llaphacl de Beaufort, and published, not in a cheap shape as in France, but in tiiree handsome and rather heavy volumes. The English edition bus the advantage of being illustrated with most interesting ; portraits of Madame Dudevant The correspondence is an in-- ( 8 ) THE LETTERS OF GEORGE SA^sD—contimieiL dispensable commentary on her Memoirs Any reader who has once felt the fascination of this wonderful woman, so astonishinj^ a mixture of genius, goodness, nobility, meanness, kindness, self-deception, passion, and coolness ; this Najioleon in petticoats, and with fiction, not fact, for her battle-tield, will find it hard to leave off reading her letters. They are excellently readable in the English translation, wliich is equipped with a brief biography and notes." — Da ill/ News. " Of wide interest. The volumes'contain letters to About, Louis Blanc, Victor Hugo, Lamartine, and others; and they give the reader personal Rlirapses ot the aspirations and fears, the strategies, and the lights and shades of one of the most remarkable women of our times, and of one of the most brilliant writers of the century." — St. James's Gazette. " George Sand played a piominent part in the revolutionary storm that more than once raged over France during her lifetime, 1804-1876. Often her utterances in the reviews and newspapers were veiled. It was to her friends she formulated her ideals and poured forth her longings. The record in her * Letters' reads like the romance of a new Arcadia. Sometimes, it is true, the writer's vigour exceeds her discretion ; but then she gives utterance to a tliousand and one brilliant ideas that go a long way towards compensating for nny of these jjeusres de fincrre A word in conclusion for the translator. M. Ledos de Beaufort has accomplished his somewhat long, yet ■^•e would suppose not uninteresting, task deftly. We have not the original Memoirs before us to consult, but the translator has rendered the 'Letters' into plain and simple language which adds yet another temptation to incline a-eadersto take in hand a very readable and a very remarkable work." — Pictorial fVurld. " No memoirs of George Sand can be complete without her autobiographj', as laid out in correspondence to accompany them. ' The Jjctters of George Sand,' translated as well as edited by Raphael Ledos de Beaufort, and recently pul)lished by Messrs. Ward and Downey in three substantial volumes, are all lier admirers or disciples can desire. This bulky collection of epistles from the most piquant pen of its age, though it will stand in English bookshelves by the side of the many excellent sketches of the authoress's life we liave already had, is in itself a record of her career, saturated furthermore with her individuality, lightened by her incisive style, and illuminated by her pleasant Gallic wit and shrewdly sarcastic periods. George Sand must ever be lier own best historian, but here in these letters there is more interest than that of mere personal narrative or exposition of the fancies and foibles of this distinguished movelist For those whose curiosity makes them desire to recognise the great writer's individuality the half-dozen portraits in these volumes, representing her as painted by Delacroix's and other faitbful brushes, will be full of interest. A more useful collection of letters than this excellently translated and published series has not been issued for some time." — Daily Telegraph. " We do not hesitate to give a cordial welcome to these volumes with which M. de. Beaufort has enriched our literature through the medium of a good English translation. . . . The work is the most important one of the kind that has appeared in France since the publicati m of the correspondence of Madtuno de Rcmusat. Indeed, the letters of George Sand must be assigucd a ( y ) THE LETTEES OF GEORGE SA:>ID— continued. bislier place, as the writings of a great and many-sidetl genius, a never-resting worker, and a public character de premiere licjne." — Bookseller. " The most interfistiug and valuable of recent contributions to literary history. The writer of these letters was one of the the most remarkable women and the greatest noveli&ts of any time. Nor is it only as an author of genius that she claims attention ; it is safe to say that her own life is a romance more thrilling and varied tlian any of her novels, many of which, indeed, are but episodes in htr experience." — Literarij World. Gladstone s House of Commons. By T. P. O'Connor, M.P. Demy 8vo, cloth. 12s Gd. " Recalls vividly the eventful scenes of the late memorable Parliament. So the historian of the future such volumes will be invaluable." — Graphic. " Readers will find in these pages a most interesting resume of the principal parliamentarv' episodes of the last five years He is always clear and concise, and has described with graphic force many exciting scenes in the House." — Moriiinij Post. " The book is eminently honest and thoroughly readable. Some of the descriptions are vivid enough to carry a sparkle even in these days. One great virtue the book has, it has absolutely no smack of the midnight oil, every line is evidently a genuine sketch, done on the spot, with the charm of freedom which all sketches possess. It is not a book to read carefully through, though, indeed, I myself confess to devouring it at meals, but a book to pick up at odil mouients. Wherever you open it, you may be sure to find a good anecdote, a clever sketch, or a sound piece of political criticism." — St. Stephen's Eevicw. " Mr. O'Connor has always a lively, and often a brilliant, pen, and his sketches of men and scenes in the House, frequently dashed off in great haste as they must have been to catch a morning paper on the other side of the Irish Channel, constitute an admirable and vivid picture of times about which we can never know too much "Will take its place at once amoug the indispensable w^orks of Parliamentary reference." — Pall Mall Gazette. " He gives a most vivid picture of the bickerings and heart-burnings at St. Stephen's under Mr. Gladstone's recent dictatorship. In his estimates of men Mr. O'Conuor is often, we think, hasty ; he is fairly generous, and not unfrequently he employs a satiric pen ; his one endeavour is apparently to be amusing, and in this he admirably succeeds The stoi-y through- out reads like a piece of American humour. It might have been penned by Artemus Ward ; so grotesquely funny arc some of its incidents, that it cannot fail to atft)rd as much entertainment as that writer's Peep-show, or Mark Twain's New Pibpim's Proi/ress. Get the book and road it. It is im))0ssible to dissec t its hoii mnt^, they are so many and so admiral)ly fitted into the irrevelant matter that it is impossible to give specimeusof them without losing their piquancy." — Pictorial Woi'ld. { 10 ) GLADSTONE'S HOUSE OE COyi^lOSS— continued. '• Its appearance is peculiarly