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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 DAVID DUMPS; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE BUDGET OF BLUNDERS. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 E. L. CAREY AND A. HART. 
 
 1838.
 
 Vo7? 
 £>3^2>HcL 
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Dramatists are apt to suppose the scene of a tragedy- 
 must of necessity be placed in a- palace or a senate- 
 house, and that the hero, if not actually heir to a crown- 
 ed head, must be one of the blood-royal, or a noble of 
 the highest rank. This is quite a mistake ; for the " do- 
 mestic tragedy" comes much more home to the feelings, 
 because the adventures and sufferings of the actors are 
 such as it might by chance be our own lot to encounter. 
 Romance-writers are also fond of the tower and the 
 turret, the terrace and the tapestried chamber ; and the 
 hero walks forth in cloth of gold and a plumed cap, 
 while the heroine sits in her bower, in while satin, with 
 strings of pearls round her alabaster neck. 
 
 Novel-writers are worse than all. High life is their 
 only sphere, at\d we must imagine that we sit in the 
 chambers of the aristocracy, fragrant with all manner 
 of exotics, and shaded with rose-coloured curtains, 
 
 " Whilst we are toVl how a duchess 
 Conversed with het cousin the earl !" 
 
 We have nothing of the kind to offer to the reader in 
 the following pages. Our hero ris^ (whilst his spirits 
 sink ) from a very low grade of society • the heroine is 
 one of what is called the middling class ; &tvd the adven- 
 tures, though deeply tragic, and quite enough to make 
 
 929776
 
 4 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 any mortal hero pine away to a very skeleton, are 
 thoroughly domestic, and not only such as might have 
 happened to any one of us, but such as have actually 
 befallen somebody. 
 
 We do not say that events of the most unforeseen and 
 thrilling nature will not be found in these pages; but 
 knowing the prevailing mania of the reading public, we 
 deem it right to state, to prevent disappointment, that in 
 the following true story we shall never once lead the 
 way into the mansion of a nobleman, nor 4p we even 
 intend to cross the threshold of a member of parliament. 
 By making this candid avowal, we shall considerably 
 diminish the number of our readers; but there will be at 
 least a diminution of the average quantity of disappoint- 
 ment among those who with a yawn throw aside the 
 volume. 
 
 Anthony Dumps, the father of our hero, married Dora 
 Coffin, on St. Swithin's Day, in the first year of the last 
 reign. 
 
 .>' Anthony was then comfortably off; but, through a 
 combination of adverse circumstances, he went rapidly 
 down in the world, became a bankrupt, and being ob- 
 liged to vacate his residence in St. Paul's Churchyard, 
 he removed to No. 3, Burying-ground Buildings, Pad- 
 dington Road, where Mrs. Dumps was delivered of a 
 son, who was christened David. 
 
 David sighed away his infancy like other babes and 
 sucklings ; and when he grew to be a hobWcdehoy, there 
 was a seriousness in his visage, and a much-ado-about- 
 nothingncss in his eye, which were proclaimed by good- 
 natured people to be indications of deep thought and pro- 
 fundity ; while others, less "fla^ering sweet," declared 
 they indicated nought but want of comprehension and 
 the dulness of stupidity. As he grew older, he grew 
 graver : sad was his teok, sombre the tone of his voice, 
 and half an hour's conversation with him was a very 
 serious affair ind^ ;f '- 
 
 Burying-gr^nd Buildings, Paddington Road, was the 
 scene of h* infant sports. Since his failure, his father
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 had earned his livelyhood by letting himself out as a 
 mute or a mourner to a furnisher of funerals. « Mute" 
 and " voluntary wo" were his stock-in-trade. 
 
 Often did Mrs. Dumps ink the seams of his small- 
 clothes, and darken his elbows with a blacking-brush, 
 ere he sallied forth to follow borrowed plumes; and 
 when he returned from his public performance, (oft re- 
 hearsed,) Master David did innocently crumple his 
 crapes apjd sport with his weepers. 
 
 His mHancholy outgoings at length were rewarded 
 by some pecuniary incomings. The demise of others 
 secured a living for him ; and, after a few unusually pro- 
 pitious sickly seasons, he grimly smiled as he counted 
 his gains, — the mourner exulted, and in praise of his 
 profession the mute became eloquent. 
 
 Another event occurred : after burying so many peo- 
 ple professionally, he at length buried Mrs. Dumps. 
 That, of course, could not be considered as a mere mat- 
 ter of business. We have before remarked that she was 
 descended from the Coffins, — she was now gathered to 
 her ancestors. 
 
 It was not surprising that Dumps had risen in his pro- 
 fession. He was a perfect master of melancholy cere- 
 monies; and as a mute proclaimer of the mutability of 
 human affairs, none could equal him. Never did the 
 summer sunshine of nankeen lie beneath the shadows of 
 his " inky cloak ;" never, while his countenance betoken- 
 ed the " winter of discontent," was he known to simper, 
 — even in his sleeve ! 
 
 Dumps had long been proud of gentility of appearance; 
 a suit of black had been his working-day costume: no- 
 thing, therefore, could be more easy than for Dumps to 
 turn gentleman. He did so ; took a villa at Gravesend, 
 chose for his own sitting-room a chamber that looked 
 against a dead wall, and, whilst he was lying in state 
 upon the squabs of his sofa, he thought seriously of the 
 education of his son, and resolved that he should be in- 
 stantly taught the dead languages. 
 David was superstitious. Though his temper and dis- 
 
 1*
 
 6 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 position had neither been spirited nor sprightly, his 
 dreams and his fears had been both. From the win- 
 dows of Burying-ground Buildings he had daily witness- 
 ed grave proceedings; and at the witching hour of night, 
 he felt convinced he had seen unearthly sports, — sports 
 on the turf, among beings who ought by rights to have 
 been under it; and sometimes he had thought that he 
 beheld the new-comers in the grounds beneath his cham- 
 ber, (by no means pleasure-grounds,) frisking in the con- 
 genial paleness of the moonlight. 
 
 All this made an impression on him, and lie was de- 
 cidedly a lad of a serious turn of mind. 
 
 It has been asserted that our schoolboy days are our 
 happiest. It may be so with high-spirited, daring boys, 
 possessed of a certain degree of talent, sufficient to carry 
 them through the routine of discipline without much 
 study, and yet without the danger of frequent disgrace. 
 With such boys the play-ground and the cake-shop 
 make ample amends for a few hours' fagging. But it 
 is not so with a boy of delicate constitution and of duller 
 temperament: he rises to the drudgery of the school- 
 room, and cakes and cricket offer nothing in atonement 
 for raps on the knuckles. 
 
 Sombre as was David's home, it was preferable to 
 school; and he always quitted the paternal roof with a 
 heavy heart. 
 
 David was by no means a fool ; he could learn his 
 grammar, and plod through an exercise as well as any 
 body. It was in the play-ground more than in the 
 school-room that he got the name of " a dull boy." He 
 did not laugh, and leap, and run about like other boys; 
 he had a dull habit of walking up and down' the field 
 thinking of nothing. Then, too, he never seemed to un- 
 derstand a joke until he became the victim of one; and 
 so the big boys constantly made fun of him, and the lit- 
 tle boys used to delight in making him an apple-pie bed. 
 
 David had a thoroughly good disposition, and never
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 7 
 
 resented any of these tricks. School-boys never appre- 
 ciate each other's good qualities (how should they?); 
 and when he looked grave after some practical joke 
 that had inconvenienced and annoyed him. they thought 
 he was sulkv and revengeful. Not a bit of it : he often 
 looked at them with wonder and envy, wishing that he 
 had within him the capability of so much enjoyment. 
 
 At seventeen, David left school, and resided with his 
 father at Cypress Villa, Gravesend. His father was a 
 miserable man ! It is, alas ! the mournful and almost 
 inevitable result of leaving off business and being rich! 
 Often had Anthony Dumps, in his days of poverty and 
 mule drudgery, sighed, as he put by part of his earnings, 
 for the time when Ire should be a gentleman and have 
 nothing to do; and that time was now arrived, and he 
 actually did nothing from morning till night; and a very 
 miserable state of existence he found it. 
 
 Anthony Dumps would now and then, unknown to 
 any body, slip on a suit of old mourning, and steal out 
 to follow in the wake of some funeral : it was refreshing 
 to him, it reminded him of old times; but still it was an 
 unsubstantial stolen enjoyment, it produced no remune- 
 ration, and he was an unnoticed unimportant personage. 
 
 " Your son is growing up," said a neighbour to Mr. 
 Dumps, one day ; " what do you mean to make him ?" 
 
 "Nothing at all," replied he, drawing himself up, and 
 putting his hands in his breeches' pockets. 
 
 " Nothing !" 
 
 "Certainly not; I've made plenty of money for an 
 only child, and David shall enjoy himself." 
 
 What a sad mistake this was! That same "nothing 
 at all" is the most fatiguing profession a man can enter. 
 We do not by any means mean to say that all men ought 
 to bring up their sons to the same trades in which they 
 themselves plodded and prospered : but we would have 
 the rich tradesman educate his son for a profession, and 
 snatch him from the ennui which is the inevitable bane 
 of him who has no occupation." 
 
 Onlv look at the men of a certain age who are and
 
 8 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 have been all their lives inactive. With plenty of money 
 in their pockets, but without a pursuit, to them the daily 
 gossip is important, and their own rheumatisms are 
 matters of serious cogitation, and talked about to every 
 unfortunate acquaintance whom they can lay hold of by 
 a button. 
 
 But David was to be "nothing at all;" and, though 
 " nothing can come of nothing," his father was disap- 
 pointed that people did not make much of him; and seeing 
 him sit sad and silent for hours together, looking at dull 
 books, without appearing ever to turn over a page, he 
 one day said — 
 
 " David, this won't do !" 
 
 "What won't do, sir?" replied David, dropping his 
 book. 
 
 " Why, you must see more of the world, and the 
 world must see more of you." 
 
 " How so, sir?" 
 
 " Why, David, you see I'm no gentleman — never was, 
 and never shall be." 
 
 "No, sir?" 
 
 " Well, then, you are a gentlerian." 
 
 "Am I, sir?" 
 
 " ' Am I, sir !' Yes, to be sure ; haven't you had 
 learning, and fine clothes, and pocket-money ? and didn't 
 I bring you up to be nothing at all?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David, sighing. 
 
 " You've now left school ten years." 
 
 " Ten years !" 
 
 " Yes, you are seven-and-twenty ; and since you've 
 been at home with me, you've lived the life of a perfect 
 gentleman ; and that's a great comfort to a father. 
 You've never had to do one single thing but get up of a 
 morning, put on your clothes, eat, drink, and walk about, 
 undress at night, and go to sleep. As to your reading, 
 that was all your own choice; and I don't believe you've 
 done much of that." 
 
 " I some times think I should be happier, sir, if I had 
 something to do."
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 9 
 
 "What do you mean?" inquired his father. 
 
 " Why, I sometimes wish you had brought me up to 
 something." 
 
 " It is not genteel, David." 
 
 " Isn't it, father ? Well, I don't know ; perhaps I might 
 be happier without being genteel." 
 
 " For shame, David !" 
 
 " Why, you're not genteel, father." 
 
 "No; — but then I hanker after business, because I 
 was brought up to it, and because I remember the time 
 when I and your mother shouldn't have had a crust to 
 eat if it hadn't been for the shop." 
 
 " What misery!" 
 
 " Misery ! not at all : — it's much more miserable to 
 me getting up now just to look out of the window, or take 
 a walk and come home again. I was brought up to 
 business, therefore / misses it; but you were brought 
 up to be nothing at all, so it ought all to come natural 
 like." 
 
 " Well, but I don't think it does, father." 
 
 " I tell you what it is, David: I don't think I'm good 
 company for a gentleman, — you must go away and see 
 the world." 
 
 " Oh, that would be a deal of trouble, father; can't I 
 stay at home and read about it?" 
 
 " No ; you must go away, — you see you've nobody 
 here to keep company with ; for when I left off business 
 and came here, I couldn't, for your sake, associate with 
 those I used to be hand-and-glove with; and then I be- 
 lieve the bettermost people hereabouts voted me a vulgar 
 old chap — and they were not far wrong; but between 
 the two w 7 e know nobody almost : so, just go your ways, 
 draw for as much money as you like, and come back 
 and tell me all about it. I shall be lonesome enough 
 without vou ; but won't it be a great day when you re- 
 turn ?" 
 
 David was not accustomed to oppose his father, or 
 any one else; therefore, when a trip to France was 
 proposed, he gently pleaded that, though pretty well
 
 10 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 grounded in Greek and Latin, his schoolmaster had not 
 initiated him in the mysteries of French : but being as- 
 sured that English would go a good way every where 
 on the coast, and that a gentleman who was nothing at 
 all, could always make himself understood, unlocking 
 the comprehensions of all who approached him with a 
 silver key, he yielded without further controversy, — 
 bought a guide-book, a little book of French phrases, a 
 few additions to his wardrobe, and then taking an affec- 
 tionate leave of his only parent, he bade adieu to Cypress 
 Villa, Gravesend. 
 
 David had been educated among the sons of gentle- 
 men ; therefore, though he had never seen any thing of 
 society, his manners could not be called vulgar, though 
 they were certainly eccentric.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 With a purse well lined, and a large black leather 
 trunk, David Dumps left home and embarked at some 
 wharf in Tower Street on board a packet which, for the 
 small sum of five shillings, was to convey him to Bou- 
 logne-sur-Mer in eleven hours. 
 
 There is a great charm in cheapness : but the worst 
 of it is, so many people are beguiled into nibbling at the 
 same bait, and, (as in the present instance,) so many are 
 caught in the same trap. There were nearly three hun- 
 dred passengers in the boat which conveyed David 
 across the Channel ; and bad as sea-sickness must be at 
 the best, publicity certainly adds to its annoyances. 
 
 David (accustomed to aabloa from hia boyhood) had 
 provided himself with a very handsome and costly real 
 sable cape, which, covering his shoulders, descended to 
 his middle : he was sitting near a young lady who ap- 
 peared greatly to admire it. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, — a very handsome tippet — real 
 sable, I believe?" said she. 
 
 " It is, ma'am," said he, turning to her for one mo- 
 ment, and then yielding to the necessity of putting his 
 head over the side of the vessel. There was a pause ; 
 and when he was again able to look before him, his 
 neighbour said, 
 
 " Very costly, I suppose ?" 
 
 " What, ma'am ?" inquired David. 
 
 " That tippet, sir," said the lady. 
 
 " Yes : thirty pounds." 
 
 " Thirty pounds !" cried the lady. " Of course you 
 know they will seize it at the custom-house, — this is, un- 
 less your wife wears it ashore."
 
 12 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " I have no wife," said David, shaking his head with 
 nausea. 
 
 " Dear me ! it's quite a pity you should lose it, as you 
 certainly will." 
 
 " What! lose my cape?" 
 
 " Cape ! you may call it a cape if you will, but it's 
 neither more nor less than a lady's tippet; and being so, 
 they'll never let it pass on a man's back." 
 
 " You don't mean that ?" said David, " I would not 
 have it seized on any account." 
 
 "Well, sir," said the lady, civilly, "I'll assist you; 
 put it over my shoulders, and I'll pass it through the 
 custom-house with pleasure." 
 
 " No ! will you indeed !" cried David ; " then pray 
 take it at once, for I — really — 1 beg your pardon — oh, 
 what shall I do !" 
 
 And having put his thirty-guinea tippet over the lady's 
 shoulders, he yielded to the humiliating grievance, and 
 was carried down to the cabin, where he lay motionless 
 as the personages long since deposited in the yard ad- 
 joining Burying-ground Buildings, Baddinglun Road. 
 
 Talk of Chelsea Reach and Battersea Reach, it's all 
 stuff"; what are they to the Teachings outside the North 
 Foreland, or between Dover and Calais ! 
 
 David Dumps was bound for Boulogne, where his 
 anxious parent had urged him to spend a few weeks, and 
 a few naps.; at the same time rubbing off rust, and ac- 
 quiring that air and manner so essential to a gentleman 
 of independent fortune, and so difficult of acquirement 
 when the fortune has been accumulated in small ways 
 of business. It is no easy matter to struggle out of those 
 same small ways: all mankind are made of the same 
 dirty clay, no doubt of it; but then they are moulded 
 into different shapes; and afterwards they are baked in 
 different degrees of heat, and some are left bare and 
 unornamented, and others are richly and beautifully 
 painted ; not to mention the gilding which is lavishly 
 bestowed on some. Vain is it for the plain unadorned 
 pipkin, after it has once been sent forth into the world,
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 13 
 
 to expect to be remodelled, and adorned with flowers 
 and gold, like the vase that graces my lady's chamber! 
 
 To descend from metaphor and tell the honest truth, 
 David was (like ourselves) no beauty, and was, more- 
 ever, (like many that we know of,) most unfit to appear 
 among persons of refinement. But David knew not this ; 
 he had heard from his father that money made the man, 
 and while he could chink his purse in his pocket, he felt 
 confident in being looked upon as a perfect gentleman. 
 
 His landing at Boulogne, which might almost be con- 
 sidered his debut in life, (for we wish to pass over his 
 former funeral performances,) was calculated to alarm 
 and agitate so inexperienced a youth : sea-sickness hu- 
 miliates and brings down the spirit of the bravest. How 
 dreadful is the sensation of going up, up, up, and then 
 down, down, down ; the silly anxiety to cling to some- 
 thing or other, which all the time moves with you : and 
 then if you get a little bit better and care for drowning, 
 which really sick people utterly disregard, what a con- 
 sciousness you have of the one little plank which sepa- 
 rates you from the fishes ! 
 
 Travellers who have crossed the Alps or the Atlantic 
 may sneer at David's sensations: he was about to breathe 
 foreign air, and to put his foot for the first time on a 
 foreign shore. But let Mr. Beckford boast of Italy, 
 Mrs. Trollope prate of America, and our dear friend 
 Major Skinner, in his own honest, unaffected, charming 
 style, describe his varied travels so vividly, that we seem 
 to walk with him in the East, as we have often done, 
 and hope to do again, on less interesting ground ; still 
 every traveller must make a beginning, and until he 
 goes farther, (and perhaps fares worse,) Boulogne-sur- 
 Mer had to our hero all the charms of novelty, and all 
 the importance incidental to its being the first outlandish 
 place on which he had set his eyes. 
 
 He at length reached the extremity of the new pier, 
 the two sides of the harbour stretching into the sea like 
 two long dark horns. For half an hour the tide was 
 not sufficiently high for the vessel to venture over the 
 
 2
 
 14 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 bar, and there it lay, rolling and pitching most lamenta- 
 bly : at length a red flag was hoisted as a signal, and it 
 proceeded to the customary place of landing. 
 
 After a marine indisposition, what is it that the ex- 
 hausted sufferer, whether male or female, is most eager 
 to enjoy? Surely seclusion; a temporary retirement 
 from the world, during which to compose the spirits, re- 
 cruit the body, and restore and embellish the languid, 
 disordered, dishevelled, and cadaverous exterior. 
 
 Will it be believed that at Boulogne-sur-Mer, among 
 the fashionable public a??iusements may be reckoned 
 " going to see the packets come in and to watch the pas- 
 sengers land !" To be sure, there is nothing too insignifi- 
 cant to attract the attention of idle people: in country 
 towns, a little group is always assembled to see off " the 
 Telegraph," or "the Dart;" and we once heard of some 
 young ladies who resided in a village on the high road 
 from London to Bath, who, knowing well the hour when 
 it might be expected, always "dressed to meet the 
 coach!" Perhaps one or all may have been rewarded 
 by winning the whip-hand of a youth on the box, or the 
 heart of a middle-aged gentleman in the interior; but 
 we know nothing of the result. 
 
 The packet arrived at Boulogne just in time for the 
 passengers to disembark before a particularly crowded 
 and elegant audience. Those who dined early had 
 come forth for their evening promenade, and those who 
 dined late had not yet retired to dress for dinner. An 
 ample space between the custom-house and the water 
 had been marked out with ropes, and between them the 
 unfortunates were to walk to the bureau where their 
 passports were to be examined. Outside the ropes were 
 ranged the eager audience assembled to witness the 
 farcical arrival. In the front row were pedestrians, and a 
 second and a third row peeped over their shoulders; be- 
 hind these were carriages of all descriptions, all full of 
 people ! 
 
 Retreating as far as possible from the ladder, David 
 permitted others to commence the entertainment, and
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 15 
 
 with a palpitating heart he silently watched their recep- 
 tion. Up went a very fat man, with his very lean wife 
 and three wretched dragdetail daughters, whose recent 
 indisposition had been such as to attract the attention of 
 the almost equally suffering David. 
 
 At the top of the ladder, the fat man had to support 
 the lean lady; and not well knowing what he was about, 
 he sidled off* with his burthen, intending to get under the 
 ropes and make the best of his way to the town. Two 
 dark-green personages in huge cocked-hats belonging to 
 the Douane followed them: the husband in his agitation 
 very nearly dropped his languid lady; the whole party 
 then followed their leaders to the custom-house door, 
 while an audible titter ran round the gazing multitude. 
 Round the entrance was assembled a crowd of the most 
 vociferous biped nuisances ever heard; and these began 
 shouting into their ears in full chorus, each one endea- 
 vouring to drown the voice of the other, and thrusting 
 into the faces of the strangers little dirty cards. Each 
 had a different cry, endeavouring to entice the victims to 
 the particular hotel to which he belonged. Another, and 
 another, and another passed up the ladder, (like crimi- 
 nals going to be turned off,) and still David shrank back, 
 until at last he alone remained behind. The steward, 
 however, instead of whispering " I'll not leave thee, thou 
 lone one, to pine on the stem" (or on the stem) of the 
 vessel, cried, " Come, sir, your turn now, if you please," 
 and giving his arm, assisted him to climb. 
 
 " Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb" (when 
 you're not used to it) a ladder, the stepping-sticks of 
 which lie far apart, and between every one, as you 
 ascend, incommoded by a large cloak, a sac de nuit in 
 one hand, a stick and umbrella and a hat-box in the 
 other, you tremblingly look down upon the undulating 
 salt water ! 
 
 David did not look his best ; bad as his best was, he 
 never looked so bad as at this debarkation : the large 
 cloak was a Mackintosh of the exact colour of whitey-
 
 16 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 brown paper, which has always appeared to us a most 
 unbecoming garment. 
 
 Having at length passed through the ordeal of the 
 examination of passports and the rummaging of persons, 
 David made the best of his way to the kind lady who 
 had undertaken the safe custody of his thirty-guinea 
 sable tippet, and putting out his hands to undo the clasp, 
 he bowed and smiled, saying, 
 
 " I really do not know how to thank you !" 
 
 " What do you mean, sir?" said the lady, putting up 
 her hands to resist his seizure. 
 
 " / am the gentleman, — I see you don't recognise 
 me, — / am the gentleman so much indebted to you for 
 taking charge of that cape," said David. 
 
 " Pray what is that man talking of?" said the lady to 
 an Englishman who acted as commissioner of an hotel. 
 
 " He says you took charge of that fur tippet, ma'am, 
 and he begs you'll give it back." 
 
 " Oh !" almost screamed the lady, " this serves me 
 right for coming over in one of the cheap packets ! 
 I heard these sort of men were always on board of 'em! 
 My tippet that my uncle bought me at Waterloo House! 
 Is there no law in France?" All this was articulated 
 so loudly, that a crowd began to collect ; and David 
 heard it told from one to another that a swindling chap 
 had tried to steal a lady's tippet ! 
 
 No wonder, then, that poor David, in a foreign land, 
 without one friend, and knowing not one word of the 
 language, should shrink from further contention. He 
 therefore left the lady in undisputed possession of his 
 thirty-guinea sables; and having found his way to an 
 hotel, speedily retired to his bed.
 
 DAVID DUMTS. 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The next morning David rose in tolerably renovated 
 health ; and the only unpleasant result of his late voyage 
 was, that his apartment, and all that it contained, ap- 
 peared to be in motion. After breakfast he was deter- 
 mined to amuse himself; and having inquired his way 
 to the burying-ground, he was charmed with the novelty 
 of its arrangement, and lingered for hours among the 
 flowering shrubs and large wooden crosses which deco- 
 rate the Catholic tombs. Such contemplations always 
 raised his spirits and gave him an appetite; so he found 
 his way back to the town, and turned into the shop 
 of an English pastry-cook. Like many others of our 
 countrymen, he went abroad principally for the satis- 
 faction of having it to say that he had been there. 
 French society was to be avoided, as a matter of 
 course, and an hotel preferred where a waiter instead 
 of a gar con was in attendance. French shops, too, 
 were not at all in his way ; for whenever he did enter 
 one, he stood looking foolish on one side of the counter, 
 staring at the marchande who stood on the other, and, 
 pointing to the article he wanted to purchase, he said 
 nothing but " Combien? — hey? how much? qu'est-ce que 
 celaV It was therefore far more easy and agreeable 
 to go into a pastry-cook's shop and buy an unsophisti- 
 cated bun, than to seek a pdtissier and indulge in a 
 pate de groseilles. 
 
 David, whilst munching his bun, could not help re- 
 marking a young lady in mourning who was finishing 
 a tartlet. There was always something in mourning 
 deeply interesting to him, and he looked at the lady 
 much more often than he would have done had she 
 been arrayed in white, pink, or blue. 
 
 2*
 
 18 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " I wonder who's dead?" thought he: " the body must 
 be buried, or she could not be in public." 
 
 The lady paid for hei tartlet and departed ; and Da- 
 vid, eager to follow, as he had been accustomed to do 
 from childhood, the wearer of bombasin and crape, paid 
 also for his delicacies, and followed the dark incognita. 
 
 Fortune seemed to favour him ; for after pursuing the 
 lady in mourning from the bottom of the Grande Rue 
 haff-way down the Porte, she dropped her cambric 
 pocket-handkerchief, and, stepping forwards instinctively 
 to pick up any of the accessories of grief, he took the 
 kerchief and presented it to the unknown. The lady 
 paused, took the offered cambric, smiled, courtesied, 
 and hastily entered her father's lodgings. 
 
 David stood like a professional mute at the door of 
 the lady in mourning for a few seconds; but, gradually 
 recovering himself, he remembered that he had not been 
 so fortunate as to make her acquaintance on the very 
 day of the burying, and glancing hastily at the drawing- 
 room windows, he returned to his hotel. At the table 
 d'hote he sat next to an exceedingly smart young man, 
 who seemed anxious to enter into conversation with 
 him ; and he was soon led into a detail of his morning 
 lounge in the burying-ground, and his interesting inter- 
 view with the young lady in black. 
 
 "You have not been long on the Continent, sir?" 
 inquired the good-looking stranger. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 There was a pause, and the stranger's handsome 
 dark eyes seemed twinkling with some half-suppressed 
 joke ; but, recovering his equanimity, he called the 
 waiter and desired him to bring a bottle of champagne. 
 It came, and David found that his liberal neighbour had 
 filled his tumbler at the same moment that he had taken 
 care of himself. 
 
 " Your health, sir," said the stranger. 
 
 " I'm sure I thank you kindly," replied David, for the 
 first time tasting the sparkling liquor.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 10 
 
 " Another glass," said the stranger, " and success to 
 your flirtations with the heiress in black." 
 
 " An heiress !" exclaimed David. 
 
 "Certainly; and I, who witnessed what passed to- 
 day, observed that she smiled on you in a manner not 
 to be mistaken." 
 
 " You don't mean that !" 
 
 " I do indeed." 
 
 " You don't mean that she loves me /" said David, 
 casting a glance at a mirror, and rather pleased than 
 otherwise at the glimpse he caught of his own counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " Take my advice," said his new friend ; " go to 
 the theatre this evening, and boldly enter Mr. Tatum's 
 box." 
 
 " Mr. Tatum's box !" 
 
 " The young lady's name is Tatum : her mother 
 is dead, and she is an heiress to the little old gen- 
 tleman in a brown wig whose box you will sit in to- 
 night." 
 
 " You are very good," replied David ; " but 1 never 
 saw him — I " 
 
 " Come with me ; I take an interest in you. I know 
 the lady well ; she expects you, and you will be well 
 received." 
 
 David was hurried from the table, and, escorted 
 by his amiable companion, he soon arrived at the 
 theatre. 
 
 " Now, come here," said his friend, leading him to a 
 box-door on the dress circle, and peeping through the 
 little glass window inserted in it. 
 
 " Look ! there they are: you must go in." 
 
 "Go in!" said David; "impossible! what will they 
 think !" 
 
 "Oh, it is too late to recede," replied the un- 
 known ; and, knocking loudly at the box-door, he 
 vanished. 
 
 A fair hand within immediately threw open the box.
 
 20 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 and David stood revealed, ostensibly the individual who 
 had knocked to obtain admission. 
 
 A little old man in the front row looked sharply 
 round ; and, to David's extreme astonishment the young 
 lady whom he had met that morning recognised him 
 with a smiling bow, and turning to her lather, said, 
 "Papa — the gentleman I told you of — he has seen our 
 friends in Bishopsgate-street." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Mr. Tatum ; " I'm glad to see you, 
 sir : I don't think my daughter mentioned your name." 
 (It would have been very odd if she had, as it is quite 
 certain she did not know it herself.) 
 
 " I am Mr. David Dumps, sir," said the intruder in a 
 tremulous voice. 
 
 " The son of the rich Mr. Dumps, papa," whispered 
 the daughter. 
 
 " Oh ! the rich Mr. Dumps ! Dumps ! Dumps ! — don't 
 know him, never heard of him — very possible !" mur- 
 mured the old man, looking through a double-bar- 
 relled opera-glass, and pretending to attend to the 
 play, of which, however, he did not understand one syl- 
 lable. 
 
 David, as was his habit, said little; but the fair lady in 
 black occasionallv addressed him ; and he observed that 
 the handsome young man who had been the means of 
 introducing him to this desirable family was seated in an 
 upper box immediately opposite to them, — and as he 
 never took his eyes off them, he naturally concluded 
 that he took a deep interest in his success. 
 
 When the performance was over, Miss Tatum took 
 possession of David's arm. Old Tatum put on his 
 great-coat, looked at our hero, and then whispered to 
 his daughter, 
 
 " What did you say his name was V* 
 
 "Dumps, papa," replied the lady, sotto voce. 
 
 " Oh, — son of a rich Mr. Dumps, hey ?" 
 
 " Very rich, papa," added Miss Tatum. 
 
 " You had better go on with my daughter," said Ta- 
 tum ; " these steps arc awkward ; — I'll follow."
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 21 
 
 And so David and Miss Tatum, one of the prettiest 
 girls in the town, walked home together by moonlight 
 on the very first day of his arrival at Boulogne. They 
 said little, it is true, — indeed nothing to the purpose, if 
 the purpose of either was love : but when they parted, 
 Miss Tatum invited him to drink tea with them the next 
 evening; and her father, who hobbled up at the moment, 
 after a hurried repetition of his recent whispers, conde- 
 scended to second the invitation.
 
 22 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Is it posssible that I'm in love?" thought David next 
 morning. A pause, and he went on shaving. " Is it 
 possible that the young lady is in love with me'?" Ano- 
 ther pause, — and he simpered at himself in the glass, 
 and gave his chin another coat of lather. The tacit 
 response which he gave to the last query certainly was 
 not a negative, and David went forth that day with an 
 elasticity of step unknown to him before. At dinner he 
 again sat by his kind friend, whose name was Arden ; 
 and when evening closed in, he was urged to keep his 
 appointment and repair to the house of Mr. Tatum. 
 The evening was mild; but Mr. Arden strongly recom- 
 mended him to wear his ample Mackintosh, which was, 
 as we have elsewhere recorded, the exact tint of whitey- 
 brown paper. He himself assiduously arranged its 
 folds, and then David went forth " a-wooing." 
 
 His hand trembled as he knocked at the door of the 
 lodgings, his heart palpitated as he entered the passage; 
 but what were his feelings when he saw the fair lady of 
 the house come smiling from the parlour, and insisting 
 on taking from him his cloak ! — she with her own hands 
 removed it from his shoulders and hung it on a peg. 
 
 Strange as it may seem after this act of courtesy, he 
 saw little of the young lady during the evening. He 
 and the old gentleman sat opposite to each other, drink- 
 ing first tea, which was sent into the room ready made, 
 and then toddy, which Mr. Tatum prided himself on 
 brewing after the most approved fashion. 
 
 David got on wonderfully with his host, for he was 
 by nature, education, and indeed by hereditary right, a 
 mute, — therefore an admirable listener; and though the 
 old gentleman seldom said any thing worth hearing, he 
 liked to twaddle on undisturbed. Half asleep and half
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 23 
 
 awake, David sat looking now at the fire, and then at 
 the candles; in the former discovering imaginary funeral 
 processions, and in the latter coffins and winding-sheets. 
 When the hour of departure arrived, Miss Tatum again 
 appeared, took the whitey-brown Mackintosh frcm its 
 hook, and with a smile, the counterpart of that with 
 which she had disrobed Mr. Dumps and breathed his 
 welcome, she now again cloaked him and saw him de- 
 part. 
 
 David had never thought of loving any body in his 
 life, and the notion of being beloved by a pretty girl 
 with roses, ringlets, and a nice little foot, had never en- 
 tered his head. As he slowly returned homewards, he 
 ruminated seriously, if not sadly, on the novelty of his 
 situation. Mr. Tatum had invited him to renew his 
 visit on the following evening ; and Miss Tatum had 
 seconded her father's request with an earnestness and at 
 the same time a delicate anxiety for his health, that was 
 really touching, " Be sure you come," said she; "and 
 do no fail to wear your cloak, for the nights are chilly." 
 Could any thing be more satisfactory 1 He folded the 
 Mackintosh more closely round him, and proceeded with 
 a brisker step. David began to consider himself a man 
 of very considerable personal attractions, and he resolved 
 to write to his father, asking permission in due course of 
 time to pop the question to Miss Tatum. 
 
 On arriving at 's hotel, he walked proudly into 
 
 the coffee-room, where he found his young friend Mr. 
 Arden apparently anxiously awaiting his arrival; for as 
 soon as he entered the room, he ran up to him, offering 
 to unclasp and take from him his water proof Mackin- 
 tosh. 
 
 "Dear me, I couldn't think of such a thing!" said he, 
 astonished at the attentions lavished on him : " I will not 
 trouble you." 
 
 " Nonsense !" said young Arden ; " it is no trouble, 
 but a great pleasure ; and he persisted until he had un- 
 fastened the hook and carried away the cloak to a dis- 
 tant part of the room, where, after folding it with very
 
 24 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 great care, he deposited it on a chair, and very soon 
 afterwards, abruptly wishing his companions good night, 
 he took a candle and retired to his room. 
 
 David was not sorry to be left alone, for he much 
 preferred thinking of Miss Tatum to talking of her. At 
 a late hour he retired to bed, and dreamed that he and 
 the young lady were very happy together driving about 
 Gravesend in a mourning coach.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 25 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Human happiness may be said to have reached its 
 climax when a mortal is doubly blessed in the participa- 
 tion of unbounded love and disinterested friendship. 
 Such was at this period the position of our hero: long 
 afterwards, amid the changes and chances of an event- 
 ful career, he looked back to these brief hours of enjoy- 
 ment as forming " the one green spot on memory's waste." 
 But we must not anticipate ; sufficient far the volume are 
 the incidents thereof. 
 
 David saw little of the Tatums during the day. Mr. 
 Tatum pored over newspapers hour after hour at an 
 English reading-room ; and Miss Tatum bathed, and 
 dressed, and rode on donkeys, and then dressed again : 
 — indeed she never encouraged him to visit her of a 
 morning. But evening after evening did he pass in her 
 society; his kind disinterested friend always with anxious 
 solicitude wrapping him up in his cloak before he left 
 the hotel ; and she, with an insinuating delicacy which 
 entirely won his heart, always taking the cloak from his 
 shoulders and putting it carefully away before he entered 
 her father's presence. 
 
 "You will let me introduce you to Miss T. ?" said 
 David to his friend in the fulness of his gratitude. 
 
 "No, no," said Arden ; "I'm not a marrying man." 
 
 " A marrying man!" replied David; "what has that to 
 do with it? If you icere a marrying man, that could 
 not interfere with an understanding already existing." 
 
 " Of course not," said Arden, laughing. 
 
 " Well ; and not being a marrying man, you will be 
 welcomed by Rebecca as a friend." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Arden, trying not to laugh. 
 
 " And reallv," said David, overflowing with sensibility, 
 
 3
 
 26 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " I should be glad to see you friends : for my own part, 
 / never can forget what I owe you." And he seized the 
 right hand of George Arden, and shook it with avidity. 
 
 " You are a marrying man ?" said George. 
 
 " I — that is — of course — if a lady evinces a predi- 
 lection " 
 
 " True ; it is not in the nature of man to be repulsive: 
 but what are your intentions?" 
 
 " Honourable, sir !" said David, drawing himself up. 
 
 " Of course : but supposing you were married, where 
 do you mean to take her ?" 
 
 " To Cypress Villa, Gravesend." 
 
 " I could not sleep in a place so called for worlds," 
 said Arden with mock solemnity. 
 
 " No !" exclaimed David, whose nerves were none of 
 the strongest, and whose slumbers, when he Mas a boy, 
 had often been disturbed by his consciousness of lying so 
 near a cemetery. 
 
 " No," said George Arden ; " I should die of fright." 
 
 "Oh !" replied David, with an hysterical laugh; " for 
 my part, I have no fears." 
 
 " No fears !" interrupted his companion, pushing up 
 his hair so that he looked at the moment in a state of 
 terror. 
 
 " I don't mean to ridicule the idea of ghosts," mur- 
 mured David, turning pale, and betraying to Arden his 
 real sensations. 
 
 "Ridicule!" replied his friend ; "impossible! /once 
 laughed at supernatural appearances; — shall I tell you 
 the result ?" 
 
 " Not till daylight, if you please," said David, rising 
 to snuff the candles. 
 
 " No time like the present," exclaimed Arden ; and ex- 
 tinguishing them both, he added, " Sit you down there, 
 and I will tell you the story by the dim light of the fire."
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 27 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 George Arde\ having arranged himself comfortably 
 in an easy chair, began as follows : — 
 
 " An old woman's story, particularly if it had a ghost 
 in it, was from my very boyhood received by me with 
 a laugh or with a sneer. But this is no proof that I did 
 not love old women. Are w 7 e not all too apt to trifle 
 with the weaknesses of those who are most dear to us ? 
 This incredulity of mine was not, however, calculated 
 to awaken in my elderly friends a reciprocity of attach- 
 ment ; and there was one old woman in particular who 
 evidently disliked my irreverent laugh, and yet seemed 
 determined to win me over to the full enjoyment of the 
 pleasures of her imagination. 
 
 "And most imaginative she was; assigning to every 
 old mansion its spectre, to every corner cupboard its 
 supernatural visitant. She could give the most elabo- 
 rate version of all old stories; and whilst engaged in her 
 narration, she would cast an indignant glance at him 
 who ventured to trace her stories to the excited nerves 
 of individuals, or indeed to any other natural cause. 
 
 " She lived in a habitation most congenial to her tem- 
 perament, — an old Elizabethan mansion forming three 
 sides of a quadrangle, with a large lofty shadowy hall, 
 very long passages, tapestried chambers, and surround- 
 ed by a moat. In this house I have spent some of the 
 happiest days of my life ; and it was in my boyhood, 
 during the long winter evenings of my holidays, that I 
 first listened to, and first ventured to laugh at, the won- 
 derful stories of old Mistress Douce. 
 
 " Though Sally Douce was a very important per- 
 sonage at Maltby Hall, you are not to suppose that she
 
 28 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 was the lady of the mansion. My host was Sir Charles 
 Maltby, a young baronet of three-and-twenty ; and my 
 hostess, his beautiful bride, was in her nineteenth year. 
 In the schoolboy days to which I have alluded, I had 
 been the guest of older persons, the father and mother of 
 my friend Sir Charles, who was then a schoolboy like 
 myself. But the venerable pair were reposing in peace 
 under the family pew in the neighbouring church; and 
 Charles, my former playfellow, being new a baronet and 
 a married man, invariably gave me a hospitable recep- 
 tion. 
 
 Mistress Sally Douce had been housekeeper at Malt- 
 by Hall for fifty years; and having been born in a cot- 
 tage on the estate, she considered herself, and really 
 seemed to be considered by my friend, as one of the fa- 
 mily. Charles used to be her greatest pet. Whilst I 
 laughed outright at her marvellous narratives, he laugh- 
 ed only in his sleeve ; and when I was affronting the 
 venerable story-teller by a voluntary avowal of disbe- 
 lief, he would soothe her into smiles by affecting to shud- 
 der, declaring at the same time that she made him afraid 
 to turn his head, lest he should see the spectre at his 
 elbow. Still I believe I was rather a favourite: at all 
 events, I was always sure to hear her very best stories 
 told in her very best style. It was indeed natural she 
 should wish to make a convert of so great a sceptic as 
 I professed to be. 
 
 " To you I will confess what I never could be induced 
 to own to the old lady. Her stories, or perhaps her 
 manner of telling them, often made a deep impression 
 on me; and my incredulity, at first assumed because I 
 thought the world imputed cowardice to the credulous, 
 was afterwards persisted in, partly from a desire to ap- 
 pear consistent, but principally to irritate Mistress Douce. 
 I carried my bravado so far, that after laughing at all 
 her ghost stories, I declared that to live in a haunted 
 house, to sleep in a haunted chamber — nay, actually to 
 be visited by a real authenticated ghost, would be to me 
 delightful. Then did Sally Douce shake at me her
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 39 
 
 wrinkled head, point at me her attenuated finger, and 
 solemnly and slowly say, ' Young man — young man, bo- 
 ware of what you say : if the dead can visit the living, 
 when I am buried in Maltby churchyard, we shall meet 
 again !" 
 
 " It shortly afterwards seemed but too probable that 
 I should myself be the first inhabitant of that bit of con- 
 secrated ground. It was Christmas time ; I was, as 
 usual, the guest of my friend Charles : his brothers and 
 sisters were with him, and we were all as gay as health 
 and youth could make us. Often did we sit at midnight 
 in some large tapestried chamber, dark with oak, and 
 purposely left in gloom, while Mistress Donee's clear 
 and solemn voice riveted the attention of the part}'. 
 When she paused, there was always silence for a minute ; 
 and then the spell was generally broken by my most ir- 
 reverent titter. Then did the old lady look round upon 
 me ; the head was again shaken, the finger again point- 
 ed, and the words of warning were again repeated. 
 
 " It was during this visit that I was seized with a most 
 dangerous fever; and during my illness Mistress Sally 
 Douce was my most devoted nurse ; and one day, when 
 weak and exhausted, I said, half in earnest, half in jest, 
 that after all it seemed probable she would receive a post 
 mortem visit from me, instead of her fulfilling her oft- 
 repeated promise. She shook her head, pointed her fin- 
 ger, and if she did not audibly add the usual words of 
 warning, I saw that it was only from a consideration of 
 my weak state. 
 
 " When I was restored to health, this same warning 
 became quite a jest in the family ; and though I had a 
 secret, awkward recollection of having felt chilled when 
 her finger was pointed at me as I lay on my bed of sick- 
 ness, still I strove to drown the recollection ; and when 
 it would not pass away, I laughed more loudly than be- 
 fore, and affected even greater unconcern. 
 