timely just now, when the importnuco of the Irish question is for the first time bcfjinning to be seriously recot^iiised by the bulk of Englishmen. We have had records and accounts of the late Parliament before, done from the point of view of the purely English obsei-ver. Here, liowever, we have a volume in which the progress of events is presented by an Irishman from an Irish point of view, and presented with remarkable ability and really brilliant descriptive power. Tliose Englisbnion who are most opposed to Mr. O'Connor in political ojiinions will tind much to learn and much to interest them in these pages. And to those who are really anxious to obtain a better appreciation of what the Irish question is, a study of ' Gladstone's House of Commons' is indispensable." — Truth. " An eminently readable, instru(!tive and pleasant work, and a history of the Parliament 1880-1884 ; as lively and interesting as a novel." — Nation. " Keen, vivid and highly epigrammatical papers which here form so fascinating a record of the five years of Mr. Gladstone's adminstration. The scenes which he describes will rise as vividly before the imagiuiitiou as if the readers themselves had taken part in each and all of them : a picture gallery glowing with life; bright with humour, and keen with critical appreciation." — Freeman's Journal. " Bright and graphic in style, as fair as could reasonably be anticipated, and Tindcniably accurate in its facts, Mr. T. I'. O'Connor's interesting and valuable volume, ' Gladstone's House of Commons,' is a book that no student of con- temporary politics should be without as amusing as it is reiilete with sterling information." — Societi/. " A captivating little history. Superb as are Mr. O'Connor's gifts of oratoi-y they are eclipsed by his wondrous fucility, raj)idity, versatility, and luxuriance as a Press-writer. Descriptive writing in these ]iages roaches jierhaps the height of its magic power of painting indelibly on the memory scenes of which dry verbatim re])orts can give no more true idea than can be had of the flavour of champagne by reading a wine list." — United Ireland. " His book has a political value, apart from the excellence of its style and the accuracy of its descriptions." — Western Morning Netvg. " A bright picture, drawn with a masterly pen." — Judy. " Sparkling, and admirably lively." — iSerliner 'J'ai/eblatt. Hohertson of Brujllton : AVith some Notices of his Times and lii.s Contemporaries. Jly the Rev. F. Arnold. Post 8yo., cloth. 9s. " He has evidently studied Robertson's writings with care, and sees the weakness as well as the strengtli of a remarkable man, who had niarjy weaknesses as well as miicli strength. The result is a book of no little interest, compiled with much skill and judgment The view wliich the writer gives of ( 11 ) EOBEKTSON, OF BmGKTO^s— continued. Eobertson, is, fit the same time, in all probability, more frne than that of Mr, Brooke, anil be .unices him from a safer and a truer staudiHuut than that most erratic theologian Tiie autobiographical sketches which the writer has brought together from Eobertson's own works, are well chosen ; but more interest attaches to the reminiscences of the gifted preacher which Mr. Arnold liasbimseif gathered during his stay at Brighton Mr. Arnold's volume is one which may be safely reconjniended to the attention of all those who wish to form a concei*tion of the position which ' Bobertson, of Brighton ' held among our En>:lisli clergy, .-md his present biographer has done well in recognizing the errors as well as the merits of a man who was, however much we may diiier Irom him in many respects, a remarkable man." — Jolm Bull. " All admirers of the Rev. F. W. Eobertson will welcome the Bev. F. Arnold's ' Bobertson, of Brighton ' as throwing fresh light on his character and suiTound- ings Mr. Arnold brings into this work an interesting description of Brighton as it was a generation ago ; also some account of Eobertson's contemporaries, devoting a whole chapter to that of his friendship for and intluence over Lady Byron." — Leeds Mercury. " It is impossible not to be interested in ' Bobertson, of Brighton ; with some Notices of his Times and Contemporaries,' by the Rev. Frederick Arnold. Notwithstanding INIr. Stopford Brooke's admirable biography there was still room for a. supplement liiy John Augustus O'Shea. Two vols., crown 8vo., with ii Portrait of tlic Author. 21s. " A choice medley of jovial, witty, hair-brained, fascinating anecdotes about the gi'eat historical and social events of tlie past decade, and the distin- guished and notorious men Mr. O'Shea has met in that time." — Aberdeen Journal. " Mr. O'Shea has shown himself a workman needing not to bo ashamed. The stories of some of the earlier events of the Franco-Prussian War, and of the imprisonment in besieged Paris, arc thoroughly well told." — Academy. ( 15 ) . LEAVES FROM THE LIFE OF A SPECIAL COEEESPONDENT— conh-HUfc^. " Eminently readable. . . . There is hardly a dull page iu it. , . . His generosity and good temiicr are inexhaustible." — Athemeum. " The graphic and ]iow(?rful writing is by no means the only feature of the work; for the anecdotes are good, and there is a prevailing feeling of the writer being in bright, cheerful spirits (which are imparted to his readers), while, above all, there is a kindly word for everyone." — Court Journal. " Personal, audaciously but not offensively personal, Mr. O'Shea is never tiresome ; nor is there a particle of gall ia his gossiping recollections." — Daily Telegraph. " Glowing with a rich, broad, and boisterous humour, which those who are familiar with Mr. O'Shea's style always expect and never fail to find." — FrecmaiCs Journal. " We cordially recommend these lively and entertaining volumes to readers of all tastes." — Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic Neics. " The fund of amusing anecdote and personal reminiscences with which this work abounds embraces a crowd of individuals and a series of events amply ■sufhcient to ensure the success of any number of ' Leaves ' when discoursed of in the peculiarly entertaining style of the author." — Morning Advertiser. " The freshest and pleasantest collection of desultory reminiscences. . . . Eveiy page has its anecdote, like a s,\\} of champagne." — Catholic World. Punch says : " Oh bright and lively is O'Shea — that is, this John Augustuses — His book as bright and lively as the author, who may trust us, is ; He diseourseth of Napoleon, tobacco, and philology ; Of Paris and of pugilists, Loud Wolseley and zoology; Of (tameetta and of Calcraft, of cookery and quackery; Of SiNNETT and balloonacy, of Saia and of Thackekay ! With ' special ' journeys to and fro, direct, delayed, and roundabout : For here and there and everywhere this Special loves to bound about ! With most things he is conversant, from monkey unto mineral — And talks on warlike matters like a modern Meejor-Gineral !" ^' It may at once be said these reminiscences of a Special Correspondent's ■career afford extremely easy and amusing reading ; that there are not many dull pages in them ; and that not unseldom there are descriptive strokes and sketches of men and events that are worthy of permanent preservation." — Scotsman. " Eedolent of stories throughout, told with such a cheery spirit, in so genial a manner, that even those they sometimes hit hard cannot, when they read, refrain from laughing, for Mr. O'Shea is a modern Democritus ; and yet there runs a vein of sadness, as if, like Figaro, he made haste to laugh lest he should have to weep." — Society. ( 10 ) LEAVES FROM THE LIFE OF A SPECIAL COERESPONDENT— co?!?