 " When I left Maltby Hall, I was about to travel for 
 some months on the continent. I took leave of all my 
 kind companions, who were assembled on the steps to 
 
 3 *
 
 30 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 bid me adieu. After entering the carriage, I called to 
 Mistress Sally Douce, who stood courtesying and wiping 
 her eyes at the top of the flight, saying that I hoped to 
 encounter a real German goblin ere 1 saw her again. 
 She looked vexed and angry, and with a malicious smile 
 which I never saw upon her lace before, she shook her 
 head, pointed her finger, and as the carriage drove off 
 I distinctly heard the oft-repeated words of warning. 
 
 " For more than a year I rambled on the continent; 
 and so rapid and uncertain were my movements, that 
 after the first two months I received no communications 
 from my Maltby friends. I returned by the Rhine, visit- 
 ing all those places most celebrated in the legendary tales 
 of Germany. Here the latent seeds of superstition were 
 called into bud and bloom, and I returned to England 
 fully qualified to be a boon companion to old Mistress 
 Sally Douce ; to become not only an attentive listener, 
 but to give her tale for tale. 
 
 " As soon as my arrival was announced, I received 
 the kindest letter from Sir Charles Maltby, requesting 
 me to pay the hall a visit. The letter concluded thus: 
 'Lady Maltby desires me to say we have recently lost 
 your ancient friend Mistress Sally Douce; but the intel- 
 ligence may be unnecessary, should she have carried her 
 oft-repeated warning into effect.' 
 
 " I cannot describe the eflect this announcement of a 
 very old housekeeper's demise had upon my health and 
 spirits. I could think of nothing else, I could dream of 
 nothing else; the warning seemed for ever ringing in 
 my ears, whilst I saw the finger pointed and the old 
 head shaking. 
 
 " I dreaded going to Maltby Hall : it was not so 
 much that I dreaded missing the old lady, as that I an- 
 ticipated not missing her ! I thought that though invi- 
 sible to others, for me she might revisit the glimpses of 
 the moon, making night hideous. 
 
 " It was, how ever, impossible I should avow these 
 feelings, and make them a plea for refusing my friend's 
 invitation. On the contrary, I accepted it, making no
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 31 
 
 allusion in my letter to the death of Mistress Douce; 
 and on the appointed day (it was a dark day in Novem- 
 ber) I alighted at the door of Maltby Hall. My friends 
 came out to receive me on the steps, and I hastily and 
 involuntarily glanced beyond them to the spot where 
 the old lady had stood on the day of my departure. 
 
 " She alone was absent from the group; yet I felt as 
 if she still stood there, shaking her head, pointing her 
 finger, and breathing the never-to-be-forgotten warnino-! 
 I am sure my friends noticed my abstraction and guessed 
 the cause, — indeed they have since confessed as much ; 
 but at the time no notice was taken of it, and no mention 
 was made of the late Mistress Douce. It was time to 
 prepare for dinner when I arrived; and as it was get- 
 ting dark, my friend escorted me to my room, and 
 placing a light on the table, he left me to attend to my 
 toilet. It was the same room I had occupied during 
 my serious indisposition, — the same bed, the same fur- 
 niture, all arranged in the same way. There stood the 
 sofa on which poor Mistress Sally for many a night re- 
 posed while I needed her attendance; and by the fire I 
 beheld, to the best of my belief, the very same tea-kettle 
 with which she used to make my midnight tea. I would 
 have given the world to have occupied any other room 
 in the mansion. But what was I to do? — expose my- 
 self to the avowal of my superstitious dread! — I, who 
 had so often laughed at the fears of others. I hastily 
 changed my dress, and descended to the drawing-room. 
 Dinner was soon announced, and with Lady Maltby on 
 my arm I crossed the spacious hall. It was dimly 
 lighted, and at its extremity we had to pass a corridor 
 in which was the housekeeper's room, — that room which 
 had formerly been the abiding place of Mistress Sally 
 Douce. As we passed I involuntarily started back; I 
 had glanced towards that dark passage, and there — 
 could it be fancy? — I had seen, far off indeed, and dim 
 and shadowy, the form of the old housekeeper herself! 
 
 " My companions eagerly asked me why I paused ; 
 but having glanced that way a second time and seen
 
 32 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 nothing, I attributed my hesitation to the slipperiness of 
 the marble pavement and proceeded to the dining-room. 
 
 " Never had I passed so dull an evening in that house, 
 yet never did I feel less inclination to retire for the 
 night; but I was at length obliged to light my candle 
 and prepare for departure. Lady Maltby, ere she leit 
 the drawing-room, expressed a hospitable wish that 1 
 should be comfortable. 
 
 " ' You have got,' said she, ' the same chamber you 
 occupied during your long illness: you will, I hope, find 
 all your old comforts about you ; but ' 
 
 " She did not finish the sentence; she sighed and left 
 the room, and I felt sure that we were both thinking of 
 the defunct. 
 
 "To bed I went; and, leaving a large wood fire 
 burning on the hearth, after a very considerable period 
 I fell asleep. How long I slept, I know not; but I 
 started from a dream of the dead, fully convinced that 
 I had heard a noise m the room. I lay tremblingly 
 awake for a few seconds, and all around me being 
 quiet as the grave, I at length ventured to draw aside 
 the curtains and peep forth. The wood fire had dwin- 
 dled down to a few flickering embers, — just enough to 
 make every part of the room visible to me, without any 
 part being distinctly so. Far off", in the corner most 
 dim and remote, stood the sofa as it used to stand; and 
 there — did my eyes deceive me ! — lay the form of Mis- 
 tress Sall}^ as she used to lie in the by-gone days of my 
 typhus fever! Was it a shawl, a cloak, a garment 
 of any kind left accidentally there; and did my fears 
 fashion it into the semblance of a human form ? It might 
 be so; I would ascertain: certainty could hardly be 
 more terrible than doubt. 
 
 " I raised my head, I sat up in bed; still it was no 
 shawl, no cloak, no garment of any kind ; it was the 
 housekeeper, — nothing but the housekeeper! I know 
 not what possessed me; there was desperation in the 
 effort, — I called her — -called the dead by the same name, 
 and in the same voice with which in the days of my
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 33 
 
 illness I used to summon the living! There was a 
 pause, and then — oh! how shall I paint my feelings! — 
 the form slowly arose, and in a moment more the eyes 
 of Mistress Sally Douce were fixed upon me! She 
 shook her wrinkled head, she pointed her skinny finger, 
 and though I heard no sound. I knew by the motion of 
 her colourless lips that she was exulting in the fulfilment 
 of her warning words. I moved not, — I spoke not! 
 there we sat gazing on one another, I scarcely more 
 alive than herself! 
 
 " At length she moved ! She crossed the chamber, 
 and began to prepare, as of old, one of those messes so 
 palatable to a feverish patient; the tea-spoon came in 
 contact with the tumbler without a sound! She silently 
 approached the bed; and when she extended towards 
 me the draught she had prepared, I felt it would be 
 useless to reject it. Though mixed by no living hand, 
 though bearing inevitable torpor to the vitals of the 
 drinker, still I knew that I was doomed to drink. Oh, 
 how I dreaded the icy coldness of that fatal potion! 
 The pale hand was still extended, and with rash impe- 
 tuosity I put the tumbler to my lips. Oh, hot — hot — 
 burning hot — hotter than the flames of a place that shall 
 be nameless was the supernatural burning of that spell- 
 wrought decoction ! With one leap I sprang from my 
 bed to the centre of the apartment, and roaring with 
 pain and terror, I lay extended on the floor. 
 
 " The whole family of the Maltbys rushed into my 
 chamber, laughing with a heartiness which could only 
 be equalled bv the heartiness of the laugh of — Mistress 
 Sally Douce." 
 
 " Oh, Lord !" said David, pale as death ; " I thought 
 it was a ghost ! What did you do?" 
 
 " I very soon swallowed a second tumbler of hot 
 punch; and though I am still on the most intimate foot- 
 ing with the Maltby family, I shall be the very last per- 
 son to vindicate their conduct." 
 
 " Vindicate!" said David ; " it might have been man-
 
 34 DAVID DUMP9. 
 
 slaughter — it would have been if I had been' in your 
 place: for goodness' sake, light the candles!" 
 
 " Certainly," replied Arden ; " and it is now time for 
 you to visit the lady of your love." 
 
 Again the disinterested friend cloaked the happy 
 lover, who again was uncloaked by the fair hands of 
 Miss Tatum ; and when the clock struck half-past 
 eleven, she again placed the Mackintosh on his shoul- 
 ders, which, on his return to the hotel, was as care- 
 fully removed and folded by the attentive and devoted 
 Mr. Ardcn.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 35 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mr. Tatum was a retired pawnbroker. To oblige 
 his wife, a tall woman of high notions, the fifth daughter 
 of an apothecary, he had, after much solicitation, given 
 up business and taken a residence on Blackheath. Some 
 people said, however, that, though nominally relinquish- 
 ed, the business was still carried on, under the rose, 
 (under the three golden balls, we should say,) and that 
 he had once or twice been detected standing at the door 
 of a pawnbroker's shop over the door of which appeared 
 the name of Tatum, with his hat off and his hands in his 
 breeches' pockets, (strong symptoms of feeling himself at 
 home,) long after his neighbours on the Heath had been 
 given to understand that he was a gentleman at large. 
 We merely state the rumour; but, pawnbroker or no 
 pawnbroker, we will not pledge ourselves to its veracity. 
 
 Mrs. Tatum's great object in life was to sink the 
 shop: Mr. Tatum, on the contrary, dreaded prema- 
 turely sinking that which had kept him afloat. Though 
 by no means the wisest man in the world, he had dis- 
 crimination enough to observe that many men, when 
 they left off business, left off pleasure also. It was too 
 late to acquire new habits and turn to new pursuits ; 
 therefore when the old ones were abandoned, they led 
 a life of inactivity : and if boys are warned that " Idle- 
 ness is the root of all evil," he was aware that elderly 
 people would do well to bear in mind that " Inactivity 
 is the source of all misery." 
 
 Still, sink or swim, open and decided opposition to 
 Mrs. T. was not to be thought of. Fifth daughter of a 
 gentleman of the medical profession, she stood forth a 
 lady in her own right; and when she did consent to 
 pledge her hand to a pawnbroker, and in a way too
 
 36 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 which did not admit of its being redeemed, she was 
 resolved amply to indemnify herself for the degradation 
 by a free outlay of the profits of the shop. Mr. Tatum 
 was considerably older than herself; so that she looked 
 upon him rather in the light of a father, — or perhaps we 
 should say, considering his trade, of her uncle. He, 
 like all men who marry women younger than them- 
 selves, was fond and indulgent; he therefore so far 
 yielded to her solicitations as to withdraw from the 
 large shop in Ilolborn long known as his residence, 
 and, nominally retiring from business to Blackheath, he 
 reserved a sort of play place, where the pawnbroker's 
 occupation was not quite-gone, in a more obscure situa- 
 tion in the city. Mrs. Tatum could not be quite igno- 
 rant of this arrangement ; but, believing that no one 
 suspected it but herself, she was reconciled to it for two 
 reasons. In the first place, it kept Mr. Tatum out of 
 her way all the morning; and in the second, when he 
 did return, he often brought her little conciliatory offer- 
 ings in the shape of rings, necklaces, or brooches, the 
 unredeemed pledges of the unfortunate. 
 
 We have not yet mentioned that Mrs. Tatum, one 
 day brought him a pledge which gratified him exceed- 
 ingly: we mean, his only daughter Rebecca. 
 
 Becky sucked, and thrived, and squalled, and grew, 
 like other children; and when she in the course of time 
 attained the age of educational troubles, Mrs. Tatum 
 insisted on it that the grand-daughter of Mr. Lint, medi- 
 cal adviser to Lady Mary Jones of Clapham Common, 
 ought to have every possible advantage. Mr. Tatum 
 was therefore to pay down three hundred pounds a year, 
 and Becky was to go to a fashionable seminary in the 
 neighbourhood of town. 
 
 There Becky became acquainted with littie ladies 
 destined to move in a sphere very different from her 
 own; and she learned that which parents in the middle 
 ranks of life always seem to forget must inevitably be 
 taught in these expensive seminaries — she learned to 
 dislike home, and to look down with contempt on her
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 37 
 
 father and mother. Becky could talk French, and 
 dance, and play upon the harp and piano; and when 
 she came home, the choicest instruments by Errand and 
 Broadwood were deposited in the front drawing-room 
 at Lavender Lodge, Blackhcath : but the young lady 
 was dull and discontented — whom was she to play to 1 
 Papa didn't know one tune from another, always ex- 
 cepting that he preferred the loudest; and as for poor 
 mamma, she had no taste. The neighbours — such ot 
 them, at least, as had condescended to visit the retired 
 pawnbroker and his wife — were mere Goths, no better 
 than themselves ; people moving in no fashionable cir- 
 cle, and on whom Lady Sarah Highgate and Miss Maria 
 Everington, at Miss Perfect's academy, would look down 
 with unutterable contempt. Her holidays were there- 
 fore passed in murmurings, and unavailing sighings after 
 things that were unattainable. Mr. Tatum looked at his 
 fine lady daughter, at a respectful distance, with admi- 
 ration mingled with fear ; for often did she reprove him 
 for talking of " them there things," and substituting v's 
 for w's. As for Mrs. Tatum, though often snubbed by 
 the fair Rebecca, she felt all a mother's pride in dis- 
 playing her to her visiters, and presenting her as " my 
 daughter," though she saw her looking angry at being- 
 presented, and openly sneering at those to whom she 
 was introduced. 
 
 We mean not to disparage any grade of society. It 
 is easy to throw ridicule on any trade or any profes- 
 sion; but it is necessary, when writing a tale, to invent 
 characters, and to put them into some situation or other. 
 We have made our excellent friend, Mr. Tatum, a pawn- 
 broker ; but had he been, like the father of his lady wife, 
 an apothecary, — or had he been a limb of the law, or a 
 merchant, or any one of the very many people who one or 
 another accumulate money enough to do just what they 
 please with their sons and their daughters, — we should 
 say, never send a girl, (born and bred for a humbler, 
 and, God knows, very probably for a happier sphere,) — 
 never send her to an academy, where, from being asso- 
 
 4'
 
 38 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 ciated with girls of rank and fashion, she is likely to 
 acquire notions and habits utterly at variance with those 
 which await her at home, and which, therefore, must 
 inevitably hereafter make her miserable, or cause her 
 to inflict misery on those who are most attached to her. 
 
 Becky Tatum at nineteen was miserable at home: 
 and rather than remain there, she returned again to 
 school at an age when she could do no good by going 
 there, and when all her contemporaries had departed. 
 Becky was therefore a sort of unconnected link between 
 the governesses and the school-girls: restraint at her 
 age was out of the question ; she was to be considered 
 discreet, and yet was just at the period when the watch- 
 ful eye of a mother was indispensable. But a dark young 
 man saw her, and admired her, put up his glass, and 
 attracted her attention : she went home and thought of 
 him; next day she met him again; and afterwards she 
 dreamed of him ; and when again she met him, she could 
 not help looking conscious : accidentally she dropped 
 her handkerchief, he picked it up; and, when he spoke 
 with civility, how could she avoid answering him? And 
 so again they met, and again they walked, and, without 
 the knowledge of any one who had a right to control 
 her, Becky Tatum formed an intimacy with a good-look- 
 ing young man of whom she knew nothing. 
 
 From an elysium of stolen interviews, Becky was 
 summoned to the bedside of her mother, who, scarcely 
 sensible when she reached her, died during the next 
 night ; and though it was impossible that she could be 
 affectionately attached to her, (as some more homely 
 and happily educated children are,) still she had too 
 much natural feeling not to feel deeply for her parent, 
 and for the time she was most affectionate in her atten- 
 tions to her father. 
 
 At length they went out to take a little walk together 
 for the first time. They met a very handsome young 
 man, with dark intelligent eyes. He stood before them: 
 Becky fainted dead away; she was carried home by the 
 interesting stranger, and her father, with his hat in his
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 39 
 
 hand wiping his face, followed as fast as he could. 
 Becky came to herself, and introduced the charming 
 young friend whose society had beguiled her hours 
 when at Miss Perfect's academy. 
 
 Mr. Tatum bowed and smiled, and unbuttoned his 
 waistcoat, and buttoned it again ; but the very next 
 morning he made every possible inquiry, and, after all, 
 could ascertain nothing satisfactory respecting the in- 
 teresting stranger. 
 
 Mr. Tatum at once decided that it would never do. 
 " Them there matches," said he, " ends in want." 
 
 " It may be so, father," said Rebecca ; " but I would 
 rather welcome want with him than affluence with an- 
 other : in your presence I swear to be true to him !•" — 
 and she kept her word ! 
 
 %
 
 40 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 We have said that Becky Tatum swore to prove true 
 to the interesting youth with dark eyes who flirted with 
 her when she was a superannuated member of Miss 
 Perfect's school* and who carried her home when she 
 made a point of fainting on Blackheath. The gentle 
 reader cannot expect us to pass off* poor David Dumps 
 as a handsome and insinuating stranger: how then are 
 we to account for the young lady's kind attentions to 
 him ? Time will show. 
 
 The first months of mourning over, Mr. Tatum, as 
 well as his daughter, wished for change of scene; and 
 having most peremptorily impressed upon Rebecca's 
 mind his determination never to receive the dark-eyed 
 stranger at his house, he embarked on board the Eme- 
 rald, and he and his family arrived atBoulogne-sur-Mer 
 in twelve hours, at the trifling cost of five shillings each 
 person. Rebecca knew that her father's decisions, once 
 formed, were irrevocable. She called him obstinate ; he 
 called himself/??-///. 
 
 We must now return to our hero and his friend, the' 
 Pylades and Orestes of 's Hotel. They had sat to- 
 gether the customary period after dinner, and it was 
 time for David to go forth to drink tea with her whom 
 he now really considered as his intended. George Ar- 
 den, as usual, brought his cloak; and though it was 
 really sultry, and David declared that he could not en- 
 dure* its weight, he insisted on putting it over his 
 shoulders and fastening the clasp at his throat. 
 
 " And won't you walk with me V said David. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " And do you never mean to stir out of the house ?" 
 
 " Oh yes,'* replied Arden, — " when it suits me."
 
 sai< 
 her 
 
 DAVID dumps. 41 
 
 " To be sure, you have not the inducement / have," 
 said David, with a knowing look. 
 
 " It is not every body can boast of your attractions," 
 replied Arden with a smile. 
 
 Off went David, perspiring under the weight of his 
 whitey-brown Mackintosh ; and wanting to make a 
 small purchase, he went into a shop. 
 
 " Will you be so obliging," said he, after choosing 
 what he wanted, " as to take care of this cloak for me 
 until the morning? The evening is so hot, I cannot en- 
 dure it ?" 
 
 The civil shopkeeper of course readily assented, and 
 Mr. Dumps proceeded to the residence of Mr. Tatum. 
 His knock was now well known ; and no sooner was he 
 admitted, than Rebecca came forward, as usual, to take 
 possession of his cloak. He carried none ! She seem- 
 ed amazed at his temerity in braving the evening air 
 without one; and hearing what he had done with it, she 
 earnestly entreated him to return and fetch it. Her 
 words, her looks, were not to be resisted, and David, 
 prouder than ever, walked back to the shop and asked 
 for his cloak. The attentive marckande readily produced 
 it; and whilst he was placing it over his shoulders, he 
 said, 
 
 Take care you do not lose the letter." 
 
 "What" letter?" 
 
 'The letter which you have pinned to your cloak: — 
 
 ere it is." 
 
 " The letter !" 
 
 David took it: he saw it was addressed to Miss Tatum. 
 How very odd ! How came it there ? what could it 
 mean ? He turned it over and over; it was not sealed: 
 he opened it and read it : — 
 
 M Dearest Rebecca, 
 
 " Once more, by our carrier pigeon, I send you one 
 line to tell you how dear you are — how dear you must 
 ever be to me. The booby Dumps has no suspicion of 
 our plot, and I have taken good care that your father 
 
 4*
 
 42 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 should not see me. But 1 cannot exist longer in this 
 state of suspense: consent to elope with me, and I will 
 take care to baffle pursuit. Pin your reply under the 
 wing of our gull; and believe me ever your devoted 
 
 " G. A." 
 
 David did not faint: he folded his cloak more closely 
 round him, and putting the note into his breeches' pocket, 
 he walked deliberately to Mr. Tatum's house. Again 
 he knocked, and again Miss Tatum was ready to re- 
 ceive him. He silently relinquished the cloak to the 
 fair, or rather unfair, hands which had so often taken 
 it from him, and, leaving the lady in the act of rummag- 
 ing in every fold for that which he knew very well she 
 would never find, he walked into the room, where, as 
 usual, Mr. Tatum was sitting sipping hot toddy. 
 
 "Sir," said he, as soon as he was seated, "I have got 
 that in my breeches' pocket which it behoves you as a 
 father to take cognisance of." 
 
 " What do you mean 1" said old Tatum. 
 
 " Look, sir," cried Dumps, throwing down the note ; 
 " read, and judge for yourself." 
 
 "What the devil does this mean?" exclaimed Tatum 
 after reading the letter. 
 
 " It means, sir," replied David, " that every even- 
 ins: I have brought a note to Miss Tatum from Mr. 
 George Arden, and as surely every evening I have car- 
 ried back her reply." 
 
 "The deuse you have!" cried Tatum, starting up. 
 " You dirty contemptible go-between ! leave my house 
 instantly, or, by Jove, I'll kick you out of it !" 
 
 David attempted expostulation; but finding it unavail- 
 ing, he hurried away, snatching up the cloak, which no 
 one now attempted to place upon his shoulders. He 
 hurried to the pier ; he paced it with rapid strides for 
 an hour and more; and then, recollecting himself, he re- 
 turned to the hotel, where he expected to find his false 
 friend waiting to take from him the Mackintosh which 
 had already cloaked so many interesting communica-
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 43 
 
 tions. But Miss Tatum had already found means to ap- 
 prise her lover of what had passed ; and on inquiring for 
 Mr. Arden, he was told that he had retired to rest. 
 
 David, in a passion, was not to be so put off, and 
 knowing George Arden's room, he hastened to it and 
 knocked at the door. 
 
 "Who is there?" said Arden. 
 
 " Tis I, sir," said David : " open the door." 
 
 " Come in the morning," replied Arden. 
 
 " I'm determined to have you out to-night, sir." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Arden, opening the door. 
 
 "Oh !" cried David sentimentally; " who would have 
 believed it !" 
 
 " You will not waste time, if you please ; — name your 
 friend." 
 
 " Friend ! never talk to me of friendship again." 
 
 " I shall not attempt to justify what I have done," said 
 Arden : " you say you intend calling me out." 
 
 " I have called you out !" cried David. 
 
 "Have called me out?" 
 
 " Yes, sir : and now that you are out " added Da- 
 vid, bursting into tears. 
 
 "What?" said Arden. 
 ^' Why, I can only say you've behaved exceedingly 
 disagreeably, and not at all as I expected;" and with 
 this he left his rival to his repose.
 
 44 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Our reader will have ascertained ere this that David 
 was not constitutionally pugnacious: he was not, how- 
 ever, the less sensitive; and though he retired^to his 
 chamber and disrobed himself, he could not think of 
 sleeping, but, putting on a large and warm robe de cham- 
 bre, he sat down and ruminated on what had passed. 
 David' heart (there 'or thereabouts,) was deeply lace- 
 rated. He had been led into a love affair, of which he 
 never should have dreamed had not the false pair so 
 egregiously deceived him. And yet, were they not a 
 faithful pair? had they not loved each other long? and 
 were they not in despair until his waterproof Mackin- 
 tosh intervened to prevent their tears from utterly wash- 
 ing away hope ? He thought of this ; and not being na- 
 turally of an unforgiving disposition, it occurred to him 
 that, ere he slept, he ought to return to Mr. Arden's 
 apartment and exchange forgiveness with him before he 
 slept. He took his candle, and with nothing upon hjm 
 but his shirt, his slippers, and his large dressing-gown, 
 he wandered forth to carry the olive branch. The hotel 
 was exceedingly full; and boots or shoes were deposited 
 on the outsides of most of the doors, ready for cleaning 
 in the morning. On went David, and at last he reached 
 the door of Arden's apartment. He knocked, and hear- 
 ing no reply, he entered, and saw him enjoying a most 
 comfortable repose. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said David to himself; " he cannot 
 have a bad conscience, or he could not sleep so sound ;" 
 and, sitting down on the bedside with his chamber-can- 
 dle in his hand, he gave Arden a nudge. 
 
 " Who's that?" cried Arden, starting up.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 45 
 
 " 'Tis I," replied he, snivelling with emotion. " I could 
 not sleep without coming again to say " 
 
 " You abominable son of a grave-digger!" cried Ar- 
 den, " if I catch you here again, I'll break every bone 
 in your body." saying which, he aimed a blow at him 
 with the bolster, which extinguished his candle and sent 
 him sprawling on the floor. 
 
 David did not wait for a second attack, but, rising 
 and wrapping his gown around him, he hastily retreated; 
 and, closing Arden's door, he found himself in one of 
 the many passages of the crowded hotel, and in total 
 darkness. 
 
 His first thought was how to get back to his own 
 room as speedily as possible; and having spent some 
 weeks in the house, he could not anticipate much diffi- 
 culty in attaining that object. 
 
 He slowly but surely felt his way from passage to 
 passage; and his heart bounded within him as he put 
 his hand upon the lock of the door which he knew to be 
 his own. He entered as silently as possible ; and having 
 thrown aside his dressing-gown and slippers, shivering 
 with cold he felt his way to the bed, and turning down 
 the clothes, he stepped in, and, snuggling himself up into 
 the shape of the letter Z, he almost immediately fell into 
 a doze. 
 
 But, oh! brief was its duration; for he was soon 
 awoke by something or somebody moving in the bed, 
 and a female voice endearingly addressed him : 
 
 " William, is that you, my dear? I didn't expect you 
 this hour !" 
 
 " Good Lord !" cried David, as he flew out of bed, 
 ' : where in the name of Heaven am I !" 
 
 " Mercy on me ! it's not his voice !" cried the female 
 in the bed; and with her two hands she tore at two 
 bell-ropes, — one that rang down stairs, and one that 
 rang up. 
 
 The perspiration stood on David's brow as he groped 
 about the room; and as he stumbled over one or two 
 things which happened to be in his way, the screams
 
 1(5 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 of the female grew louder, and the bells rang more vio- 
 lently. 
 
 David distinctly heard the trampling of feet in the 
 passage: lights gleamed through the crevices of the 
 door, — it flew open, and the master of the hotel entered, 
 accompanied by an exceedingly tall and stout gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "A man in his shirt in my lady Betty's apartment!" 
 said the big man; and rapidly advancing, he aimed a 
 blow at David's head, which took effect, and prostrated 
 him on the floor. 
 
 " And pray what does this mean, my lady?" said the 
 pugilistic tall man. 
 
 " How should I know!" cried she. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that 'twasn't an appointment, 
 may I ask?" 
 
 Lady Betty made no reply; but her Irish waiting- 
 maid most volubly answered for her. 
 
 " And is it you that will insult your wife — the wife 
 of your bosom, Mr. O'Flaney! For shame, sir! She 
 went to her bed, and she went to her sleep, and that 
 baste woke her getting into bed ! — Oh ! and she'll never 
 get over it !" And the maid wept and screamed, while 
 Lady Betty O'Flaney buried her head in the bed-clothes. 
 
 "I'll kick him down stairs !" cried Mr. O'Flaney. J 
 
 " Mistook the room !" shrieked David, in the agony 
 of his fear. 
 
 The master of the hotel, dreading that murder would 
 be committed, now interposed, and, pacifying the Irish 
 gentleman with assurances that every thing - should be 
 cleared up in the morning, he led David from the room. 
 
 Many of the inmates, and all of the chambermaids, 
 were assembled in the passage to witness his egress from 
 the scene of his discomfiture; and though he had but to 
 pass to the next chamber, which was his own, they were 
 none of them likely to forget him in his short white shirt, 
 with his bleeding forehead and his loner thin leers.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 47 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 We hope none of our readers have ever been pre- 
 cisely in circumstances similar to those in which David 
 was involved in our last chapter. Be that as it may, 
 we think it probable that many, if not all, have, on 
 waking in the morning subsequent to a night of perilous 
 or calamitous adventure, experienced that heaviness of 
 heart — that awful depression of spirits which make the 
 sufferer long to take refuge once more in unconscious 
 slumber. 
 
 David's slumbers, however, could scarcely be called 
 unconscious : he had a perpetual nightmare, which as- 
 sumed various alarming shapes. First, it was Miss 
 Tatum smothering him and his affections with a large 
 sheet of whitey-brown paper ! Then it assumed the form 
 of George Arden, with dark eyes and a fiend-like smile; 
 and then it changed to fat Lady Betty O'Flaney, who, 
 to his horror and consternation, lay down cold and mo- 
 tionless by his side ! 
 
 But these w r ere the visions of the night, to pass away 
 with the darkness : nothing peculiar had happened to 
 him — it was all a dream ! So thought David as he 
 turned on his pillow; but, alas! in moving he pressed 
 upon that part of the head which had been bruised by 
 the clenched fist of Mr. O'Flaney, and, starting up in 
 bed, he roused himself to a thorough and humiliating 
 consciousness of all that had passed. But this was not 
 all : — the future, — all that might result from the occur- 
 rences of yesterday, — rose in vivid colours to his imagi- 
 nation. As to Becky Tatum, he did not value her a 
 brass coffin nail ; nor did the iniquity of his false friend 
 George Arden press upon his spirit. But the husband 
 of the ladv whose couch of slumber he had so uncere-
 
 48 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 moniously invaded! whatuuzs he to expect in that quar- 
 ter? He shuddered as he asked himself the question, 
 and with a sensation of sickness he lay back and buried 
 himself in the clothes. Happy would he have been at 
 that moment to have buried his body six feet deep in 
 the clay of the church-yard opposite Burying-ground 
 Buildings, Paddington Road, for he heard a loud knock 
 at the door of his chamber. 
 
 u ( 'ome in," faintly ejaculated David. 
 
 The master of the hotel entered with a solemn look 
 of angry and indignant reproof. 
 
 " So, sir," said he, " I hope you have sufficiently re- 
 covered from the effects of your last night's debauch to 
 comprehend what I have to say." 
 
 " Last night's debauch !" 
 
 " Nothing but beastly intoxication could account for 
 your conduct; and nothing could excuse it." 
 
 " Intoxication, sir ! it's false." 
 
 " Then your conduct to a lady of quality was the 
 more inexcusable : you have brought disgrace on my 
 house, and as soon as you have paid the bill I desire 
 you to leave it." 
 
 " Certainly," said David, flattering himself that mine 
 host had nothing more to say. But he did not long en- 
 joy the delusion. 
 
 '• At present, however, I come on account of Mr. 
 O'Flaney." 
 
 " Mr. who ?" said David. 
 
 "The Irish gentleman whose wife's chamber you 
 so " 
 
 " Go on," gasped David not wishing to hear his mis- 
 demeanours again detailed. 
 
 " Well, sir, Mr. O'Flaney has sent his friend to 
 you." 
 
 " No — has he !" cried David, cheering up, for he was 
 totally unacquainted with the usages of society on occa- 
 sions like the present. " Where is the gentleman's 
 friend ?" 
 
 " In the coffee-room."
 
 I 
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 49 
 
 "Dear me!" exclaimed David, complacently putting 
 on one of his stockings ; " so he has sent his friend 
 to me ! Well, now, that is just the way a little mistake 
 ought to be treated, and I'll talk it over in a friendly way 
 the moment I'm dressed." 
 
 "Shall I tell the captain you will receive him?" in- 
 quired the hotel-keeper, not at all comprehending what 
 David was talking about. 
 
 "Oh, certainly; if he's pressed for time, admit him;" 
 and while the host descended to summon Captain Kil- 
 kenny, he arranged himself in a sedentary posture in his 
 bed. 
 
 At all large watering-places we are sure to find plenty 
 of amateurs of friendship under hostile circumstances : 
 a " society of ' Friends,' " eager to be called in when 
 other people are called out ; full of fussy excitement the 
 moment they hear of a duel, and fearful only that on 
 account of unavoidable delay, blood may be spilt, or 
 matters accommodated, without their agency and inter- 
 vention. But Captain Kilkenny was no such man: and 
 when applied to by his Irish friend Mr. O'Flaney to de- 
 mand of David an explanation of his having so very 
 unceremoniously availed himself of his absence to take 
 possession of his half of the bed in which his titled lady 
 was already slumbering in her moiety, he represented at 
 once the improbability, under all circumstances that the 
 invasion could have been intentional; and knowing the 
 peaceful and unobtrusive David by sight, he now came 
 to him fully prepared to hear the sort of explanation 
 which the culprit w r as about to give. 
 
 " Mr. Dumps," said he, hardly able to keep his coun- 
 tenance when he beheld the melancholy object before 
 him, " this is really a most awkward business: I am acting 
 for my esteemed friend Mr. O'Flaney, but I trust you 
 will look upon rne as a person inclined to regard you 
 with due consideration." 
 
 David listened in silence, and, looking at his martial 
 figure, curled his legs up under him in the bed. 
 
 " I will avoid as far as possible any allusion to Lady 
 
 5
 
 50 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 Betty, whose personal attractions may perhaps have be- 
 wildered you." 
 
 " Oh, dear me, not a bit !" replied David. 
 
 " Well, it is not for me to dictate to you the line of 
 conduct you are to pursue. I shall expect to see your 
 friend : it is unnecessary to mention that I am Mr. O'- 
 Flaney's friend on the occasion." 
 
 " Well, and a friend is not to be met with every day, 
 and I quite cotton to you after what you've said. You 
 are a good creature, I see ; and if you'd just be my 
 friend too, and step down to the O'Flaneys, and tell 
 them, with my kind compliments " 
 
 " Compliments !" exclaimed the captain, no longer 
 able to restrain his laughter. 
 
 " Oh, don't laugh : say I mistook the room. And 
 upon my life it's true ; for as to Lady Betty and her at- 
 tractions, I give you my word I never set my eyes upon 
 her until I saw her sitting up in the bed last night." 
 
 Kilkenny, instead of checking his risibility, now leaned 
 against the door of the apartment convulsed with laugh- 
 ter; and having in vain attempted to address a few in- 
 telligible words to David, he left him with the intention 
 of explaining to his friends that he had not been guilty of 
 any premeditated impropriety. 
 
 David was not long preparing for his public appear- 
 ance, and in a state of the greatest alarm, he descended 
 the staircase. All the house-maids were collected, and 
 gave him knowing winks and smiles as he passed ; but 
 he only felt the more annoyed, and proceeded to the 
 coffee-room in utter desperation. 
 
 Captain Kilkenny had already represented to his 
 principal, David's manner of meeting the accusation. 
 
 The host and his bill were, therefore, the worst evils 
 which he had at the moment to encounter; and having 
 paid his way, most readily did he walk forth from the 
 hotel and go in search of private lodgings.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 51 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 David Dumps had scarcely left the hotel, when he was 
 overtaken by George Arden, who rushed after him, 
 seized his arm, and putting his handkerchief to his eyes, 
 seemed to blubber like a child. The pacific David, who 
 was at that very moment enveloped in the never-to-be- 
 forgotten whitey-brown Mackintosh, endeavoured to 
 shake him off, saying, " Sir, I've found you out ; 1 want 
 no more acquaintance with you." 
 
 "I know," sobbed George, — "I know too well the 
 shameful duplicity of my conduct. But having behaved 
 unkindly to you, I am more anxious to snatch you from 
 the fatal and fathomless gulf which is now yawning at 
 your feet." 
 
 David started back three paces, looked at the ground, 
 took a long breath and said, 
 
 " Sir, there's no gulf whatsoever at my feet : and if 
 there were, it's my belief you'd give me a push to send 
 me forward, rather than pull at my skirts to save me." 
 
 "It is natural you should think so: but, nevertheless, 
 listen to me, and follow my advice." 
 
 " Well, let me hear," said David. 
 
 "They are thirsting for your blood at the hotel." 
 
 " Don't say so ! Who do you mean ?" 
 
 " The Irish husband of that much-injured lady." 
 
 " Much-injured lady ! " 
 
 " Don't interrupt me. Mr. O'Flaney is determined to 
 have a shot at you; and Captain Kilkenny " 
 
 " Don't mention Captain Kilkenny !" said David, 
 shuddering and looking anxiously around. 
 
 " There is a way to save you yet." 
 
 "Name it." 
 
 " Come at once with me to the Column (the Boulogne
 
 52 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 Chalk Farm:) we have been already suiters to the same 
 lady, and 1 have pistols in my pocket." 
 
 "And what the devil difference does it make to me, 
 whether I am shot at by you, or by them Irishmen ?" 
 
 "One material difference," said Arden : " my pistols 
 are loaded only with powder." 
 
 "A great advantage, certainly," replied Dumps. — 
 " Well, then, let me consider. You mean to say, if I 
 light, or seem to fight a duel with you, you think I sha'n't 
 have to meet the others in earnest?" 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 " Oh, well : but then what is your object?" 
 
 " You'll be my object presently, of course." 
 
 "Nonsense! don't jest," said David. " Why do you 
 take all this trouble? for I know you would not do it if 
 you had not some end to gain." 
 
 " Reparation for the injuries I have already inflicted 
 on you." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Dumps, in an incredulous tone. 
 
 " Yes, believe me," replied George. " But come, we 
 have still some way to go." And he hurried his passive 
 companion up a little romantic path which leads from 
 the end of the Rue du Canal Tantilleries, towards the 
 Column ; a charming walk in summer, when the grass 
 is green, and a bright rapid rill as clear as crystal bounds < 
 along close to your feet. But David noticed none of its 
 beauties, as he hurried on in obedience to Mr. Arden. 
 At length they reached some open ground close to the 
 beautiful Column, which was commenced by Napoleon, 
 when his troops were in arras on the heights, and the 
 sea below was covered by the British fleet. 
 
 " Now," said Arden, looking round on every side, 
 " we are arrived at the proper place: but as we have 
 no seconds, we must avoid killing one another, as it 
 might be misinterpreted murder." 
 
 " What horrid thoughts you have!" cried David. 
 
 " There, stand you there," said Arden, "and I will 
 now take my position ;" and he deliberately walked 
 away.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 53 
 
 " I see people coming this way." said David. 
 " I expected as much," replied Arden, coolly. " Two 
 families at least are ere this aware of our hostile meet- 
 ing, and some one will doubtless arrive in time to carry 
 away the body." 
 
 "The body!" exclaimed David, dropping the pistol 
 which Arden had placed in his hands. 
 
 " To be sure : what can they expect but one body, or 
 more V 
 
 " Well ; but you're quite sure " 
 
 " Hush !" exclaimed Arden ; " there's no time to be 
 lost: you fire at me first. 
 
 " Fire first!" said David, to whom killing a man was 
 almost equivalent to being killed. "Are you perfectly 
 certain that there is no danger — no bullet, no shot, no- 
 thing but powder ?" 
 
 " Fire !" said Arden, solemnly : " and remember, if 
 you do not accede to this bloodless encounter, you will 
 be fired at in earnest by Mr. O'Flaney." 
 
 "Good gracious!" said David, trembling all over; 
 " how do you do it ? I suppose I'm to pull the trigger. 
 Mercy on me ! I'm going to pull — look another way !" 
 
 The pistol went off. David staggered back several 
 paces : he heard a loud shrill scream ; he looked to- 
 wards the spot where George Arden had so lately stood 
 in the bloom of health and beauty; — Heavens! could he 
 believe his eyes ! his opponent lay covered with blood, 
 and supported in the arms of Rebecca Tatum, who ut- 
 tered loud and piercing cries. David, more dead than 
 alive, ran towards them, and falling on his knees, assist- 
 ed in raising the fallen youth. At that moment Captain 
 Kilkenny galloped to the spot, his horse in a foam, and 
 himself in a fearful state of excitement. 
 
 " How is this!" said he; "a duel, without seconds! 
 Rash men, why did you not confide in me ? — How are 
 you, sir?" 
 
 " Life is ebbing fast," said Arden, fairitly. 
 " Oh !" cried Rebecca, " kill the murderer r" 
 
 5*
 
 54 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " That means me!" exclaimed David, with a voice 
 of anguish. 
 
 " Save him," said Arden : " he has behaved like a 
 man — nobly, bravely. Two shots had we already ex- 
 changed ; he never flinched. Oh, sir, if you are a man 
 of honour, save him !" 
 
 " A man of honour!" exclaimed Kilkenny : " do you 
 mean to doubt it?" 
 
 Arden pointed to the crimson tide which now literally 
 overflowed his garments. 
 
 " True," said Kilkenny ; " you're in no condition to 
 eat your words, nor any thing else : you wish me to save 
 this person ; and you say he has behaved bravely." 
 
 " An Alexander, an Agamemnon !" said Arden. 
 
 " Well, I think I do know a way to save him : for I've 
 a friend at anchor in the offing in his yacht; and if I 
 can get him on board, all will be well. But then, if I 
 go with him, what will become of you?" 
 
 " I feel somewhat revived," murmured Arden, after 
 taking a sup out of a little brandy-bottle ; " and living 
 or dying I am happy with this lady." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I see," said Kilkenny, as Arden threw him- 
 self into the arms of his too willing Becky. " And now, 
 you, sir, get up behind me." 
 
 He jumped upon his prancing steed; and when seated, 
 he leaned down, and seizing David by the collar, he 
 soon placed him on the horse behind him; and away 
 they went, regardless of road or path, towards the sands; 
 David, in his unaccustomed position, suffering very se- 
 vere bodily pain, and yet now and then venturing to turn 
 his head towards the fatal field, where he could still dis- 
 tinguish the bleeding body of Arden, supported by the 
 fragile frame of the susceptible Rebecca.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 55 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 It was no easy matter to convey Mr. Dumps under 
 existing circumstances from the shores of France to the 
 deck ot' the yacht Watcrwagtail ; but Captain Kilkenny 
 was full of expedients ; and, before evening, David, en- 
 veloped in his Mackintosh, was tossing about in an open 
 boat, and in due course of time was hoisted into the 
 larger and safer vessel. 
 
 Captain Kilkenny had not thought it necessary to en- 
 lighten Mr. Cockle, the owner of the yacht, respecting 
 David's adventures and difficulties: he merely intro- 
 duced him as a gentleman in a bad state of health, who 
 was recommended a cruise; — and certainly he looked 
 sufficiently ill to verify the captain's words. 
 
 Somebody has somewhere very sensibly remarked, 
 " that men are never ridiculous for not possessing any 
 particular accomplishment: it is the endeavour to seem 
 what they are not which justly exposes them to ridi- 
 cule." No one ever learned from experience the truth 
 of this axiom more thoroughlv than Mr. Cockle. 
 