/n»tfcZ. " The great charm of his pages is the entire absence of dulness and the evidence they ailord of a delicate sense of humour, considerable powers of observation, a store of ai^posite and racy anecdote, and a keen enjoyment of life." — Sta7idard. " One of the liveliest and best books of its kind that I have read. Mr. O'Shea seems in his day to haye been everywhere under the sun, and to have seen everything and everybody of importance." — Western Morning News. " Delightful reading. ... A most enjoyable book. ... It is kinder to readers to leave them to find out the good things for themselves. They will find material for aniTisement and instruction on every pnge ; and if the lesson is sometimes in its way as melancholy as the moral of Firmin Maillard's ' Les Derniers BohOmes,' it is conveyed after a fashion that recalls the light-hearted gaiety of Paul de Kock's ' Damoselle du Cinquieme ' and the varied pathos and humour of Henri Murger." — Whiteludl Review. " Mr. O'Shea is vivacious and amusing. . . . His first volume is the most interesting, with his sprightly recollections of Bohemian Pai-is. . . . Mr. O'Shea kept some strange company in those days — Englisli, French, Irish, of all nationalities — and has some entertaining things to tell about most of them." — World. Boyaltif Bestored; or, London Under CHARLES II. By J. Fitzgerald Molloy, Author of " Court Life Below Stairs ; or, London under the Georges," &c. Two vols., large crown 8vo., with an Original Etching of Charles II., and eleven other portraits. 25s. " Mr. Molloy brings to his task a general admiration for his hero, to whose faults, although he cannot deny them altogether, he is as blind as regard for established facts will let him be. . . . Before leaving Mr. Molloy's book we may say that he tells his story well, and that his style is llucut and agreeable. — 'Times. " The most important historical work yet achieved by its author It has remained for a picturesque historian to achieve such a work in its entirety and to tell a tale as it has never before been told." — Daihj Telegraph. " A series of pictures carefully drawn, well composed, and correct in all details. Mr. Molloy writes pleasantly, and his book is thoroughly enter- taining." — Grapliic. "Presents us for the first time with a complete description of the social habits of the period." — Globe. " We are quite prepared to recognise in it the brisk and fluent style, the ease of narration, and otiier (pialities of like nature, which, as was pointed out in this journal, characterized his former books." — Allienceuni. ( 17 ) ROYALTY RESTORED— to/it/ttfK'cZ. " Mr. Fitzgerald Molloy extenuates in nothing the heartless viciousness of Charles's life, and the cold and oven contempt of his pitiless dealing with the long series of scandals of which history and art have perpetuated the memory, points the moral of the story, without moralising, as sharply as can he desired. At the same time, he is not tender to the preceding time, and he marshals some stem facts against the notion that morals were at any high standard under the Lord Protector. He does not like Cromwell, and he has found a congenial task in the picturing of his death-bed. But it needs no retrospective partisanship to make the last scene of Oliver's great life an awful one ; the recorded facts do that sufliciently. There are three ' natural ' deaths in English history on which, we suppose, the least imaginative of readers must have sometimes dwelt in fancy, — those of Edward ILL, Elizabeth, and Cromwell. The sordid forsaken- ness of the first, the ghastly grimness of the second, the spiritual strife of the third, impress them on the memory. Briefly, but forcibly, Mr. MoUoy depicts the great man's death, the hurried burial, the tricked-out, Spanish-costumed, purple-cloaked, crowned effigy, the throng to the show, the public weariness of it, the pelting of the escutcheon above the gate of Somerset House with mud, after the immemorial manner of mobs, and the costly mock-funeral at Westminster Abbey It is hard for us, in these unpicturesque and uneuthusiastic times, to imagine London vnfijtc ; but picturing to ourselves the comparatively little London to which Charles returned in trium))h, we may get, with the assistance of Mr. Fitzgerald MoUoy's spirited and pictorial sketch, some notion of the aspect of the capital when royalty was restored. The story of Charles's marriage, of the prodigious dowry — about which there were so many subse(iuent difficulties, and with regard to which the King behaved with such ungentlemanlike meanness that it is pleasant to know he did not get one half of the money — of the young Queen's innocence of the ways of his world, her wrongs, her sufferings, her brief resistance, her long, lamentable acquiescence, her unfailing love, is well told in this book. Whenever, in its pages, we catch sight of Catherine, it is a relief from the vile comjiany that crowds them, the shameless women and the contemptible men on whom ' the fountain of honour ' lavished distinctions, which ought from thenceforth to have lost all meaning and attraction for honest folk. The author has studied his subjects with care and industry ; he reproduces them either singly or in proups, with vivid and stirring effect ; the comedy and the tragedy of the Court-life move side by side in his chapters A chapter on the Plague is admirable, — impressive without any tine writing ; the description of the Fire is better still. To Mr. Molloy's narrative of the Titus Oates episode striking merit must be accorded ; also to the closing chapter of the work with its picture of the hard death of King Charles." — Spectator. " Mr. J. Fitzgerald Molloy makes a remarkable advance beyond his preceding works in style and literary method. His book, which is the best, may veiy well be the last on the subject. . . . The shrewdness, the cynicism, and the profound egotism of the Merry Monarch are dexterously conveyed in this picture of hiin, and the book is variously and vividly iuteresting." — World. "■ The author of ' Royalty Restored ' has never offered the public so graphic, so fascinating, so charming an