 His father was a respectable professional gentleman, 
 who resided in an inland county; and being a younger 
 son, his allowance was small, and his expectations not 
 great. It so happened, however, that he was fortunate 
 enough to win the affections of a young lady of very 
 large fortune. She was of age and under no control ; 
 they were very shortly married, and, after the cus- 
 tomary elegant dejeiine & la fourcliette, they sat off in a 
 travelling-carriage and four, to spend their honeymoon 
 at Brighton. 
 
 Mrs. Cockle had been educated at a fashionable board- 
 ing-school near the metropolis, and she had acquired
 
 56 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 notions of fashion and style that were perfectly astonish- 
 ing to her less sophisticated husband. 
 
 When the residents of an inland county first look upon 
 the sea, the event becomes an era in their existence. 
 Beautiful was the day of their arrival in Brighton : the 
 vast deep lay before them, radiant with sunbeams, and 
 so calm that the pretty little pleasure-boats seemed to 
 slumber in its bosom. 
 
 Said Mrs. Cockle to her spouse one day, " My dear, 
 I love the sea : let us take a marine mansion." 
 
 "Certainly," said Mr. Cockle: "whatever you wish, 
 my love." 
 
 " And," added the bride, "you must become a mem- 
 ber of the Yacht Club: there's nothing so stylish as a 
 yacht." 
 
 When a wife who has enriched a husband proposes 
 agreeable ways of spending her own money, where is 
 the man who could refuse her? Cockle had seldom put 
 his foot in a boat, and therefore could not flatter himself 
 that he was quite fit to undertake the management of a 
 large vessel. " But," thought he, " the sea looks a 
 mighty agreeable sunshiny place, and by the end of the 
 season I dare say I shall be as good and practical a sea- 
 man as any in the club." 
 
 So from Brighton they proceeded to Portsmouth, and 
 i'rowi Portsmouth to Cowes, the head-quarters of the as- 
 sociation of amateur nautical noblemen and gentlemen. 
 
 Mrs. Cockle had a cousin, a Mr. Lorimer Lomax, an 
 exquisite of a certain age. He was charmed to hear of 
 Cockle's sea-faring propensities, readily offered to intro- 
 duce him to the commodore, and declared that a very 
 excellent first-rate yacht was to be sold, the property of 
 a young gentleman who could no longer contrive to 
 keep it (or himself) afloat. 
 
 Mr. Cockle's arrangements were soon made; he be- 
 came master and commander of the cutter " Water- 
 wagtail," of three hundred tons burden, and he made 
 his appearance on the parade in a straw hat, a blue
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 57 
 
 check shirt, large rough blue trousers, and a sailor's 
 jacket ornamented with the button of the club. 
 
 When entering on a new pursuit, he would have liked 
 to settle down calmly and gradually into the habits to 
 which he had hitherto been unaccustomed : he would 
 have liked to feel his way, as it were, like a cat on a 
 wet floor, put out first one paw, and then the other, ere 
 he too rashly ventured from dry land. He would have 
 preferred remaining at anchor for the first month or so; 
 and, indeed, had it been possible to draw up the " Water- 
 wagtail high and dry upon the beach, he would have 
 deemed that a satisfactory arrangement. But friends 
 are always injudicious, and he had unfortunately enlisted 
 at an unlucky moment. Tho: whole squadron was on 
 the eve of departure for Cherbourg, and Cockle was 
 congratulated on having joined them when an opportu- 
 nity offered for at once enjoying a delightful voyage, 
 visiting a French port, and looking at a French king 
 and all the royal family. A little qualm came over 
 Mr. Cockle as he listened to the enumeration of all these 
 promised joys: but Mrs. Cockle was in an ecstasy, and 
 her cousin, Mr. Lo rimer Lomax, kindly offered to ac- 
 company them. They were to put to sea the next day, 
 and were therefore in no small bustle making prepa- 
 rations. 
 
 "The dawn was overcast, the morning lowered;" 
 and when Mr, Cockle looked out of his window, and 
 saw the clouds and heard the wind whistle, he at once 
 decided that there could be no embarkation that day. 
 But he was no longer his own master; every body but 
 himself seemed to exult in what they were pleased to 
 call " the fairness of the wind :" to him it sounded very 
 foul; and when he looked at the sea and saw a quantity 
 of what landsmen call "white horses," he felt as if some- 
 thing had disagreed with him, and said in a tone of 
 supplication to a " brother scti/or" who stood near, " Of 
 course we shall not sail to-day?" 
 
 "Not sail!" he replied: "to be sure we shall; this is 
 just the very breeze we wanted."
 
 58 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 It was now too late to retreat. He had heard some- 
 thing about orders from the commodore about the time 
 and order of sailing, and the exact place allotted to the 
 " Waterwagtail:" but of all this he knew nothing; his 
 people on board had the management of the vessel — 
 and unfortunately of himself also, and now came the 
 moment for going on board. 
 
 It really blew hard, not in Cockle's estimation alone, 
 for it had done that all day; but the people about him 
 cast ominous looks at the skies, and seemed to his ner- 
 vously excited imagination to consider them doomed 
 creatures. When they got to the steps in front of the 
 club-house, they found the little boat which was to con- 
 vey them to " the Waterwagtail" tossing about like a 
 mad thing — now up, now down, and the water splash- 
 ins; over her. 
 
 ?-' It's a tempting of Providence to think of getting into 
 her," said Cockle; and his wife, clinging to his arm, 
 said, " Had we not better go back ?" 
 
 But Mr. Lorimer Lomax, though no sailor himself, 
 seemed desperately bent on destruction to all the family. 
 He and the boatmen hurried them into the boat, and 
 enveloped them in cloaks. Away they went; the shore 
 receded, and the happy people walking on the prome- 
 nade grew less and less ; and Cockle longed to tread 
 the deck of his newly-purchased yacht, thinking that of 
 two evils the big ship would be better than the dimi- 
 nutive punt. They got into fearfully rough water; a 
 strong current of the tide met the wind — so somebody- 
 said, and the meeting seemed to be any thing but ami- 
 cable. Mrs. Cockle screamed and leaned on her husband 
 on one side; and on the other, Mr. Lomax pinched his 
 arm black and blue. 
 
 " Luff, luff!" said the man who steered the boat; and 
 thinking that he looked at him, and that very probably 
 their safety depended on his instantly doing some in- 
 comprehensible thing, Cockle shouted in reply, 
 
 M In the name of Heaven, what do you mean by
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 5 J 
 
 ■ luff?' Mary, my dear, luff, if you please: Lomax, do 
 luff, if you happen to know how." 
 
 The steersman gave a grim smile, and addressing 
 Mrs. Cockle, said, "Trim the boat, if you please, ma'am." 
 
 " Mary," ejaculated Cockle, " the man speaks to you." 
 
 " What is it ?" inquired she. 
 
 " Trim the boat, ma'am." 
 
 " Mercy on us ! she don't know how," said Cockle. 
 " He talks as coolly as if he wanted her to trim a 
 bonnet !" 
 
 " Sit, — there," said the sailor, pointing to a place. 
 
 And, thankful that at last he spoke intelligibly, Cockle 
 took Mrs. C. by the shoulders and placed her in the 
 identical spot. 
 
 " There's your yacht," said the sailor : " they'll soon 
 bear down upon us." 
 
 " Down upon us!" cried Cockle, looking at the great 
 black body that came nearer and nearer every mo- 
 ment. " Oh, how shocking to be run over by one's 
 own " Waterwagtail !" 
 
 A rope was thrown to them which hit Cockle in the 
 right eye and blinded him ; the boat bumped against the 
 side of the yacht, and he lay prostrate on the flat of his 
 back. His wife fainted, and was borne up in a state 
 of insensibility; and he followed, holding two slippery 
 ropes, and with difficulty keeping his feet upon what he 
 was afterwards told was the accommodation ladder: — 
 a pretty accommodation truly ! 
 
 He stood upon his own deck, he leaned against his 
 own mast, and his own sailors pushed him about and 
 seemed to consider him in the way. His legs lost all 
 strength; he sank upon a seat; his head dangled over 
 the side of the vessel ; — he was sea-sick ! All fears left 
 him, and with them all natural affections. He cared 
 not three straws about his inestimable wife; he cared 
 not for his guest, her cousin; he gave no orders, he 
 knew nothing that was going on. He was conscious 
 that the weather was getting worse and worse ; but he
 
 00 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 was getting worse and worse himself, — and what is 
 weather to a dying man? 
 
 He knew nothing about the commodore, nothing 
 about the squadron. All night he lay on his berth in 
 the cabin, opposite to his wile, who lay upon hers; and. 
 their beds being on something like shelves let into the 
 wall, he thought of bodies in a mausoleum. 
 
 One lamp suspended from the ceiling cast on them 
 a melancholy light. Oh ! how it swung to and fro ! — 
 and the chairs, how they tumbled about! And the hor- 
 rid clamour of shouting men, and flapping sails, and creak- 
 insr masts, and howling winds, and rushinsr waters! 
 
 Now don't laugh at us, dear, inestimable Captain 
 Marryat, should you ever be tempted to skim these 
 pages: we know nothing about the ocean and the big 
 ships, and for that very reason have we for once ven- 
 tured into deep water. We, as landsmen, have yachted, 
 and have suffered; and we just venture to tell of that 
 which we have seen. Verily we are indebted to you 
 for many a hearty laugh, and many an hour's amuse- 
 ment ; and, in place or out of place, we venture to offer 
 you our little note of admiration. 
 
 One of the sailors came down into the cabin occa- 
 sionally, and gave Mr. Cockle brandy, which he pas- 
 sively swallowed: and then brandy was given to Mrs. 
 Cockle; and he had just sense enough left to observe 
 that she drank it passively too. 
 
 " Is there any hope?' once said Cockle. 
 
 " Hope, sir! what d'ye mean by h-ope?" 
 
 " Ah ! you may well say that!" 
 
 There was a pause; and then Cockle added, 
 
 " J trust we're near land?" 
 
 "We must keep clear of land: land is the worst 
 place we could see on such a night as this." 
 
 How people may be mistaken! Land was what 
 Cockle had been longing for! 
 
 " Could we not go on shore?" he inquired. 
 
 " If we don't keep a good look-out, we shall go on 
 shore," said the sailor.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 61 
 
 " Well ?" asked Cockle. 
 
 " And in ten minutes the Waterwagtail would go to 
 pieces, and every soul on board perish." 
 
 Cockle groaned, and so did Mrs. C. ; and they heard 
 a responsive groan from Lorimer Lomax, whose body 
 had been laid out in a sort of closet which served many 
 purposes. 
 
 We will no longer dwell upon their present situation. 
 After beating about for two days and two nights, the 
 wind continued strong against them, and at Cockle's 
 earnest entreaty, rather than in obedience to his com- 
 mand, they made Boulogne harbour, where they re- 
 mained four-and-twenty hours ; and then, the weather 
 having tranquillised a little, they put to sea again, and, 
 having picked up Mr. Dumps in the offiing, the Water- 
 wagtail proceeded on her course towards Cherbourg. 
 
 6
 
 02 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Daily experience proves that sea-sickness, however 
 distressing it may be for the time to the poor body, 
 leaves little or no impression on the mind. People go on 
 shore, and eat and drink, and enjoy themselves; and 
 then, forgetting all they suffered on board the vessel, 
 they go voluntarily and put their feet in it again. Thus 
 it was with Mr. and Mrs. Cockle, and Mr. Lorimer 
 Lomax : a few hours on land had driven from their 
 recollection the ups and downs of a seafaring life; and 
 though when poor David was picked up from his open 
 boat in a state almost reaching death, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Cockle were already beginning to feel odd, Mr. Lomax's 
 health seemed entirely re-established, and he was able 
 to do the honours of the Waterwagtail, and give the 
 new-comer a civil reception. 
 
 David both in body and mind- seemed to suffer a total 
 prostration of strength; he looked wildly round him, 
 spoke incoherently, and then, clasping his hands, fixed 
 his eyes with a ghastly glare on the shores from which 
 they were rapidly moving. 
 
 When they got beyond the shelter of the high land, 
 they found that the winds had by no means retired to 
 their coral caves, nor to any of the other places poeti- 
 cally mentioned as their residences; and the party verv 
 soon descended to the cabin. 
 
 "If the wind continues as it is," said the steward, 
 who came down to attend to some of their little com- 
 forts, and obtained from Lomax the nick-name of Og, 
 the King of Basin, " we shall not make Cherbourg to 
 morrow." 
 
 "Make Cherbourg!" ejaculated Mrs. Cockle; "what
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 63 
 
 can he mean by making it ! If there was no such place 
 till I helped to make it, you'd never see it at all." 
 
 "Be quiet good people," said Lorimer Lomax. 
 
 "Now do for goodness' sake let us while away the 
 time: if you do not make an effort, you'll be as bad as 
 ever. There's Mr. Dumps now betrays — " 
 
 "Betrays !" said David, turning paler than before; 
 " hey ? — what 1 — I said nothing !" 
 
 "JNo, in truth," replied Lomax, almost startled by his 
 manner; "but you do nevertheless betray symptoms of 
 illness. The blood — " 
 
 " Blood !" murmured David, hastily glancing at his 
 hand?. 
 
 "The blood has left your cheeks," proceeded Lomax, 
 "and your best weapon against the enemy — nay, don't 
 stare so! — your best weapon, I say, will be a little glass 
 of brandy !" 
 
 " Give it me," said David ; " I do indeed require it !" 
 and he grasped the proffered cordial with a trembling 
 hand. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer Lomax, though no longer young, still 
 retained the remains of much appertaining to life's spring 
 time. He had the remains of a good figure, a good face, 
 and good spirits, and also the remains of an exceedingly 
 pleasing voice. At fifty or thereabouts he still suspend- 
 ed his guitar by a pink silk riband over his shoulder, and 
 he still found young and pretty girls ready to listen to 
 his songs and their accompaniment. Unfortunately there 
 were no pretty girls on board the VVaterwagtail ; but 
 Lorimer produced his guitar, and, glancing round at his 
 small but select audience, (as they always say at a coun- 
 try theatre, where there are not enough people present 
 to pay for the candles,) he struck a few chords, and 
 said, 
 
 " Well, good people, what will you have'? the song of 
 a gay troubadour, or one about love and murder?" 
 
 "Murder!" almost shrieked David. 
 
 "Love and murder, if you please," said Mrs. Cockle 
 from her sofa; and with a peculiar sort of twang-lango-
 
 64 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 dillo accompaniment, the minstrel of the Waterwagtail 
 sang the following ballad. 
 
 THE TRYSTING TIME. 
 
 She was watching from her casement — she hud watch'd since dawn of 
 
 day; 
 'Twas not the hour appointed, yet she blamed him for delay ! 
 Her gay disguise, her mask and cloak, were lying by her side ; 
 Impatiently she breathed his name, and wept when none replied ; 
 And then she vow'd that he in turn should watch and wait for her, — 
 For when she heard the signal-word, she would not deign to stir. 
 
 II. 
 
 'Twas the long-expected signal ! Oh! she knew he'd come at last ! 
 
 She gave a ready answer, for her angry mood was past ; 
 
 And, glancing at her toilet-glass, she paused a moment there, 
 
 To re-arrange her silken robe and deck her flowing hair; 
 
 She gaily sang the melody that was her lover's choice: 
 
 How happy was that maiden's heart, — how merry was her voice! 
 
 III. 
 
 Alas ! 'twas not by her alone that signal had been heard ; — 
 The lover's rival, lurking there, had caught the whisper'd word ; 
 And bloody was his dagger's point as from the scene he rush'd, — 
 And cold and pale the lover lay — the voice of Love was hush'd ! 
 And, all unconscious of her doom, came forth his plighted bride : — 
 None saw her shed a tear — at morn the dead lay side by side 1* 
 
 There was a pause, and then a deep groan from 
 Dumps attracted all eyes towards him. 
 
 " The dead lay side by side !" said he, shuddering as 
 he made the quotation. 
 
 " There is no such love now-a-days," murmured Mrs. 
 ( 'ockle from her place of horizontal refreshment. 
 
 "I don't know that," replied her husband: "There 
 are disappointed rivals, still, who would be ready enough 
 to take the life-blood of the man who — " 
 
 David rose up in his seat, as if to speak ; but his lips 
 moved without producing any sound, and he sank down 
 again. 
 
 * This ballad is about to be published at Mr. Falkener's, with music 
 by Mr. Knight.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. f)5 
 
 " Had I ever killed a man," said Lorimer, " 1 should 
 expect to see him in every dark corner." 
 
 " No ! should you though ?" gasped David. 
 
 " Yes, in this cabin now, as we sit by the nominal 
 light of that swinging lamp. Look round you : can 
 you not imagine spectre forms, eyeless sockets, yawning 
 lipless mouths " 
 
 •• Where ?" 
 
 *'Here, there, every where!" said Lomax, pointing 
 in turn to different recesses, while David's eyes followed 
 the movements of his finger. 
 
 David sighed deeply. 
 
 " But supposing," said Lomax, " that our hands were 
 stained with blood, — that we had sent a fellow-creature 
 to his last account !" 
 
 " His last account !" 
 
 " Ay, what would be our feelings then ?" 
 
 " His last account !" again ejaculated David, turning 
 up the whites of his eyes. 
 
 " Why it's to be hoped so : you would not have a 
 murdered man come back again?" 
 
 " Not for the universe !" 
 
 " No, to be sure not ; nor any other dead man. No- 
 body is long missed ; and when once our place on earth 
 has been filled up, had we the power to return — " 
 
 " What then ?" said Mrs. Cockle, who felt as if she 
 was not long for this world. 
 
 " Why, then, finding that we had no place at all, 
 either in the home we called ours, or in the hearts ot 
 those we loved, we should soon voluntarily go and lay 
 ourselves down again in the grave where we have been 
 so soon forgotten !" 
 
 " Lord ! how melancholy !" said Cockle. 
 
 " I will give you a more cheerful view of the same 
 picture," said Lomax; and taking a little manuscript 
 book from a desk near him, he added, " Having sung 
 vou a song, I will now read you a story." 
 
 6*
 
 (»() DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 THE POST MORTEM COGITATIONS OF THE LATE POPULAR 
 
 MR. SMITH. 
 
 "I died on the first of April 1823. 
 
 " Go to the parish church of Smithton, ask the sexton 
 for the key, and having gained admission, walk up the 
 left-hand side aisle, and you will perceive my family 
 pew, beneath which is my family vault, where my mor- 
 tal remains are now reposing ; and against the wall over 
 the very spot where I used to sit every Sunday, you 
 will see a white marble monument: a female figure is 
 represented in an attitude of despair, weeping over an 
 urn; and on that urn is the following inscription: — 
 
 " Sacred 
 
 To the memory of 
 
 Anthony Smith, 
 
 of Smithton Hall, 
 
 Who departed this life 
 
 On the 1st of April 1823, 
 
 Aged 40. 
 
 The integrity of his conduct and the amiability of his temper 
 
 endeared him 
 
 to a wide circle of friends. 
 
 He has left an inconsolable Widow, 
 
 and by her 
 
 This Monument is erected. 
 
 "This inscription may give you a faint idea of my 
 position when alive. Popularity had always been my 
 aim, and my wealth and situation in society enabled me 
 to attain what I so ardently desired. At county meet- 
 ings, at the head of my own table, among the poor of 
 the parish, I was decidedly popular, and the name of 
 Smith was always breathed with a blessing or a com- 
 mendation. My wife adored me: no wonder, therefore, 
 that at my demise she erected a monument to my me- 
 mory, and designated herself, in all the lasting durability 
 of marble, my 'inconsolable widow.' Nothing could 
 exceed my amiability : Mrs. Smith said — and she said 
 it with all heart, and she might well say it too, that there 
 never was such a husband. My life was one smile, my 
 sayings were conciliatory, my doings benevolent, my
 
 D.VVtD DUMPS. 07 
 
 questions endearing, my answers affirmative. I silently 
 studied the wants and wishes of those around me, and 
 endeavoured to arrange my leavings so that each legatee 
 should hereafter bless that 'dear good fellow Smith,' 
 always at the same time having recourse to a pocket- 
 handkerchief. I perpetually sat for my picture, and 
 gave my resemblances to all the dear friends who were 
 hereafter to receive the ' benefit of my dying.' 
 
 " So far I have confined my narrative to the humdrum 
 probabilities of every day life. What I have now to 
 relate may seem less probable; but it is not one jot the 
 less true. I was anxious not only to attain a degree of 
 popularity that should survive my brief existence; I 
 panted to witness that popularity, — unseen to see the 
 tears that would be shed, — unheard to mingle with the 
 mute mourners who would lament my death. But horr 
 was this privilege to be attained? Alas! attained it 
 was ; but, for the sake of others, never will I reveal the 
 means. I wanted to watch my own weepers, nod at 
 my own plumes, count my own mourning coaches, and 
 read with my own eyes the laudatory paragraph that 
 announced my demise in the county newspapers. What 
 devilish arts I used, what spells, what incantations, never 
 will I make known : suffice it to say that I attained the 
 object of my desires. Two peeps was I to have at 
 those I left behind me; one exactly a month after my 
 demise, the second on that day ten years. 
 
 "And now for the result of peep the first; for I will 
 begin the most satisfactory part of my own 'post mortem 
 examination.' 
 
 "My own house (or rather the house that had been 
 mine) looked miserable enough, — the servants in deep 
 mourning, and a hatchment over the door. My wife 
 (my widow I mean,) was a perfect picture of weeds, in 
 the extreme of the fashion. She heaved the deepest 
 sighs; she was trimmed with the deepest crape, and she 
 wore the deepest hems. The accumulated depth of her 
 despondency was truly gratifying. In her right hand was 
 a cambric handkerchief, in her left hand a smelling-bot- 
 tle, and in her eye a tear.
 
 tH DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 "She was closeted with a man; but it was no rival. 
 It was in fact a marble masonic meeting. She was giving 
 directions about my monument, and putting herself into 
 the attitude of lamentation in which she wished to be 
 represented, (and is represented,) bending over my urn. 
 She shed a torrent of tears, and said something about 
 her 'sainted Anthony.' Our common breakfast urn, 
 which had acted the part of a funeral one, was now 
 removed, and my widow looking over the estimate, 
 grumbled at the expense ! knocking off' here and there 
 some little ornamental monumental decoration, bargain- 
 ing about my inscription, and cheapening my tombstone. 
 