example of faded lives revivitied, and dimmed scenes revitalized by the magic of the picturesque historic seuse." — Boston Literary World. ( 18 ) EOYALTY RESTORED— coHf/jH/cJ. "He has told Lis tule with skill mid clearness, and his work is sufficient to put the facts before a reader who may require the information, or may not before have examined tliat portion of his country's history. The jieriod is not one that most people would care to turn to frequently without some sjiecial purpose, for it is on the whole the most discreditable in the annals of England. To any who seek to turn over this sickly page of the national story, Mr. MoUoy gives it in sufficiently connected form." — Queen. " Mr. Molloy has not confined himself to an accoimt of the King and his •courtiers. He has piven ns a study of Loudon during his reign, taken, as far as possible, from rare and invariably authentic sources." — Glasgow Evening News " In his delineation of Charles, Mr. Molloy is very successful. . . . He avoids vivid colouring ; yet rouses our interest and sympathy with a skilful liand." — St. James'ti Gazette. " Will be greedily devoured as a palatable dish by such as have an appetite for the intrigues and follies of Courts, as well as by those who just sufficiently love English History to study it in a free-and-easy, desultory fashion.'' — Modern Societtj. The Uiipojmlar Kincf : The Life and TIMES OF RICHARD III. By Alfred 0. Legge, F.C.H.S. Two vols., demy 8vo., with nn Etched Portrait of Richard III., and Fifteen other Illustrations. 30s. " The labour you have bestowed on this portion of English history is a proof of your sincerity, of your love of truth. I have not much faith in the accuracy of what we term history, and am jirepared to l)elieve that much that we learn tinder that name is not greatly better than fiction. You have had access to much new matter, and your labour may have the effect of displacing some of the old legends in which we have been taught to believe." — John Bright. " The romance of Richard's life is still one of the most fascinating of English historical episodes, and in Mr. Legge's book the story loses none of its charms. We are carried forward from event to event, from place to place, with a vigour which enhances greatly the pleasure of reading Tliese two goodly •volumes, with excellent illustrations, abound in matters of deep interest." — The Antiquary. " It is impossible to read it without enlarging to a great extent one's knowledge of an important iieriod. Indeed, it is scarcely too much to say that every student of the latter Plantagenct period must refer to these jiages." — Illustrated London Newn. ( 19 ) THE UNPOPULAE Kl-^sG— continued. " The most important of recent contributions to the history of England, anil one of the most curiously fascinating of historical narrative." — Manchester Examiner. "These two volumes represent an enormous amount of laborious and conscientious research into the known histories of Pdchard III., and Mr. Legge has unearthed a document hitherto, we believe, unpublished, among the papers in possession of the Duke of Devonshire. As we have said, a great deal of valuable labom* has been bestowed on the preparation of this book, and such labour is never bestowed in vain Those who read the book, and they are likely to be many, will i:)ossess themselves of a large collection of information about England in the times of Richard III., whether tbey agree with Mr. Legge's opinion and accept his conclusions or not." — Mancliester Courier. " Mr. Legge is entitled to the credit of bringing forward much that is new and that tells in favour of Richard. His task is accomplished with nnich care.. The book is a welcome contribution to the study of an epoch and character which will form subjects of lasting controversy," — Xotes and Queries. " Mr. Legge has given us a very interesting book. He writes with vigour and spirit, sometimes almost with eloquence." — John Bull. " If Mr. Alfred Legge fails lo convince the English people — or those who have the good fortune to peruse his very able work — that Richard the Third has been shamefully ti'aduced, it is certain that no one else need ever attempt the task of vindicating the reputation of ' The Unpopular King.' .... A most valuable contribution to contemporary literature." — Figaro. " A thoughtful, clever, and highly interesting study of one of the most com- plex and curious characters in the history of our country, and a graphic picture of the period in which he lived. The work is an interesting and valuable con- tribution to historical literature." — Society. " These volumes give a graphic picture of England at the close of the fifteenth centi^ry, and ^Ir. Legge's style is a remarkably good style — fluent, con-ect, incisive, and graceful. He deserves great credit for the pains he has. taken to clear up many an ' historic doubt.'" — Topical Times. "It is impossible to read the story he tells with so much power and dis- crimination without coming to the conclusion that, after all, the ' Unpopular King ' exhibited traces of virtue rare in his age and not too common in our own. The work is interesting throughout, and is a welcome and valuable addition to the literature of a period in which so much was done fur weal and woe in England." — Leeds Mercury. " His frequent references to official documents, patents, and such like, among the Harleian MSS., bear out his account of his researches among imprinted materials ; and he has moreover had the advantage of consulting a contemporary MS. of great interest in the library at Hardwick Hall, to which no former writer lias referred." — Saturdai/ lievieiv. ( ^0 ) Japanese Life, Love, and Lerjend : A VISIT TO THE EMPIKK OF THE RISING SUN. (From the Frencli of Maurice Dubar J.) By William Coxn. Crown 8vo., cloth. 7s. Gd. " How cliarmiiigly irrepressible is the bold boulevardier ! How impossible he finds it anywhere to escape his own seciuacious personality ! Wherever he goes, ' Ilium in Italiani portaus,' he carries with him Paris in his own bosom. He discovers in Tahiti a kind of enlarj^ed and glorified Chateau des Fleurs ; he sees in Yokohama a Japanese variant on the Champs Elysees and the Bois de Boulogne. . . . M. Dubard goes over once mere the familiar ground of all recent far-Eastern travellers, and succeeds in conveying very prettily to the reader's mind the now stereotyped picture of an idyllic, impossible, Utopian Japan. He takes us behind the scenes of family life; shows us afresh the pleasant but, alas ! incredible unanimity of the Japanese household. Nobody would by any possibility call it dull ; and if it lacks strict historical and scientific precision it makes up for all that by Marcel find 0-Hana. . . . Mr. Conn's English reads somewhat more like our native language than that of '.19 per cent among the awesome herd of translators from the French. If we mistake not, indeed, he has freely edited rather than merely translated his author ; and this is at least many times better than the common and slovenly modern habit of simply transliterating him." — 1' all Mall Gazette. "'Japanese Life, Love, and Legend' has certainly a flavour of Cha- teaubriiind about it, and reminds us forcibly of Hjne or of Atala. Mr. Conn has clone well to place M. Duburd's book before the public in an English dress. Our countrymen as a rule aie incapable of that sympathetic observatiun of the inner life of Orientals which we find here." — ilraphic. "The volume is thoroughly interesting: and the author is evidently at liome in those scenes of Japanese middle-class life which he delights to portray. I'ossibly the colors are a trifle brighter than those of nature, even in the land of the rising sun ; for the author enjoyed Iiimself exceedingly, and the gay-hearted Oaul knows nothing of faint praise." — riti.''li Mail. " A swift and incisive review that is at once entertaining, instructive and popular." — Lloijd's. " The book is unique. Notwithstanding the multitude of criticisms which have appeared in our own and other languages upon Hugo's work, this is the only volume which relates the full story of his life. We have pleasure in recommending Mr. Barnett Smith's volume as the fullest ami in every way most satisfactory on its subject that has yet appeared in England." — Tlie Christian, Leader. ( 22 ) VICTOR HUGO: HIS LIFE AND V^OllK—coutinued. " It is clear and succinct, and contains nearly everything it is requisite for the average English reader to know about the illustrious Freuchuian. As u record of his literary and dramatic work it is remarkable for well-ordered com- pleteness, while the account of Hugo in exile is free from the common errors wbich liave disfigured the narratives of the majority of those who have dealt with the subject." — Topical Times. " Well deserves to be read ; we are told all that is needful to know about him."' — Tablet. " The volume under notice is not a hurried and superficial biography. «... This well written account of his life." — Mornhnj I'o^t. An Apology for tlie Life of the Bight HON. W. E. GL.\DSTONE ; OR, THE NEW POLITICS. Crown 8vo., cloth. 7s Gd. " One of the most comprehensive and powerful indictments against Mr. Gladstone that has ever been issued." — England. " Tliis great man's shortcomings are mei'cilessly analysed and justly ridiculed in a clever and amusing volume that has reached a second edition. ' An Ajtology for the Life of the lUght Hon. W. E. Gladstone ; or the New Politics.' It is one of the most really funnij books wc havi' iiu!t icith for a lonff time, but for all that its purpose is a serious one." — John Bull. " This is a cruel piece of work. The trritor's accuracy is quite unim- peachable, and he has collected his facts with siicli industry, and marslialleii them with such skill, that tlie book would have been crushing if Mr. Gladstone had any reputation to lose." — Vanity Fair. " A clever, if merciless, account of the life of the ox-Premier, judged from a Conservative point of view, with a rather scathing commentai-y on his sayings and doings from tlie year of his birtii, compiled by the journalist who wrote ' Letters to my Son. Herbert.' To Conservatives this volume will be a perfect mine of information." — I'ublishcrs' Circular. " Partly biographical and partly satirical, this is a very clever production." — I'UliabuTtih Courant. " Tlie author of the book pursues Mr. Gladstone pitilessly throughou"; his political career, every event of which he causes either to adorn a tale or to point a moral. The book distorts nothing and conceals nothing." — Bristol Times and Mirror. ( 23 ) Biissia Under the Tzars. By Stepniak, Author of "Underground Kussia." Translated by ^^'ILLIAM Westall. Third Edition, crown 8vo., cloth. Gs. " Excessively interesting We would bear the most cordial testimony to the excellence of Stepniak's work." — Times. " His vivid and absorbing book should be read and pondered by everyone who appreciates the blessings of liberty." — Daily Telegraph. " He exposes the hideous police system, he tells us the secrets of the House of Preventive Detection, of the central prisons, and the Trouhetzkoi llavelin, and gives us graphic sketches of exile life on the shores of the White Sea and in "the bagnios of Siberia For all who would form an adequate idea of the present condition of Russia, gauge its capacity for war, or attempt to forecast its future, Stepniak's work is indispensable." — Spectatur. "A remarkable work, and it appears at a most opportune moment. . . . The state of things in Kussian prisons, so far as political prisoners are concerned, as revealed by Stepniak, is hideous, if it be true. If it be untrue the Russian Government ought, for its own honour's sake, to refute his state- ments What he describes is terrible." — Athenaum. " Thrilling pictures of the terrors of prison life Tourgenieff and Stepniak, indeed, illustrate one another. Naturally the novelist tells nothing of the worst side, the life in a Yakout hut for instance (fancy the flower of a nation being brutalized by treatment of that kind) ; the riot produced in a Siberian prison that the governor may account for several escapes, due to gross negligence, by saying that 'the rules were too easy ;' the hunger strikes — prisoners starving themselves to death ; the coarse tyranny with its ]ietty tortures. ... It is, of course, as interesting as a novel. We fear its thrilling details are true as well as interesting." — Graphic. *' A striking book, which appears opportunely at a time when Europe is occupied in watching the beginning of another stage of her development. Stepniak writes with a vigour and jiassion which must command attention," — Melbourne .iryas. Court Life Beloiv Stairs : or, London UNDER THE FOUR GEORGES. By J. Fitzgerald MoLLOY. Author of " Royalty Restored." 2 yoIs, crown 8vo., cloth. ]2s. " Mr. Molloy's style is crisp, and carries the reader along; his portraits of the famous men and women of the time are etched with care, and his narrative rises to intensity and dramatic impressivciiess as he follows the latter days of Queen Caroline." — Briti.th Quarterly lU'view. " Mr. Molloy's style is bright and fluent, picturesque and animated, and he tells his stories with unquestionable skill and vivacity." — Atlieiucnm. ( 24 ) COURT LIFE BELOW STXIRS— continued. " The narrative is fluent and amusing, and is far more instructive than uine- tenths of the novels published nowadays." — St. James's Gazette. " Mr. Molloy's narrative is concise, and exhibits a wide acquaintance with the men and manners of the age. The anecdotes of the famous men of fashion, wits, fools, or knaves introduced are amusing, and several not generally known enliven the pages."