 " She was interrupted by the entrance of a milliner, 
 who was ordered to prepare a black velvet cloak, lined 
 and trimmed with ermine. ' Alas!' thought I, ' the wi- 
 dow's " inky cloak" may well be warm ; my marble co- 
 vering will be cold comfort to her.' 
 
 " A housemaid was blubbering on the stairs, a foot- 
 man sighing in the hall. Happy late husband that I 
 was; surely /caused this grief: and when I heard that 
 a temporary reduction in the establishment had been de- 
 termined on, and that the weeping and sighing indivi- 
 duals had just been discharged, I felt the soothing con- 
 viction that leaving their living mistress tore open the 
 wounds inflicted by the loss of their late master. 
 
 " My dog howled as I passed him, my horse ran wild 
 in the paddock, and the clock in my own sitting-room 
 maintained a sad and solemn silence, waiting my hand 
 t * > wind it up. 
 
 " Things evidently did not go in the old routine with- 
 out me; and this was soothing to my spirit. My own 
 portrait was turned with its face to the wall. 'What, 
 after all,' thought I, 'is the use of a portrait? When 
 the original lives, we have something better to look at; 
 and when the original is gone, we turn it wrong side 
 outwards !' 
 
 "On the village green the little boys played cricket. 
 What of that? a boy will skip after his grandmother's 
 funeral. On a dead wall I read, ' Smith for ever.' — 'For 
 ever!' thought I; 'that is a lone: time to talk about!'
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 69 
 
 Close to it, I saw * Muggins for ever ;' the letters equally- 
 large, and much more fresh. Muggins was my parlia- 
 mentary successor, and his politics were the same as 
 my own : this was cheering ; my constituents had not 
 deserted my principles, — what more could I expect? 
 The « Smith' who they said was to be their representa- 
 tive ' for ever,' was now just as dead as the wall on 
 which his name was chalked ! 
 
 " Again I retired to my resting-place under the family 
 pew in the church of Smithton, quite satisfied that at the 
 expiration of ten years I should take my second peep at 
 equally gratifying, though perhaps rather softened evi- 
 dences of my unabated popularity. 
 
 " The ten years of my sepulchral slumber passed 
 away, and the day arrived for my second and last peep 
 at my disconsolate widow', and wide circle of affection- 
 ate friends. 
 
 " The monument opened ' its ponderous and marble 
 jaws,' and invisibly I glided to the gates of my own do- 
 main. The old lodge had been pulled down, and a cot- 
 tage gone mad, all thatch and creepers, had been erected 
 in its place. I could not find my way to my own house ! 
 the road had been turned, old trees cut down, new plan- 
 tations made, ponds filled up, lakes dug; my own little 
 ' Temple to Friendship' was not to be found, but a tem- 
 ple dedicated to the blind god been erected in a conspi- 
 cuous situation. • Ah !' thought I, ' her love is a buried 
 love ! to me, her " sainted Anthony," this templed has 
 been dedicated.' 
 
 " So entirely was the park metamorphosed, that I did 
 not arrive at the mansion until the hour of dinner. There 
 was a bustle at the hall-door ; servants in gay liveries, 
 carriages, lights ! a dinner-party ! Well, doubtless my 
 widow, still in the sober gray of amelioi'ated mourning, 
 had summoned round her the best and clearest of mi/ 
 friends. 
 
 " Unseen I walked into the dining-room. I cast my 
 eyes round the table. — Oh, what bliss was mine ! at the 
 head sat my widowed wife, all smiles, loveliness, pink
 
 70 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 silk, and flowers; not so young as when I last beheld 
 her, but very handsome, and considerably fatter. 
 
 " At the foot — (oh, what a touching compliment to 
 me!) — sat one of my oldest friends, Mr. Muggins. He 
 did the honours well, (though he omitted to drink to my 
 memory !) and the only thing that occurred to startle 
 me before the removal of dinner was my widow's call- 
 ing him ' my dear.' 
 
 " When the dessert had been arranged on the table, 
 she called to one of the servants, saying, 'John, tell 
 Mary to brini* the children.' 
 
 " What could she mean! who was Mary, and what 
 children did she wish to be brought! / never had any 
 children. Presently the door flew open, and in ran 
 eight noisy, healthy, beautiful brats! The younger ones 
 congregated round the hostess ; but the two eldest, both 
 fine boys ran to Mr. Muggins, and each took possession 
 of a knee ! What was my astonishment when he said, 
 addressing my widow, ' My dear love, may I give them 
 some orange V 
 
 " But the mystery was soon explained. Sir Marma- 
 duke Muggins filled his glass, and said to his son, 'This 
 is your birth-day, Jack; here's your health, my boy, and 
 may you and your Caroline long live happy together! 
 Come, my friends, the health of Mr. and Mrs. Muggins.' 
 
 " So then, after all, I had come out on an exceedingly 
 cold day to see my widow doing the honours as Mrs. 
 Muggins! 
 
 "'When is your birth-day?' said Sir Marmaduke to 
 his daughter-in-law. 
 
 " ' In June,' she replied : ' but I have not been in the 
 habit to keep birth-days till lately. Poor Smith could 
 not endure birth-days to be kept.' 
 
 " ' What's that about poor Smith ?' said the successor 
 to my house, my wife, and my other appurtenances. ' Do 
 you say Smith could not bear birth-days? Very silly 
 that: but poor Smith had his oddities.' 
 
 " ' Oddities!' said a dear old friend of mine, smiling 
 and pointing to his head. ' Yes, yes, — to say the least 
 of it, he had his oddities.'
 
 DAVID DUMPS* 71 
 
 " « Oh !' said my widow, and Mr. Muggins' wife, ' we 
 cannot always command perfection. Poor dear Mr. 
 Smith meant well ; but every man cannot be a Muggins.'' 
 She smiled and nodded down the table; Mr. Muggins 
 looked pleased, as well he might, and then the ladies left 
 the room. 
 
 "'Talking of Smith,' said Sir Marmaduke, 'what 
 wretched taste he had, poor man ! This place was 
 quite thrown away upon him ; he had no idea of its ca- 
 pabilities.' 
 
 " ' No,' replied a gentleman to whom I had bequeathed 
 a legacy; ' with the best intentions in the world, Smith 
 was really a very odd man.' 
 
 "' His* house,' added another, who was my frequent 
 guest, ' was never agreeable : it was not his fault, poor 
 fellow.' 
 
 " ' No, no,' said a very great crony of mine : • he did 
 every thing for the best ; but, between ourselves, Smith 
 was a bore.' 
 
 " 'Indeed, considering his oddities,' said the man who 
 before pointed to his head, 'it was a fortunate thing he 
 died when he did. There was something wrong here in 
 his family :' and he pointed to his head again. 
 
 " 'It is well,' said Mr. Muggins, 'that talking of him 
 has not the effect which is attributed to talking of an- 
 other invisible personage. Let him rest in peace : for if 
 it were possible that he could be reanimated, his re- 
 appearance here to claim his goods and chattels, and 
 above all, his wife, would be attended with rather awk- 
 ward consequences.' 
 
 " So much for my posthumous curiosity ! Vain mor- 
 tal that I was, to suppose that after a dreamless sleep of 
 ten long years, I could return to the land of the living, 
 and find the place and the hearts that I once filled still 
 unoccupied ! In the very handsome frame of my own 
 picture was now placed a portrait of John Muggins, Esq.: 
 mine was thrown aside in an old lumber-room, where 
 the sportive children of my widow had recently disco- 
 vered it, and with their mimic swords had innocently
 
 12 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 poked out the eyes of what they had been pleased to de- 
 nominate ' the dirty 'picture of the ugly old man /' 
 
 "My presumption has been properly rewarded: let 
 no one who is called to his last account wish, like me, 
 to revisit earth. If such a wish were granted, and, like 
 me, he returned invisibly, all that he would hear and see 
 would wound his spirit; and were he to return visibly 
 in propria persona, mortifying indeed would be his re- 
 ception. 
 
 " I came not from my family vault to read a sermon 
 or a lecture ; and yet, l "the post mortem cogitations of the 
 late popular Mr. Smith, are not without a moral!'" 
 
 " Good gracious me !" cried Dumps when Lomax 
 had finished his story ; " now do tell me, is all that 
 strictly true?" 
 
 " Strictly true, sir !" replied Lomax, assuming a mock 
 air of defiance. " Pray, may I ask what would your 
 friend Captain Kilkenny have said to you, had you 
 doubted for an instant his veracity ?" 
 
 " Don't mention it," said David : " I believe it all." 
 
 " By-the-by, as I see our excellent friends are now in 
 a calm slumber, my story having acted as an opiate, 
 may I ask to what peculiar circumstances the captain 
 alluded when he entreated us to take you on board ?" 
 
 " He did not tell you all, then?" 
 
 " He told us nothing, except that you had innocently 
 involved yourself in a dilemma which rendered a speedy 
 departure desirable." 
 
 " Innocently !" exclaimed David, with a shudder. 
 
 " I take it for granted, there was a lady in the case ?" 
 inquired Lomax. 
 
 " A lady, sir? — tico ladies, sir!" murmured David. 
 
 " Two ! You are a bold man. And there was a rival, 
 of course?" 
 
 "There ivas a rival, certainly!" 
 
 "Not wayJaid and murdered, like the lover in my 
 song, I hope?" 
 
 David looked piteously, but made no reply. 
 
 He slept not that night : when he closed his eyes, the 
 bloody form of George Arden lay before him, supported
 
 DAVID DUMrS. 73 
 
 by the frantic Rebecca. David had " murdered sleep," 
 and he expected to " sleep no more." 
 
 True it was that Arden had himself placed the pistol 
 in his hand, and had given him the signal to fire ; equally 
 true that he had no notion the pistol was loaded with 
 any* deadly missile. Consolatory considerations these : 
 but then, again, what could reconcile him to the idea of 
 having in cold blood killed a fellow-creature, — a youth 
 in the fulness of his bloom, and with " all his imperfec- 
 tions on his head?" Blood was on his hands; and were 
 he that night to go to a certain place called "Davy 
 Jones's locker," he knew full well that the vast ocean — 
 nay, "all the perfumes of Arabia, would not sweeten" 
 those large fists. 
 
 All night he watched the monotonous swinging of the 
 lamp, and listened to the din of many noises. The next 
 morning he heard guns firing and people huzzaing, and 
 was informed that, the weather having abated, they had 
 ventured nearer the French coast, and were actually off 
 Cherbourg. But so slow had been their progress, that 
 they had arrived only just in time to be too late: the 
 royal family had just left the town, and the members of 
 the yacht club were preparing to set sail to the Isle of 
 Wight. The crew of the Watervvagtail saw in fact on 
 landing nothing but a French town involved in that ex- 
 treme state of dulness which invariably follows a period 
 of unusual gayety and excitement. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Cockle had learned a lesson which they 
 were neither of them likely to forget. A party of plea- 
 sure is proverbially a painful undertaking ; but its annoy- 
 ances are generally petty ones, — an al fresco dejeiine 
 under an umbrella, or a July day passed with five or 
 six people in a closed landau. Such dilemmas are farci- 
 cal ; but the pleasuring of the crew of the Waterwag- 
 tail might have ended in a deep tragedy. 
 
 Let it be a warning to all landsmen whose minds are 
 bent upon salt-water excursions. 'Tis rash for children 
 to play with edge-tools; but it is ten times more rash for 
 land-lubbers to try to make a plaything of a vessel in a 
 gale of wind.
 
 74 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Cockle, with Mr. Lorimer Lomax, hav- 
 ing refreshed and refitted, again entered the Water- 
 wagtail, leaving Mr. Dumps, who repaired to the Eng- 
 lish consul to obtain a passport to pursue his journey by 
 land. A passenger by an English gentleman's yacht, 
 sick of the sea, soon obtained the requisite document; 
 for he wisely said not one word about Boulogne, leaving 
 the worthy functionary to suppose that he had started 
 from England with Mr. Cockle. From Cherbourg he 
 departed by the diligence, with no fixed plan save a 
 determination to avoid I3oulogne-sur-Mer. 
 
 He rambled far and wide, to the right and to the left, 
 visiting Havre, Rouen, Dieppe, and Amiens ; and then, 
 finding that his direct route to England lay through the 
 dreaded seaport, he again diverged and proceeded to 
 Arras, which is a very fine old fortified town, and 
 thronged with military. 
 
 David put up at the Hotel de PEurope, and, being 
 rather indisposed, he remained there for some days 
 without meeting an individual who even attempted to 
 speak a word of English, — not very cheering to a man 
 of a serious turn of mind : and now, unfortunately, he felt 
 
 " Never less alone than when alone ;" 
 
 for the bleeding body of George Arden invariably filled 
 the vacant chair next to him, or occupied the path he 
 had chosen for his ramble a few paces in advance of him. 
 Arras became no longer endurable; so he determined 
 to change the scene and proceed to Lille. He found 
 himself the sole occupant of the coupe of the diligence: 
 but by his side sat his ever-present imaginary compa-
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 75 
 
 nion; and the screams of Rebecca rang in his ears, 
 mingled with the unintelligible chat of the people who 
 occupied the interieure. 
 
 Suddenly the diligence stopped, and two gensdarmes 
 rode up and spoke loudly to the conducteur. After exa- 
 mining a paper, poor David was pointed out to their 
 notice; and they immediately rode to the two doors of 
 the coupe, one looking in at each window, and both talk- 
 ing in the unknown tongue to the amazed and panic- 
 struck occupant. 
 
 David could not understand one word they said ; and 
 when the conducteur and some of the passengers from 
 the interieure joined the party and attempted to explain, 
 they added to the clamour, without conveying any in- 
 telligence to the solitary Englishman. At length, as is 
 usually the case in such emergencies, the principal per- 
 formers resorted to pantomime : they took him from his 
 private box, and when he was upon his feet in the muddy 
 road, they pointed to a led-horse, intimating by expres- 
 sive action that he must mount thereon, and pointing 
 vehemently back the way they came. 
 
 Now David began a little by-play of his own : he 
 opened his eyes wide, and shook his head, to express 
 astonishment at their conduct, and ignorance of its 
 cause; he felt in all his pockets for his passport, and 
 shook his head again when he could not find it; he put 
 his rierht hand on his left side, where he had been told 
 his heart was, to express innocence, and he made a low 
 bow, to intimate his respect for the gentlemen in the 
 large cocked hats, at the same time putting his right foot 
 on the step, preparatory to taking the seat from which 
 be had been so unceremoniously dislodged. But at that 
 moment a horrible recollection came over him, a remem- 
 brance of his crime, — murder ! What but murder could 
 cause the government to send out soldiers armed and 
 mounted to scour the country in pursuit of an humble in- 
 dividual like himself. Alas ! no more was his right hand 
 pressed upon his heart, no more was his right leg lifted 
 to the step ; he clasped his hands, raised them in the air.
 
 ~<> DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 shook them vehemently, and, going towards the horse, 
 he intimated his readiness to yield to the commands of 
 those who had arrested his progress. The canducteur 
 mounted to his usual elevated situation ; the other pas- 
 sengers, all talking together, entered the inUrieure, and 
 the diligence drove off towards Lille; and then David 
 was assisted into his saddle, and, being placed between 
 the two gensdarmes., all three trotted off towards Arras. 
 
 Trotting ojf'xs, unfortunately, the most appropriate ex- 
 pression we could use, for in the accomplishment of 
 riding on horseback David's education had been sadly 
 neglected ; and being now extemporaneously mounted 
 on a high trotting war-horse, he bounded about, now this 
 way, now that — now on the crupper, and now approxi- 
 mating towards the animal's tail, until, no longer able 
 to remain where he was, he slipped off on the left side, 
 and very narrowly escaped being trampled on by the 
 steed of his companion- Though severely bruised, he 
 was again obliged to ascend to his saddle ; and after 
 suffering martyrdom, and enduring for upwards of two 
 hours the ridicule of the Frenchmen, whose pantomime 
 was now- perfectly intelligible, he arrived at the town 
 which he had so recently left, and instead of again occu- 
 pying his apartment in the Hotel de PEurope, he was 
 provided with a little room elsewhere s the door of which 
 was carefully locked on the outside. 
 
 David had a miserable time of it ; haunted bv the 
 ghost of the man he had murdered, and visited by none 
 but grim-looking men, with whose language he was ut- 
 terly unacquainted. He was carried before a large dark 
 dignitary, who was seated with several other important- 
 looking persons ; and he naturally and very justly con- 
 cluded that they were equivalent to a mayor and corpo- 
 ration : what they were called in French was to him a 
 mystery. The large dark man slowly and distinctly 
 questioned him ; and seeing that the prisoner compre- 
 hended him not, he repeated his queries so loud as to 
 startle one whose nerves were already shattered. It is 
 a very odd thing that we are all apt to resort to this
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 77 
 
 expedient of shouting when we talk to people in a lan- 
 guage they do not understand, though we never yet met 
 with any one who comprehended us the better for it ! 
 David shook his head, and equally loudly made a little 
 address in English ; and then all the heads of all the dig- 
 nitaries were shaken in token of ignorance. 
 
 This seemed a very bad business ; " For," said David 
 to himself when he got back to his prison, (having no- 
 body else to say it to,) " if I am hung at Arras, (and 
 Arras hangings are celebrated !) I sha'n't even have 
 the satisfaction of making an intelligible last dying 
 speech !" 
 
 At this moment the key grated in the lock, the door 
 opened, and an English gentleman entered : the town 
 had been ransacked for an interpreter, and Mr. Mild- 
 may, an elderly gentleman, having been discovered at 
 one of the hotels, he was requested to take the trouble 
 of calling on poor David. 
 
 " I am sorry, sir," began Mr. Mildmay ; but the soli- 
 tary started up at the sound of the first English word, 
 and ere he got further evinced an intention of throwing 
 himself into the stranger's arms, which he, however 
 frigidly avoided, and, seating himself, again commenced : 
 — " I am sorry, sir, to find an Englishman thus situated : 
 is there any thing I can do to serve you?" 
 
 "Talk to me — in the name of Heaven talk to me !" 
 cried David, the tears, as Jacques says, "coursing one 
 another down his innocent nose." 
 
 " I am aware of the crime you are said to have com- 
 mitted." 
 
 David shook his head and clasped his hands. 
 
 " May I venture to hope that you are able to give me 
 an assurance that you are not guilty?" 
 
 David shook his head again. 
 
 " Unhappy man, I pity you !" said Mr. Mildmay : 
 " let me look at your passport." 
 
 " I have lost it." 
 
 " Lost it !" said Mr. Mildmay incredulously. 
 
 7*
 
 78 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 "Yes, sir j and now pray tell me, if you can, what 
 am I to expect?" 
 
 " The principal witness against you " 
 
 " Witness !" interrupted David. 
 
 " Yes, the only one, as I understand." 
 
 " It yiiust be Captain Kilkenny." thought David. 
 
 " — Was written to the day you were seized, and she 
 is expected to-morrow," added Mr. Mild may. 
 
 "She /" exclaimed David ; " it must be Rebecca 1" 
 
 " I do not know her name," replied Mr. Mildmay, 
 rising to take leave. " If, unfortunately, you are guilty 
 of the crime laid to your charge, she will of course 
 identify you." The English gentleman then coldly with- 
 drew, fully convinced that he had been talking to a very 
 great rascal. 
 
 David threw himself upon his miserable bed, and gave 
 way to the most fearful forebodings. Rebecca, then, 
 had herself set out in pursuit of her lover's murderer, 
 determined, no doubt, to exterminate him. Dreadful 
 were his sufferings during that long dark night, and 
 when morning dawned it brought him no comfort: on 
 the contrary, it only brought him nearer to his fatal in- 
 terview with Rebecca, the avenger! At length many 
 voices were heard below, and, as is often the case, one 
 female voice prevailed above all others y the door flew 
 open, and Mr. Mildmay entered with her. But David 
 saw them not j he had fallen with his face on the bed- 
 clothes. 
 
 " Voila le prisonnier, madame? said he ; and the fe- 
 male, rushing forward, took David by the arm and vi- 
 gorously pulled him round. But he saw not the form 
 of Miss Tatum, he heard not her accents ! He beheld a 
 middle-aged Frenchwoman, who exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh ! mon Dieu ! ce n'est pas lid que nous cher- 
 chons /" 
 
 " Not the man !" said Mr. Mildmay. 
 
 " Not Becky Tatum !" cried David, and fainted 
 away. 
 
 It was long before the exhausted sufferer was suffi-
 
 PAVID DUMPS, 79 
 
 ciently recovered to be moved to the hotel. Mr. Mild- 
 may then informed him that he had been by mistake ar- 
 rested instead of an Englishman who had committed 
 forgery. 
 
 " Forgery !" said David: " I am innocent !" 
 
 "So it appears: but when I asked you two days ago 
 whether you would assert your innocence, you refused 
 to do so." 
 
 " Innocence !" said David, colouring up. " If I had 
 known I was accused of forgery, I should readily have 
 sworn I was innocent of that." 
 
 " Oh !" thought Mr. Mild may, " the fellow has a crime 
 on his conscience after all !*' 
 
 "You are not going, sir?" said David. 
 
 " Yes, I am about to proceed towards Calais." 
 
 " I am going to travel that way too : may we not go 
 on together ?*' 
 
 "You must excuse me," said Mr. Mildmay coldly": 
 " and pray let me urge you, before we part, to endea- 
 vour to profit by your recent terrors,— for I plainly saw 
 that you did fear the result." 
 
 " Terrors!" said David. 
 
 " Yes ; if you have any guilty secret — " 
 
 " Mercy on me !" ejaculated David. 
 
 " I do not ask for a confession ; but if you have, en- 
 deavour to atone for the past by the rectitude of your 
 future conduct." 
 
 Mr. Mildmay left him ; and on the following day 
 David again entered the coupe of the Lille diligence, 
 feeling, as the ladies beautifully express it, "as well as 
 could be expected after his confinement." 
 
 The first intelligence David heard in his native coun- 
 try was the death of his father. His successor in his old 
 shop had furnished him with a funeral : the mute was 
 silenced, and the mourner mourned. 
 
 David Dumps became more serious than ever; — he 
 had a decided nervous malady, an abhorrence of society, 
 and a sensitive shrinking when he felt that any body was 
 looking at him. He had heard of the invisible girl : — he
 
 80 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 would have given worlds to have been an invisible gen- 
 tleman, and to have glided in and out of rooms unheeded 
 and unseen, like a draught through a keyhole. This, how- 
 ever, was not to be his lot ; like a man cursed with 
 creaking shoes, stepping lightly and tiptoeing availed 
 no t; — a creak always betrayed him when he was most 
 anxious to creep into a corner. 
 
 At his father's death he found himself possessed of a 
 competence and a villa ; but he was unhappy. He was 
 known in the neighbourhood : people called on him, and 
 he was expected to call on them ; and these calls and 
 recalls bored him to death. 
 
 He never in his life could abide looking any one 
 straight in the face, — a pair of human eyes meeting his 
 own was always actually painful to him. Now he could 
 endure it less: he fancied everybody would read his 
 secret sorrow, his hidden guilt, in his face. It was not 
 to be endured. He sold his villa, and determined to go 
 to some place where, being a total stranger, he mignt 
 pass unnoticed and unknown, attracting no attention, no 
 remarks. He went to Brighton, consulted an eminent 
 physician, and was recommended sea-bathing and horse- 
 exercise. 
 
 The son of the weeper very naturally thought he had 
 already " too much of water." He, however, hired a 
 nag, as unlike the high trotting animal he had once be- 
 strode in France as possible, took a small lodging, and 
 as nobody spoke to him nor seemed to care about him, 
 he grew rather more comfortable. 
 
 David was a swimmer; and when after a few quiet 
 rides he began to feel more at home upon the animal, he 
 used to trot him to a little snug recess in the cliff near 
 Rottingdean, where he tied him to a post, and then, 
 having deliberately undressed himself, he would plunge 
 into the water. 
 
 One day — one luckless day, just as he had thrown off 
 his last garment, it occured to him that he might indulge 
 his steed with a salutary dip by mounting him and 
 urging him gradually into the advancing tide.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 81 
 
 He did so, and sat erect upon the saddle like an eques- 
 trian Adam. The horse demurred, the water splashed 
 around him and upon him ; but David's clothes were 
 safely piled upon a rock, and he heeded not the sprink- 
 ling. Suddenly, one billow more turbulent than the rest 
 burst upon the shingles; the horse started, became utter- 
 ly unmanageable, and dashed off at full gallop towards 
 Brighton with David, naked as he was born, sitting on 
 his back ! 
 
 Imagine the misery of his situation! The shy, the 
 modest David, hastening involuntarily towards the most 
 public promenade in a state of nudity ! In vain he pulled 
 at the bridle ; swifter and swifter rushed on the infuri- 
 ated animal. He flew along the crowded cliff — he 
 passed the steyne, thronged with fashionables listening 
 to the band of a regiment of hussars. The music stop- 
 ped — the ladies fainted — the gentlemen gazed in amaze- 
 ment — the children shouted. Still, on — on — went this 
 unhappy Mazeppa, until he arrived at the door of his 
 lodgings, where the horse stopped so suddenly that the 
 rider flew head over heels, and pitched in a sitting pos- 
 ture on the pavement ! 
 
 He was carried to his apartment more dead than 
 alive; and during the evening crowds assembled round 
 the house, and servants in livery were sent to inquire 
 after the poor lunatic gentleman. 
 
 Life became a burthen to him ; — he was a marked 
 man ! — He, whose only wish was to pass unnoticed, un- 
 heard, unseen; — he, who of all the creeping things on 
 the earth pitied the glow-worm most because the spark 
 in its tail attracted observation ; — fie to become the talk 
 and the laughing-stock of a town like Brighton ! He 
 packed up in a hurry, went by a night-coach to London, 
 and the very next day proceeded to Cheltenham, where 
 we hope to find him in the next chapter.
 
 S3 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 THE FRIENDS WHO SMILE NO MORE. 
 I. 
 
 I've seen you oft select a flower 
 
 To wear upon some festive day; 
 But, faded ere the evening hour, 
 
 Without a thought 'twas thrown away ! 
 The flowers that deck a gay saloon 
 
 We prize not when their bloom is o'er ; 
 And do we not forget as soon 
 
 The once gay friends who smile no more ? 
 
 ii. 
 The wither'd rose we soon replace 
 
 With one as fair as that we lose; 
 And, won by some attractive face, 
 
 As soon another friend we choose. 
 But fleeting must such friendship prove, 
 
 And dearer ties we shall deplore, 
 When We, like those we used to love, 
 
 Know what it is to smile no more ! 
 
 " Surkly I know that voice !" said David to himself 
 as he heard the above song warbled in the chamber ad- 
 joining his own at the Plough Hotel, Cheltenham. 
 
 The occupant of the next chamber was now heard 
 walking about the room, putting by and locking up 
 things ; and then, humming the air of the song, he passed 
 along the passage and descended the stairs. 
 
 David rarely sought the society of any human being; 
 but the Cockles had been fellow-sufferers with him in 
 his never-to-be-forgotten voyage, and so much had since 
 their parting befallen himself, that he felt some curiosity 
 to know how they had also fared. He therefore de- 
 scended to the coffee-room, where, as he anticipated, he
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 83 
 
 found Mr. Lomax, who received him very cordially, 
 exclaiming, 
 
 " Ah ! my little doleful Dumps ! — you here ! Well, I 
 do hope the waters will prove a Lethe to you, and banish 
 the recollection of all that used to bother you so on board 
 the Waterwagtail." 
 
 " Thank you kindly," said David : " and where are 
 Mr. and Mrs. Cockle f" 
 
 " Oh, gone down " 
 
 " Gone downl" ejaculated David. 
 
 " Pooh ! hear a man out, can't you? — Gone down to 
 his place in Somersetshire; — not down in the Water- 
 wagtail, — plenty of Cockles down there already : but 
 he has sold the yacht ; — a change for the better, I think." 
 
 " No doubt of it," replied David. " Are you going to 
 stay here?" 
 
 " To be sure I am," said Lomax. " The height of 
 the season, and very gay. To-day Lady Thimblerig 
 has a dinner, and Mrs. Tittytops gives a ball : you shall 
 go with me to the latter if you like, and dance with the 
 prettiest girl in the room." 
 
 " Excuse me," replied David. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! you must." 
 
 " My mourning !" interrupted David ; " my respected 
 parent not dead six months!" 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, — quite right : and what do 
 you mean to do?" 
 
 " Why, though Cheltenham is to be my head-quarters, 
 I think of making a few excursions: Tewksbury, Mal- 
 vern, and perhaps Worcester, to begin with." 
 
 " Well, then, in ten days or a fortnight, when you 're- 
 turn, I shall expect you to become a bright star in the 
 hemisphere of fashion." 
 
 David shook his head, and began his preparations for 
 his trip ; and the next morning he arrived at Tewks- 
 bury in time for breakfast. 
 
 We ou^ht ere this to have described our hero. He 
 was rather embonpoint; but fat was not with him, as it 
 sometimes is, twin brother to fun : he wore a wig, and
 
 84 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 the expression of his countenance was indicative of the 
 seriousness of the turn of his mind. 
 
 He alighted from the coach at the principal inn; and 
 the landlady, when she met him in the hall, started and 
 stared, and then with most assiduous attention ushered 
 him into her best parlour. He took her aside and briefly 
 explained that retirement, quiet, and a back room to 
 himself, were what he particularly wished to enjoy. 
 
 " 1 understand you, sir," said the landlady with a 
 simper: "a little quiet will be agreeable by way of 
 change." 
 
 " It will indeed," replied the traveller, solemnly. 
 
 " I hope you will find every thing here to your liking," 
 said the hostess; and still, almost giving way to a laugh, 
 she withdrew. 
 
 " Frank," said she to the head waiter, " who do you 
 think we've got in the blue parlour ! I knew him the 
 minute I clapped my eyes on him !" 
 
 " And who is he ?" said Frank. 
 
 " Why, the great actor, Mr. Listen ! and he's dressed 
 just as I saw him at the Haymarket, the only night I 
 ever was at a Lunnon play; and 'twas 'Killing no 
 Murder,' and he was Polly Belly, or some such name; 
 and he's dressed just the same now, all in black, with 
 such a hat-band, and great white weepers!" 
 
 This brief dialogue will account for much disquietude 
 which subsequently befel our ill-fated Dumps. People 
 met him, he could not imagine why, with a broad grin ! 
 As they passed, they whispered to each other, and the 
 words " inimitable!" " clever creature!" " irresistibly 
 comic!" evidently applied to himself, reached his ears. 
 He became more serious than ever : but the greater his 
 gravity, the more the people laughed. 
 
 One night — could he believe his ears ! — as he ascended 
 the stairs, with a flat-candlestick in his hand, intending 
 to go early to his bed, he heard Frank the waiter whis- 
 per to Mary the chambermaid, (and they looked at him 
 at the moment,) " Killhig no Murder!" 
 
 Was, then, his secret known ! — his fatal secret ! He
 
 DUII) DUMPS. 85 
 
 rushed to his chamber, bolted the door, and spent a night 
 of sleepless anguish. 
 
 The next morning, with a broader grin than usual, 
 the landlady ushered a gentleman into the blue parlour, 
 and then retired, giving a knowing glance at her guest 
 as she shut the door. 
 
 " My name, sir, is Opie," said the unknown. 
 
 " Is it, sir?" replied David. 
 
 "I hope vou intend gratifying the good people ot 
 Tewksbury?" 
 
 " Gratifying! what can you mean?" 
 
 " There would not be a box to be had," said Opie, 
 bowing. 
 
 " I always look after my own boxes," replied Dumps. 
 
 " As you please, — but you will come out ?" 
 
 " Come out ! to be sure, if it's fine." 
 
 " What do you mean to come out in ?" 
 
 " What I've got on," said David, sulkily. 
 
 i; Oh, that is so like you !" said Opie, laughing ; " you 
 really are inimitable: but what character?" 
 
 " Character ! — here I — the Stranger." 
 
 "The Stranger! you!" 
 
 " Yes, /." 
 
 " And you really mean it?" 
 
 " Why, yes, to be sure, — I'm just come :" and David, 
 thinking he had been talking to a madman, walked away 
 to the window ; and when he again looked round, Mr. 
 Opie was gone. Shortly afterwards he saw a man very 
 busy pasting bills upon a dead wall opposite; and so 
 large were the letters, that he easily deciphered, 
 
 The celebrated Mr. Liston in Tragedy ! 
 
 This Evening, 
 
 The Stranger ! 
 
 The part of the Stranger by Mr. Liston. 
 
 Dumps had never seen the inimitable Liston — indeed 
 comedy was quite out of his way ; but now that the 
 star was to shine forth in tragedy, the announcement 
 
 8
 
 86 
 
 UAVIl) DUMPS. 
 
 was congenial to the serious turn of his mind, and he re- 
 solved to go. 
 
 He ate an early dinner, went betimes to the theatre, 
 and established himself in a snug corner of the stage-box. 
 The house filled, the hour of commencement arrived, the 
 liddlers paused and looked towards the curtain, but, 
 hearing no signal, they fiddled another strain. The au- 
 dience became impatient; they hissed, they hooted, and 
 they called for the manager. Another pause, another 
 yell of disapprobation, and the manager, pale and trem- 
 bling, appeared, and walked hat in hand to the front of 
 the stage. Mr. Opie cleared his throat, bowed repeat- 
 edly, moved his lips, but was inaudible amid the shouts 
 of " Hear him !" 
 
 At length silence was obtained, and he spoke as fol- 
 lows: — 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen, — I appear before you to en- 
 treat your kind and considerate forbearance. I lament 
 as much as you the absence of Mr. Liston ; but in the 
 anguish of the moment one thought supports me, — the 
 consciousness of having done my duty. (Applause.) 
 
 "I had an interview with your deservedly great fa- 
 vourite performer this morning, and every thing appeared 
 well understood between us. - I have sent to the hotel, 
 and he is not to be found. (Disapprobation.) Under 
 these distressing circumstances, I have only to entreat 
 your indulgence for Mr. Grimshaw, who on his debut 
 last week in the part of Jeremy Diddler was so favour- 
 ably received. lie will kindly read the part of the 
 Stranger. (Mingled hissing and applause.) 
 
 ''For Mr. Listen's safety my mind is intensely anx- 
 ious. I have been informed that he dined early, and 
 left the hotel, saying he was going to the theatre. What 
 accident can have prevented his arrival, I am latterly at 
 a loss to " 
 
 Mr. Opie now happened to glance towards the stage- 
 box. Surprise! doubt! anger! certainty! were the al- 
 ternate expressions of his pale face and widely-opened
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 87 
 
 eyes ; and at length, pointing to Mr. Dumps, he ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen, — It is my painful duty to in- 
 form you that Mr. Liston is now before you : there he 
 sits, — the gentleman in black, I mean, at the back of the 
 stage-box ; and I trust I may be permitted to call upon 
 him for an explanation of his most extraordinary con- 
 duct." 
 
 Every eye turned towards David, every voice was 
 uplifted against him. The man who could not endure 
 the scrutiny of one pair of eyes now beheld a houseful 
 of them gla.ring at him with angry indignation. 
 
 " That is not Liston !" said one. 
 
 "Not Liston?" cried another. 
 
 " An impostor !" vociferated a third. 
 
 " A hoax !" became the universal shout. 
 
 His head became confused ; he had a slight con- 
 sciousness of being elbowed through the lobby, of a riot 
 in the crowded street, and of being protected by the 
 civil authorities, against the uncivil attacks of the popu- 
 lace. 
 
 He was conveyed to bed, and awoke the next morn- 
 ing with a considerable accession of nervous malady. 
 
 He soon heard that the whole town vowed vengeance 
 against the infamous and unprincipled impostor w ? ho 
 had played off a practical joke on the public, and at 
 dead of night did he escape from the town of Tewks- 
 bury in a return-hearse going to Malvern, with which 
 he was accommodated by his tender-hearted landlady, 
 who never confessed to him that she had been the real 
 cause ofhis discomfiture. On arriving within a mile of 
 Malvern, he crept from his dark and most appalling ve- 
 hicle, and with his carpet-bag he walked disconsolately 
 to the hotel. 
 
 The balmy air and the tranquillity of Malvern were 
 truly congenial to poor David's feelings after his recent 
 very serious discomfiture: his spirits soon rose, and he 
 gained sufficient courage to dine at the public table. 
 Chance had placed him next to a very smart and pretty
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 girl, who during the first clays of his entering into the 
 society of the boarding-house interested him much. 
 She. like himself, seemed to have " a silent sorrow " 
 somewhere: she often sighed/ and sat in a state of evi- 
 dent abstraction, unconscious of the plate of soup before 
 her and of the morsel of fish which found its way into 
 her mouth. She ate very little ; and that little seemed 
 onlv taken to quiet the apprehensions of her tall thin 
 mamma, or appease the threatening anger of her short 
 fat papa. The only thing which she really seemed to 
 relish w as her one glass of wine ; she raised it to her 
 lips, raising at the same time her blue eyes to the ceiling, 
 and then slowly drained it, as if drinking to the health 
 of the little bronze Cupid from which the central chan- 
 delier was suspended. When her glass was replaced 
 upon the table, she relapsed into a dreamy cogitation, 
 and never spoke until her lady-mother rose to leave the 
 room; and then she languidly followed. 
 
 David spoke to nobody, and he considered it an unu- 
 sual instance of good fortune having been placed next 
 to a gentle being who never spoke to him. His apart- 
 ment was next to that occupied by this interesting girl : 
 this he ascertained from occasional meetings in the 
 passage, and the necessity of standing aside to let her 
 pass; and though they never exchanged a word, a 
 neighbourly feeling was established between them. 
 
 One morning he heard the sound of lamentation in that 
 chamber ; the voice of the little ladv was raised to the 
 highest note of its compass, but was at length drowned 
 by the basser tones of her father, and David could not 
 avoid hearing part of the conversation. 
 
 " I'll never believe it !" cried the young lady ; " never!" 
 
 " Do you think your father would tell a lie !" scream- 
 ed her mamma. 
 
 " You acknowledge that you expected him to write 
 to you ?" said her father. 
 
 A 'burst of tears was the only reply. 
 
 "Has he not. deceived you? — have you received one 
 line from him?" inquired the old gentleman, who well
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 89 
 
 knew she had not, he having intercepted and burnt three 
 dozen letters and a half. 
 
 " I will not believe that he is false," cried the daughter. 
 
 " Oh !" screamed her mother, " I should like to beat 
 you !" 
 
 "Silence!" said the more artful and systematic papa: 
 "do not upbraid poor Lavinia; she will have enough to 
 mortify and vex her, poor thing, when she knows all." 
 
 "What do you mean ?" inquired Lavinia. 
 
 " It must humiliate a girl so, to think she has been 
 breaking her heart for a fellow who don't care twopence 
 for her." 
 
 " Thank goodness / never did that !" said the senior 
 of the two ladies: " nobody knows how your papa soli- 
 cited me." 
 
 " I beg you will tell me what you allude to," exclaim- 
 ed Lavinia, wiping her eyes and assuming composure. 
 "If I have been deceived in Captain Claverton, tell me 
 so at once; prove it, and I will give him up." 
 
 "There's my own Lavy!" said her father. "Mind 
 now, if I convince you, you have promised to forget him.' 
 
 "I did not say that, sir ; I feel that I should be pro- 
 mising what I never could realize, but I will never speak 
 of him; I will endeavour to obey you in all things: is 
 there any other person that you wish me to marry?" 
 
 "No, not just now," replied her father; "but I wish 
 you not to frown at every man you meet, as you have 
 done since that fellow " 
 
 "Do not abuse him, sir ; state what you know against 
 him, and then drop the subject. He may be false and 
 I may be led to acknowledge it; but let it be understood 
 between us that he is not to be censured before me. 
 However culpable, however ungrateful he may be, I am 
 at least unchanged, and will never indulge in such piti- 
 ful revenge as verbal abuse." 
 
 "He is going to be married!" said her father, unbut- 
 toning his waistcoat and buttoning it up again, while he 
 watched the effect of the shot he had fired. 
 
 "Married!" cried Lavinia: "to whom, sir?" and she 
 
 8*
 
 ;>() n WID DUMPS. 
 
 deliberately, and apparently calmly, left her seat, and 
 walked over to her lather. 
 
 "To a wealthy widow at Richmond, — Mrs. Pembev- 
 ton Pole." 
 
 " How long, sir, have you known this ?" 
 
 " We have known that he withdrew his pretensions to 
 yourself ever since J wrote to him stating that you were 
 entirely dependent, and that you would never inherit a 
 shilling from me if you married him." 
 
 " You wrote to him to that effect ?" 
 
 " I wrote to him to that effect," replied her father, 
 looking her full in the face ; for now he was telling the 
 truth. 
 
 "And he explicitly stated that he withdrew his pre- 
 tensions V 
 
 " Of course," answered the old gentleman, looking 
 another way, for the captain had done no such thing. 
 
 " You should have told me this before," said Lavinia, 
 returning to her seat, and putting her handkerchief to 
 her eyes. 
 
 " We did not like to distress you," said her mother. 
 
 Lavinia looked at her for a moment with a piteous 
 smile, but did not reply. 
 
 "This Mrs. Pemberton Pole is the widow of a very 
 rich distiller, not young, not good-looking, not in the 
 best society," exclaimed the old man, wiping his spec- 
 tacles. 
 
 "Poor fellow ! I pity him," said Lavinia M You are 
 quite sure that what you state is correct?" 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " He will then be wretched ; and as for me — but I will 
 not speak of myself: surely it must be a painful reflection 
 to you both." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" inquired the elder lady. 
 
 " To think that you have made a fellow-creature mi- 
 serable; one, too, who never injured you, — one who, on 
 the contrary, evinced the warmest affection for your 
 only child."
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 91 
 
 " Miserable ! not a bit ot" it ; rich widow, — nonsense 
 — happy as the day is long." 
 
 " You, who have seen so much of Captain Claverton, 
 must know that he is not the man to be happy after 
 making such a marriage." 
 
 "Well, miss, then why does he marry? — what is it 
 all to me, or your mother I Captain Claverton is nothing 
 to us." 
 
 " He was nothing to either of you when my mother 
 met him at Brighton, and fancying that he was the eldest 
 son of Sir Harry Claverton, sought him out, never rested 
 till she was introduced to him, and made me dance with 
 him, and accept his attentions at a time when I cared 
 not for him, and when I'm certain he never thought of 
 me." 
 
 •' Verv wroag of your mother," said the old gentle- 
 man, unbuttoning 1 1 is waistcoat; " I admit that was very 
 wrong indeed." 
 
 " And was it not equally wrong in you to ask him al- 
 most daily to dine with us X — what could he suppose but 
 that his proposal would be accepted ?" 
 