— i)/or«/«^ Post. " Well written, full of facts bearing on every subject under consideration, and abounding with anecdotes of gay and witty debauchees." — Daily Telegraph. " What Pepys has done for the Stuarts, Mr. Molloy has done for their Hanoverian successors. This result of his arduous investigations is one of the most interesting works which lias ever come under our notice. It is impossible to open the books at any part without feeling an overpowering desire to continue the YieTuaaV—Xewca.ftle Chronicle. Songs from the Novelists ; from ELIZABETH TO YICTOPJA. Edited, and with intro- duction and notes, by W. Da"\'enport Ada:ms. Printed in brown ink on Dutch hand-made paper. Bound in iUuuiinated parchment, rough edges, gilt top. Fcap 4to. 12s. (ul. " A volume of exceptional interest Marvellously comprehensive, and, to a great extent, breaks up new ground The interest of the volume is inexhaustible." — Globe. " A handsome volume for the drawing-room table. A splendid book, useful fvnd ornamental Tlie inibHshers as well as the Editor have dis- played perfect taste in the production of the work." — Life. "It has been a happy thought, and so far as our recollection allows us to suppose, it is an original one, to collect the lyrics interspersed in lOnglish, prose fiction. The dainty volume is the painstaking compilation of Mr. W. Davenport Adams." — Daily Teleyraph. " A happy idea occurred to Mr. Davenport Adams when he determined to collect from the pages of Englisii novels, d;iliiig from Kli/.abeth to Victoria, a series of representative songs. The result of his labours is a volume containing over one hundred and twenty poetic gems, many of which are of such beauty and worth tliat one can hardly forbear the (juestion - Why has it not been done before ? Probably no one has hitherto credited our English novelists witii the possession of suflicient poetic genius, and if, in some standard work of (iction, an odd verse or so should find its way into the author's accustomed i)rose, it has not met with mucli iittoiition or respect on tlie part of the reader To most people this publication will come as a revelation." — Morniny J'oA. ( 25 ) FliUosopliy in The Kitclien : General HINTS ON FOODS AND DRINKS. By the Author of" The Eeminiscences of an Old Bohemian," &c. Crown 8vo., cloth. 8s. Gd. " The most recommeiulable book on cookery that has been published in England for many long days." — Saturday Review. " The recipes in the Old Bohemian's ' Philosophy in the Kitchen ' makes <:>ne"s mouth water." — Graphic. "The Old Bohemian is a. cordon bleu among cooks, and a capital raconteur. His chapter on salads alone is worth the price of the book." — Lady. " A racy, chatty, and instructive book." — Scotsman. " A remarkable book, cleverly written, full of thought and brimming over wich original suggestions." — British Confectioner. " Excellent recipes, some of which are absolutely new." — Figaro. "Will quickly take its place among the culinary standards of Brillat-Savarin, Kettner, Fin Bee, Tegetmeier, and the no less able, but more desultory, George Augustus Sala." — Practical Confectioner. " An amusing cookery-book, probably the only one in the language. To housekeepers who are not above taking valuable hints as to the preparation of food, to those who look upon eating and drinking as the chief ends of life, and to all and sundry who like useful information none the less because it is lightened with genial gossip and epiced with sparkling anecdote, ' Philosophy in the Kitchen' is a book we can recommend." — Spectator. " Sets forth the conclusion with regard to meat and drink of one who has had many opportunities, and has used them wisely and well. He is a prophet to whom the dyspetic may listen on occasion with pleasure, and of whom the haughtiest plain cook may learn certain virtues of practice. His remarks on the distillation of coffee are such as should be read in every kitchen." — Athemcum. " Full of useful and sensible advice to cooks and their accomplices ; and receipt after receipt, l>lended with anecdotes new and old, take this volume out of the usual run of cookery-books." — Chemist and Druyyist. Folk and Fairy Tales. By Mrs. Burton Harrison. With Twenty-four original whole page Illustra- tions by AValter Crane. In pictorial cloth case specially designed by Walter Crane. Gilt edges. 7s. 6d. " Messrs. Ward and Downey have, in ' Folk and Fairy Tales,' by Mrs. Burton Harrison, earned the gratitude of the youngsters, fur the fairy stories are all good, well-written, and excellently illustrated." — Vanity Fair. ( 2G ) FOLK AND FAIRY TALES— eontintted. " Mr. Crane's prettiest pictures. . . Tbo stories arc well told auci enter- taining." — Saturday Revieic. " Regi is Mrs. Burton Harrison's hero, a lonely little boy in a big house, sur- rounded by any number of servants, a not too kind governess, and ii papa who is too busy in his business to liiid time to pet Regi. In fact, in the house everything seems to be out sympatby with child-nature. But it is not so. The items oi hrlc-a- brac tijat lie about the drawing-room are moved to speech ; some eighteen pieces each tell a story, befitting its caste and country. In this way a ' Russian Tea- Urn ' relates in a new form the storv of ' Vasilissa, the Wise,' the ' Three- Silver Feathers,' aversion of an old "Welsh Romance; the 'Arabian Pipe,' a resetting from tlie ' Arahian Nights f the ' Norv/egian Wedding Crown,' a story from the Norse ; and so on throughout the book. But Mrs. Burton Harrison's resettings of these twice-told tales are entei'taining ; she has the gift of telling a story so that it will catch a child's ear, and that in my opinion, is among •writers a rare accomplisliment. It should commend the book not only to every nursery and schoolrooni but to all such as delight in reminiscences of then* age of i)inafores. The four-and-twentj- pictiu'es from Mr. Walter Crane's pen that illustrate the stories should not be passed over without a word of praise. Mr. Walter Crane is a mannerist, but his mannerisms are invariably refined and artistic. In the illustrations to Mrs. Harrison's book he has given play to his. fancy, and the result is excellent. The pictures are above, in no small degree, the ordinary type of book illustrations. Mr. Walter Crane has produced nothing to equal them since he published his delightful ' Grimm,' in 1882." — Pictorial World. " Hans Andersen, of course, is the master of this kind of story telling, and •we cannot read any book of this sort without thinking of him ; but Mrs. Burton Harrison is a very apt and skilful discijile, and there are not a few of these — they number some twenty altogether — which arc well worthy of the magician himself. Mr. Walter Crane seconds the author's pen most excellently with hi& pencil." — Spectator. " Fortunate is the author whose book is illustrated by ^Ir. Walter Crane. The matter it contains will at any rate be well recommended by the jnctures •which accompany it. ' Folk and Fairy Tales ' by Mrs. Burton Harrison possess this advantage, but it must also be said that they could very well stand alone on their own merits. Mrs. Harrison has collected a number of fairy tales of different countries, and has told them in a simple and attractive style. They lie out of the beaten hii^hways of fairy tales, and will be new to most readeis ; but they have the genuine ring of folklore about them. It will probably striko even ardent admirers of Mr. Crane that the absence of colour has enal)led him to give freer scope to his imagination, and that the bright cidoured ])icture books by which he is so well known may tend by their readiness of effect to hinder the exercise of the finer qualities of liis art. These are abundantly mnuifested in tiie beautiful drawings scattered through the volume." — Manchester Guardian. " It is many a long day since we have seen such a capital collection of stories for little people as Mrs. Burton Harrisjn's 'Fe^k and Fairy Tales,' a new ( 27 ) FOLK AND FAIRY TW.ES— continued. 'budf;et from Fairyland just published by Messrs. Ward and Downey. Tlie book is illustrated with no end of pretty pictures by Mr. Walter Crane." — Ladij. " ' Folk and Fairy Tales ' are welcomed with delight, and serve to restore that li,L;htness of heart which should never be absent from the young. The idea of making the various objects in the room tell their tales to a little boy is not, perhaps, quite original, if indeed such a thing as originality exists after so many centuries ; but it is well carried out, and the pictui-es by Mr. Walter Crane are drawn in a fanciful style, well suited to the text, and characteristic of the artist." — MornuKj Post. " Both yoiTDg and old lovers of fairy tales owe a debt of gratitude to Mrs, Burton Harrison for the publication of this delightful volume. It consists of the tales which were told to a companionless little boy by the very cosmopolitan •contents of his father's drawing-room. It kept up the writer of this notice much later than his usual bedtime. The book is tastefully bound, and the paper and printing is all that can be desired, while of the illustrations we need only saj^ that they are by Walter Crane. This is one of the most charming gift books we have seen this season." — Shefield Daihj Telcyrapli. " This is really a splendid book for children, containing some twenty •captivating stories of just the right length, with an ample number of excellent illustrations." — London Fij/aru." " The tales are exactly such as children love, and are told in a simple and attractive manner. The book is handsomely bound and tastefully printed. The ■design on the cover is very quaint and inetty .^'—Bayswater Chrunkle. " Who doesn't revel in fairy tales ? They seem to charm us almost from the cradle to tlie grave. No sooner does the mind arrive at the stage of comprehension and the tongue can lisp a few words, the request is foremost, ' Tell me a storj' !' In middle age it is much the same, although under another form, and age loves to hear again the stories it heard in childhood. A delightful ■collection has been formed by Mrs. Burton Harrison TJie idea is pretty. A little boy in New York dreams that he is in the drawing-room when, to his surprise, all the ornaments and curios scattered around are suddenly endowed with powers of speech, and, after an anuising squabble among themselves, they proceed to tell him strange tales of all countries. Thus ' Folk and Fairy Tales ' proves to be a most delightful gathering of legendary and fairy lore." — Lady's Pictorial. " The book is profusely illustrated with good woodcuts from drawings by Walter Crane, and taking it all in all, it ought to he a welcome Christmas gift to the young ones for whom it has been published." — Freeman's Journal. " The scheme of the author, whose ' Old-fashioned Fairy Tales,' of last year we have not forgotten, is the one familiar to all readers of Hans Andersen, of making a number of inanimate objects tell the story of their former life or of their own country to a child. In this case, the objects are not the worn-out playthings of a Scandinavian cottage, but tlie hiir-a-hrac of ' a spacious house in upper Fifth Avenue.' Mr. Walter Crane has evidently taken great jDaius over the illustrations, which reach u uniformly high standard." — Acadcmij. ( 28 ) MR. B. L. FARJEON'S RECENT NOVELS. In a Silver Sea, Second Edition. 3 vols. Crown 8vo. 31s. Gd. " Those who coninicnee it will become more and more interested, be unable to put it down until they've thiished the third volume, and then will breathe aj^ain, and be inclined to wonder how on earth it was they have been so spell- bound. For it is a ijuaint, weird, thrilling, mysterious, nightmarish work, like a screen of fantastic scraps put together with some sort of mysterious purpose, rivetting attention, and exciting curiosity. Occasionally the jerky dialogue recalls Victor Hugo's style, especially in ' L'Homme qui Rit.' ' In a Silver Sea ' may be classed with ' Tieasure Island,' ' In a Glass Darkly,' ' Uncle Silas,' ' King Solomon's Mines.' . , , The creepiest creepers have been Mr. Le Fanu's. But Mr. Farjeon has run him very near, and thrown in a touch of Hugoesque dialogue into the bargain." — Punch. The Sacred Nugget. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. " The story is so interesfing as to force one to turn over over the pages with something like real excitement." — Athciucum. Great Porter Square : A Mystery, Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. "A masterpiece of realistic fiction." — Mornin'j Po.ft. " One of the cleverest and most fascinating stories of the day." — Society. The House of White Shadows, Third Edition. Crown Hvo. 6s. " A genuine bit of romance powerfully told." — The World. " An ably-written, interesting, even engrossing tale." — Saturday Review. Grif: a Story of Australian Life, Picture boards. 2s. " One of the best stories he has produced, and full of high dramatic interest." Scottman. ( 29 ) THE POPULAR NEW NOVEL. As in a Looldnrj-GlaSS. By r. C. Philips. Author of " A Lucky Youiifj Woman." With a frontis- piece by Gordon Browne. Third edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. " Clever beyouj any common standard of cleverness." — Baihj Telegraph. " EemarL-ably clever, full of sustained interest." — World. " Marks a distinct epoch in novel-making." — St. Stejyheii's lieview. " There are ingenuity and originality in the conception of the book, anrl power in its working out." — Scotninan. " A powerful tragedy, a portfolio of character sketches, and a diorama of society scenes. Its characters are all real and living personages." — -Globe. " This original and realistic novel is distinctly clever." — Mornhuf Post. " It will be praised here, censured there, and read everywhere ; for it is linconventional and original, and in every sense a most attractive and remark- able novel." — Life. " That Mr. PhiUps' story has hit the public taste is sulFiciently evident from the fact that it has reached a second edition before we have found time to notice it. Its success is not astonishing ; for it shows abundant cleverness, much knowledge of some curious phases of life, and a real insight into certain portions of ihat mysterious organ, the female heart." — .S7. James's Gazette. " Mrs. Despard is her own heroine in these pages, and confides to her diary the doings and sayings of her daily life, and, with singular unreserve, the motives which influence and shape her actions He paints this woman as she is. The story is so shrewd and graphic, and Mrs. Despard is so cleverly wicked, that it would be a comedy were it not always working ui> to a possible tragedy." — Litcr'inj World. " The pictures of life at Monte Carlo are very clever, and indeed the book is throughout exceedingly graphic; the book has a certain value as revealing the real condition, the opinions, and the life of a considerable section of the wealthy pleasure-loving world of the day." — Pictorial ]l urld. " Unless Pope was a terrible libeller, which perhaps he was, every woman is at heart a rake. Mr. Philips does not prove the truth of his motto in the cunningly devised fable which bears the appropriate title ' As in a Looking- Glass ;' but he certainly draws the reflection of an accomi)lished rake who is at the same time a very woman Mr. Philips' story is a work of art, and, being much superior to the rough sketches of an average novelist, it dis- charges the true function of every work of art by rijiresenting things as thev actually are, ami teaching the observer to discriminate between appearances and realities." — Satunitnj lie vi etc. ( 30 ) Snow-hound at Earjle's. By Buet Harte. Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2s. Gd. " ' Snow-bound at Eagle's ' is in a somewhat gayer vein than most of Mr. Bret Harte's longer stories. The scene is, as usual, laid in the far "West, and the effect of the story consists in the contrast between the wild life and the ■civilization which lie so close together, and the setting of it shows another fresh bit of vigorously sketched landscape The characters are struck off ■with the author's invariable precision, and the story is told with his own inimitable terseness and careful avoidance of any reflections or descriptions •which do not make directly for the end he has in view. It is one of his brightest and most readable stories." — Athciiaum. "In the character of Ned Falkner, Bret Harte has created the sort of man ■who is best described as ' an archangel a little damaged,' which was Lamb's ■description of Coleridge Force of circumstances turns Ned for the nonce into a species of highwayman, and in that novel capacity he, with his bosom friend George Leo, is ' snow-bound at Eagle's ' in the company of some of the most fascinating women Bret Harte has yet created. The whole action ■of the story takes place in about a fortnight, and the author skilfully sliows how much may hajjpeu in that brief space to make or mar a life." — Whitehall Jieview. " Bret Harte's hand has clearly not forgot its cunning, and in ' Snow-bound at Eagle's ' we have something in the old style of ' The Luck of Roaring Camp.' . . . . Well and vividly told ; and at some points the interest is intense. It is Bret Harte all through, and often Bret Harte at his best." — Aberdeen Journal. " A strongly sensational sketch of the characters of a coujilo of ' road agents,' as highwaymen are called in the Far West. The author, in his customary manner, and with all his old charm of style, points his moral that there is some good in the worst of men, which develojies itself under favourable influences, and the manner in which the chance association with three good ■women softens and ennobles the character of these two unprincipled men is dealt with in a touching yet humorous fashion tliat is jnufectly irresistible. As in all the author's works the people and places are refreshingly unconven- tional, and I have seldom read a book of his tliat I like more, altliougii others have more deeply touched me. You will agree with me that ' Snow-bound at Eagle's ' is certainly a book to read more than once." — Socirtij. " A delightful little novel The sketches of frontier life have all the old power." — St. Jamen's Gazette. " The story and the situations are entirely original The dialogue serves to bring out the individuality of each character, a rare excellence. The plot is natural, and the situations striking and suggestive. The word- painting is a triumph of simiilicity and literary instinct By all lovers of literature, as well as by all readers of fiction, ' Snow-bound at Eagle's ' will be enjoyed as coutaiuiug some of its distinguished author's best and most characteristic work." — J'ictunal U'orlc'- ( 81 ) NEW SERIES OF SHILLING NOVELS. ♦ A Prince of Darkness, By Florence- warden. Author of " The House on the Marsh," &c. "A spirited melodrama, written -with unflagging buoyancy, and overflowing vith exciting occurrences." — St. Javics's Gazette. " A book which is nothing if not exciting The secret is ex- tremely well kept, and the discovery of the mysterious Mr. Beresford's- identity deserves to rank with the unmasking of Godfrey Ablewhite at the- end of Mr. Wilkie Collins's 'Moonstone.' " — Satxirdaij lievieir. MolJiCl, (Popular Edition of " Cliristmag Angel.") By B. L. Faiijeon. *• A gem of truthful, powerful, poetic v/riting, and the striking originality of eonception and idea, which distinguishes it throughout, marks it as a work apart." — Morning Advertiser. Oliver^S Bride. A Modem story. By Mrs.. Oliphant. Tenth thousand. " A perfect gem." — Vanity Fair. " A powerful story, told in elegant English Full of dramatic power." — Sdttirday lieiieir. The Darh House ; a Knot Unravelled, By George Man\ille Fenn. New and Enlarged Edition. Fifteenth thousand. "An inscrutable and bewildering mysterj'." — Pnll Mall Gazette. A Deadly Errand, By Max Hillary. Author of " Once for All," &c. "Not the sort of book people should read just before going to bed, because when once taken up it is impossible to put it down until it is tinished." — Whitehall Beview. Eve at the Wheel. A story of Three Hundred Yirgins. By George Manville Fenn. Tenth thousand. " The story is unusually original, both in plot and treatment." — I\Ianchester GwiTdiav. " A delightfully fresh and readable story." — Glasfjoiu Herald. Eaten TJp. By^EosTON." "A curiously engrossing story." — Society. " This spirited story. . . It is a novelette afier the manner of the famous series which were written by Harriet Martincau, that is to say it has betn. written with a purpose, and it is remarkably well done."— TopicaZ Times. / THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. >^""']"205020890685 ,'j'.^,.JOj||"ERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 001 424 537 7