 "1 was unguarded, certainly," and the waistcoat was 
 buttoned up again : — " but if younger sons will intrude 
 themselves into society, they must take the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 " We were not to blame, then," added Lavinia, "if 
 thrown by you so much together, we became attached ; 
 the error was your own, but the punishment falls heavily 
 on us." 
 
 " You must be more wary in future, my dear" said 
 her papa to her mamma. 
 
 " And you must not be so egregiously foolish, my 
 love" said her mamma to her papa. 
 
 " These recriminations are idle," exclaimed Lavinia. 
 " I will not say one word more about him : — tell me 
 candidly what is it you wish me to do ; it is indifferent 
 to me now. Is there any other person — " 
 
 " No, not exactly — "
 
 92 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " Why," interposed her mother, " that gentleman who 
 sits next to you daily at dinner — " 
 
 " I am not to marry him ■'" cried Lavinia in a tone of 
 voice not flattering to David, who heard almost all that 
 was said. 
 
 " Marry him ! — no — that is, there's no knowing: some- 
 body said he seemed to have plenty of money ; and a 
 quiet independent gentleman is not to be met with every 
 day." 
 
 " He is very quiet," replied Lavinia, mentally con- 
 trasting David and Captain Claverton. 
 
 "All I ask is, don't sit silent and sulky by him, or any- 
 other marriageable young man ; / never did at your 
 age," said her mother. 
 
 " I will try to do as you wish," answered Lavinia. 
 
 " That's a good Lavy." cried her father, kissing her. 
 
 "You know our only thought is your happiness," 
 added her mother, kissing her on the other side. And 
 thus poor Lavinia was fondled by the two beings who, 
 actuated by worldly and mercenary motives, had in- 
 volved her in an attachment, from which it appeared 
 that they expected her to recede at the word of com- 
 mand. 
 
 At the dinner-hour that day, Davie, as usual, was 
 seated next to his hitherto taciturn companion. She 
 looked pale, and had evidently been weeping, and she 
 evinced no inclination to address him; but her mother, 
 who seemed anxious to divert her thoughts, after request- 
 ing him to give her some sw r eetbread, said, in a bland 
 and gentle voice, utterly unlike that which had startled 
 him through the partition in the morning, 
 
 " Lavinia, dearest, these are excellent! Mr. Dumps, 
 pray oblige me by helping Miss Jones?" 
 
 David, of course, did as he was desired ; and then, 
 clearing his voice, made some sage remark respecting 
 the bad weather past, the little gleam of sunshine pre- 
 sent, and the very fine days which it was to be hoped 
 were to come. Miss Jones was equally common-place 
 in her reply, and then they both relapsed into silence.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 93 
 
 "You drink white wine, I perceive, Mr. Dumps," said 
 old Jones: "Madeira, or Sherry?" 
 
 " Sherry," replied David. 
 
 "Quite right, — less acidity ; my bottle is Sherry also. 
 Allow me the pleasure of taking wine with you '?" 
 
 And David went through the evolutions of filling, 
 smiling, bowing, and drinking. 
 
 " Dumps is an uncommon name ?" observed Mrs. 
 Jones. 
 
 " It is a strange name, truly," replied the possessor of 
 it, wondering whether she meant to be rude. 
 
 " Strange I oh, not at all," added the lady. " Let 
 me see, — Dumps? Dumps? — surely we have met with 
 the name somewhere?" and she appealed to her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " Dumps ?" replied Mr. Jones : " I can't say I know 
 it." 
 
 " Are you of the Derbyshire Dumpses ?" inquired the 
 mother, trying an experiment. 
 
 " I'm not aware of it, if I am," replied David ; " in 
 fact I never attempt to conceal that my father made his 
 fortune in trade." 
 
 "Quite right," answered Mrs. Jones, satisfied with the 
 word fortune, but hoping that no one else at the table 
 had heard any thing about trade, in case any thing 
 should occur between him and Lavy. " I honour the 
 man who avows it; though our family, by the way, is 
 very ancient !" 
 
 (Mr. Jones's grandfather had been what is called a 
 cow-man.) 
 
 " But surely we did meet some nice person of your 
 name somewhere. — Dumps ? — yes, I'm sure of it ; per- 
 haps your elder brother ?" 
 
 " I have no brothers," replied David. 
 
 "Indeed! an only child ?" inquired Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Oh !" said Mrs. Jones, with an air of satisfaction ; 
 and though there was an arch smile on Lavinia's lip, she
 
 94 
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 thought to herself, " Would that my mother had always 
 been equally minute in her inquiries!" 
 
 "Do you know many people at Malvern V* inquired 
 Mrs. Jones. 
 
 "No, ma'am, none," replied David. 
 
 " Indeed !" Oh, we have a charming little circle here, 
 — confined, of course, but infinitely interesting: — Will 
 you favour us with your company at tea this evening? 
 You will meet dear Mrs. Iloby, the sued creature, who 
 has the sweet children, and whose husband writes the 
 sweet books !" 
 
 I >avid accepted this luscious invitation, but saw very 
 little of the lady so celebrated for sweets, being thrown 
 completely into Lavinia's society ; and though she must 
 have been annoyed at her mother's manoeuvres, she was 
 too well-bred and too good-natured to allow an inoffen- 
 sive stranger to suffer for the annoyance inflicted upon 
 her by another person. 
 
 Day after day, and week after week, did Mrs. Jones 
 possess herself of the pliant Mr. Dumps : living under the 
 same roof, there was no chance of escape, and indeed 
 Miss Jones's manners were so gentle and pleasing that 
 he delighted in her society, and was never happier than 
 when walking by the side of her donkey. 
 
 As to loving her, such an idea never entered his ima- 
 gination; he was not the man to love first. Had she 
 evinced any partiality for him, it was quite impossible 
 that it should not be reciprocal ; but for David seriously 
 to fall in love, as it is called, with a girl so very young, 
 so very pretty, would have appeared to himself just as 
 presumptuous and absurd, as if he were to take it into 
 his head to get some queen divorced from some king, 
 that he might be enabled to marry her majesty. 
 
 Lavinia really rather liked him than not, (a negative 
 sort of compliment truly when applied to the estimation 
 in which a gentleman is held by a young lady ; he was 
 quiet, amiable, and inoffensive ; — and she had taken 
 good care to prevent his being misled as to her apprecia- 
 tion of him, having more than once alluded to a some-
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 95 
 
 thing which preyed upon her mind, and which was per- 
 fectly intelligible to David, after the conversation which 
 he had once involuntarily overheard. 
 
 But the discreet and kindly-intentioned precautions of 
 a good honest-hearted girl like Lavinia are utterly una- 
 vailing when there is such a mother at her elbow as Mrs. 
 Jones. After dailv involving David, almost whether he 
 liked it or not, in the necessity of attending on Lavinia, 
 or openly avowing his disinclination to do so, she one 
 day advised her daughter to remain at home on account 
 of some imaginary cold, and then seated herself at her 
 tambour-frame to receive David alone. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Dumps!" said she as he entered; "how are 
 you ? — You look pale ! — are you sure you are quite well ? 
 Do let me send you a little remedy to-night. No ! — 
 well, of course you know best; I am always a fond 
 foolish creature about people who are in any way con- 
 nected with me." 
 
 David, not quite understanding her, which in truth 
 was often the case, sat down and said nothing. 
 
 " You know dear Lavy has a cold ? No ! — Oh yes, 
 a sad cold, poor dear interesting girl ! People talk of 
 her beauty, — I scarcely think of it ; — her many excel- 
 lent mental qualities are what / value !" 
 
 "Yes, to be sure," said David. 
 
 " What will become of me when she marries, it is im- 
 possible for me to guess ; yet marry she must, sooner or 
 later !" 
 
 " Of course," replied David. 
 
 " But, poor little innocent dear, I do believe it is a 
 notion that has never entered her mind." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Or, if it ever has, not till lately" added Mrs. Jones, 
 looking; at David. 
 
 " Oh !" replied he, looking at Mrs. Jones. 
 
 Mrs. Jones looked down on her embroidery, and did 
 not quite know what to say next. 
 
 "Do you know this flower?" inquired she at last. 
 
 David rose, looked at a confused jumble of red, blue,
 
 y*> DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 yellow, and green worsteds, and replied, " Yes, a devil 
 in a bush !" 
 
 "Be quiet, Mr. Dumps !" cried the matron affectedly, 
 and tapping his shoulder with her finger. " Tis heart's- 
 ease." 
 
 "Ah!" ejaculated David. 
 
 " Heart's-ease, Mr. Dumps!" said Mrs. Jones senti- 
 mentally, looking up at her guest. "How rarely a 
 woman's lot !" 
 
 David made no answer, because he had nothing to 
 say ; so Mrs. Jones was obliged to proceed. 
 
 "You men ! you naughty men are our bane! how 
 often do you trifle with die first affections of an unso- 
 phisticated heart! You look shocked: — do not, pray, 
 misunderstand me. 1 know you are incapable of such 
 conduct; — you appreciate Che treasure thrown in your 
 path. I need not ask one overflowing with benevolence 
 like yourself, what are your intentions towards my too 
 susceptible Lavinia?" 
 
 David opened his eyes very wide, now for once per- 
 fectly understanding Mrs. Jones, but he could not frame 
 a reply. 
 
 " I have confided in you." said she ; " and I know you 
 will not abuse my confidence. She is indeed a treasure! 
 — is she not?" 
 
 "Why, — I, — oh! — a treasure? — Miss Jones. — of 
 course quite a treasure !" stammered David. 
 "One calculated to make any man happy?" 
 " Happy?— why as to that— oh, if you mean to ask 
 me — I should say — Of courseany man would be happy!" 
 "Your frank and honourable avowal of admiration is 
 highly creditable; and to put you out of all suspense, I 
 will leave you, and at once communicate what has pass- 
 ed between us to Lavinia and Mr. Jones. By-the-by, I 
 never saw dear Mr. Jones take to any body as he has 
 done to you!— it quite surprises me,— something quite 
 •paternal in his manner; and you who have had the mis- 
 fortune to lose your parents will appreciate that advan- 
 tage. As for myself, I need not speak of my partiality :
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 97 
 
 it seems to me almost an infatuation !" And Mrs. Jones 
 went up to David, took his hand, and rubbed her cheek 
 against his mouth ; and it was not until she had left the 
 room, that he recovered himself sufficiently to compre- 
 hend that he was in a false position, having apparently 
 proprosed to Miss Jcnes, and kissed her mother, without 
 having the least intention of doing either one or the other. 
 
 Lavinia's astonishment knew no bounds. "Proposed 
 for me . ? " 
 
 " Yes, and in the most delicate way. I quite felt for 
 him, poor young man ! his melancholy is very touching.'' 
 
 " But surely it was impossible he should be ignorant 
 of — of — " And Lavinia paused, and burst into tears. 
 
 " He knows all," replied Mrs. Jones, " and he honours 
 you for the magnanimity with which you have — " 
 
 " Oh, pray do not talk of that," interrupted her daugh- 
 ter : " do you really believe he loves me ?" 
 
 " Devotedly." 
 
 " And you are satisfied with him?" 
 
 " I have made every inquiry, and his income must, I 
 am sure, be considerable." 
 
 "Then he is all you and my father can wish; and, as 
 for me, — 'tis well he is no worse." 
 
 " You consent to receive him, then ?" 
 
 " Is my father satisfied ?" 
 
 " Your father is now closeted with Mr. Dumps." 
 
 " Then in your hands and his I place my life : my 
 happiness has long been out of the question." 
 
 In the mean time Mr. Jones, having received a hint 
 from his wife, had gone to the room where she had left 
 her dismayed visiter. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Dumps," said he, "glad to see you; Mrs. 
 Jones has told me all; give me your hand." 
 
 David extended his hand, and submitted quietly to the 
 shaking which it underwent. "Sir," said he, " you do 
 me much honour, but — " 
 
 " I think I've heard you say that all your money is in 
 the funds?" interrupted Mr. Jones: "in these times the 
 
 9
 
 98 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 best place for it ; I have no doubt we shall understand 
 each other." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," replied David, " but I had sup- 
 posed that your daughter had formed some other attach- 
 ment." 
 
 " Very right to ask the question : I honour you for 
 coming to the point. A mere childish fancy, nothing 
 more ; and the moment she made your acquaintance, she 
 gave it up, and seemed to think of it with shame and 
 regret !" 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 "Yes, to give you a proof, she has never mentioned it 
 since, I give you my honour, never /" 
 
 " Well," thought David, " I am a fascinating creature, 
 that's clear." 
 
 It was difficult even for so expert a manager as Mrs. 
 Jones to keep her two puppets in order; but she did con- 
 trive to make Lavinia believe that David was really in 
 love with her, and that his seriousness was occasioned 
 by a very natural dread that her former attachment to 
 Captain Claverton would prevent her ever consenting to 
 a marriage with him. Lavinia had suffered so severely 
 herself, that she could not endure the idea of making 
 David miserable, and as she felt certain that her parents 
 would never let her alone till she had married somebody, 
 she really thought it would be as well to be led to the 
 altar by David at once. 
 
 David certainly was not in love, and her imputed love, 
 for him amazed and bewildered him : it was not what 
 he wished, the very last thing, indeed, that he ever 
 should have sought; and when he looked forward to 
 his marriage, and going through life by the side of a 
 creature so young and so fair, he really felt alarmed and 
 almost inclined to advise her, as a friend, to turn the 
 matter over seriously in her mind, and weigh all the 
 contingencies well, before she took the irrevocable step. 
 
 All seemed progressing towards the consummation so 
 devoutly, or perhaps it were more just to say, so diabo- 
 lically wished by Mrs. Jones, and her worldly-wise
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 99 
 
 spouse, when an event occurred which utterly disar- 
 ranged all their plans. 
 
 David was one morning sitting in his private room, 
 when the door was violently thrown open, and a tall 
 handsome young man entered, panting with excitement, 
 and trembling with agitation. 
 
 " Your name is Dumps, sir, I believe," said he. 
 
 David, in astonishment, bowed assent. 
 
 " You are the man I seek, then," replied the stranger, 
 throwing himself into a chair. "I have but a very few 
 words to say : you are, I understand, about to be mar- 
 ried to Miss Jones V 
 
 M I believe so," said David. 
 
 " Then, sir, I tell you frankly," exclaimed the stran- 
 ger, with vehemence, striking his clenched fist upon the 
 table, " that if you persist in your suit to that young lady, 
 I will see your flesh rot inch by inch from your bones." 
 
 " Mercy on me ! — who are you ?" cried David. 
 
 " My name is Claverton. By what extraordinary art 
 such a thing as you could have gained her affections — 
 But no, I do know poor Lavinia too well to believe that 
 possible : you are the base accomplice, or the infatuated 
 tool of her mercenary parents, and by Heaven you shall 
 rue the day that you dared to interfere with me." 
 
 "Be pacified, Captain Claverton," supplicated David. 
 
 " Pacified ! never ! I challenge you instantly to meet 
 me on the hill — I have pistols, — Come, sir, come." 
 
 "Never!" replied David, " never!" 
 
 " What ! a coward ! refuse me the satisfaction of a 
 gentleman !" 
 
 " Pray hear me for one moment patiently." 
 
 " Proceed," replied the captain contemptuously. 
 
 "I am going to reveal to you, what no other human 
 being has a suspicion of: it is not many weeks since I 
 did go out to shoot, and to be shot at." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "He fell, — horrible recollection! — I will never fight 
 again." 
 
 "Will you give up the lady, sir?"
 
 100 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " Oh dear me !" exclaimed David, " I would not inter- 
 fere with any body for the world ; and if she had not 
 taken a fancy to me, I — " 
 
 •• Puppy !" cried Claverton. 
 
 •• Well, 1 don't wonder you should say so," said David. 
 " But were / to accede to your wishes — and I give you 
 my word it's just the same to me, — I'm certain her wor- 
 thy parents will never let me off." 
 
 " Worthy parents! a couple of contemptible — But no 
 matter, I insist upon your going instantly to Mr. Jones 
 and telling him you resign your pretensions to his 
 daughter." 
 
 " Oh, I'll do that with pleasure; it will really, between 
 ourselves, be a weight off my mind." 
 
 •' Go, sir, but do not mention my name; I shall in due 
 time announce myself to the pitiful — " 
 
 "Hush!" whispered David, "Miss Jones hears every 
 word you say." 
 
 " What ! concealed in your room ?" 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed David, horrified at the imputa- 
 tion, "but that partition is slight, and her chamber 
 
 is—" 
 
 Before he could finish the sentence, Captain Claverton 
 had left him, and in a moment David heard an excla- 
 mation of joy, and two voices in earnest and confiding 
 conversation : he really felt happy at the reunion of the 
 lovers, and walked off to pay his morning visit to the 
 gentleman who was to have had the honour of becoming 
 his father-in-law. It was rather puzzling to know ex- 
 actly how it was best to begin, but after the first saluta- 
 tions of the day, he seated himself, and without any pre- 
 liminary said, 
 
 " I am come, Mr. Jones, to tell you, that feeling as I 
 do, utterly unworthy of possessing such a treasure as 
 your daughter — " 
 
 "Pooh ! pooh ! too modest by half," interrupted Jones. 
 
 "I come here formally and unequivocally to relin- 
 quish my pretensions." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Jones, starting up.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 101 
 
 " I have said precisely what I mean," said David de- 
 murely. 
 
 " Give up my daughter !" 
 
 " Sorry I'm prevented having the honour of — " 
 
 " Don't talk to me as if you were sending an excuse 
 to a dinner-party; I'm not to be trifled with !" 
 
 And the short fat man, ied with anger, strutted before 
 our hero in an attitude of defiance. 
 
 " Pray be pacified !" said David. 
 
 " Pa — pa — pacified !" spluttered Jones. " Come out 
 with me, — pistols, — one shall fall ! — Come out, Sir !" 
 
 " This is the second time I've been challenged to-day," 
 replied David. 
 
 " I don't care for that, Sir ; — seek out a friend ; — I'll 
 meet you with mine !" 
 
 " For the second time 1 decline fighting." 
 
 i; Decline fighting ! — coward ! — dastard ! — poltroon !" 
 and Mr. Jones danced about with rage. 
 
 Before he had in any degree regained his composure, 
 Captain Claverton entered the room, and walking up to 
 David, he extended his hand towards him. 
 
 " I beg to apologise to you, Sir," said he ; "I find 
 that your conduct has been kind and considerate ; I per- 
 ceive I must seek elsewhere for those who have so 
 deeply wronged me." 
 
 Mr. Jones, on Claverton's first entrance, had stood 
 still in amazement, but he now began to strut about and 
 splutter more vehemently than before. 
 
 " Pray do not fatigue yourself," said Claverton ; " I 
 have little to say ; and I am glad to perceive that my 
 excellent friend Mrs. Jones will also be present." And 
 Mrs. Jones entered the room with a flushed and angry 
 countenance. 
 
 " What does all this mean ?" said she. 
 
 " It means, madam, that I am not married to Mrs. 
 Pemberton Pole of Richmond, and never had the honour 
 of more than the very slightest possible acquaintance 
 with that elderlv widow." 
 
 9 *
 
 102 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " Really," exclaimed Jones, " it does not concern us; 
 we may have heard it, and we may have repeated it." 
 
 " No harm of course in that," replied Claverton. " J 
 may have heard, and may have repeated, that, on ac- 
 count of the failure of your many speculations, you 
 have not a shilling in the world — " 
 
 "■ What !" cried Jones, turning pale. 
 
 " And that while appearances could still be kept up, 
 you have been anxious to marry your child to the first 
 man who could provide for her." 
 
 " Water ! water !" screeched Mrs. Jones. 
 
 " Do not faint, madam ; 1 think I can revive you," 
 said Claverton. 
 
 M Nay, let me support her ; — she has evinced quite a 
 maternal fondness for me" cried David. 
 
 " You are all in a plot against me," exclaimed the 
 lady, nearly pushing David down. 
 
 " Do not suppose, madam," said Claverton, " that hav- 
 ing heard of Mr. Jones's impending misfortune, I have 
 come hither meanly to insult you. My love for your 
 daughter is unalterable; and I am here to state that, 
 through the unexpected liberality of an uncle, I am in a 
 situation amply to meet your wishes. I have just heard 
 from her own lips that her affections have never for a 
 moment swerved from me." 
 
 Mrs. Jones, who had cheered up a little, during this 
 address, now winked her eye, and made an odd mouth 
 at the captain, and tried to touch his foot with hers. 
 
 "Why, really — perhaps, as you say — that is, had it 
 not been for Mr. Dumps's delicate attentions — " 
 
 " Oh ! no more deceptions, if you please," interrupted 
 Captain Claverton; " Mr. Dumps is now sufficiently in 
 all your secrets to judge pretty accurately what part you 
 meant him to have acted !" 
 
 " I congratulate you with all my heart, sir," said Da- 
 vid ; " and myself too /" added he in a low voice. 
 
 " Well, now really, Captain Claverton," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Jones in her softest tone, " after all, you are the
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 103 
 
 best creature ! — such a sweet way of surprising us about 
 your dear uncle !" 
 
 " Have I your permission to announce to Miss Jones 
 that her parents sanction my addresses ?" inquired Cla- 
 verton with a glance of contempt. 
 
 " Certainly," replied Jones, fidgeting out of the room 
 and looking very much ashamed of himself. 
 
 "And yours, madam?" 
 
 " To be sure, my dear Captain Claverton," answered 
 the lady. " My sweet Lavinia must reinstate me in your 
 good graces : you were always such a dear creature, 
 that I quite look forward with pleasure to visiting you 
 in some sweet cottage, in some charming neighbourhood. 
 You must forgive poor dear Mr. Jones ; — as for myself, 
 I never had a voice in the business — never J" 
 
 Claverton bowed, and made no reply ; but to David 
 he said, " I really hope that my happiness has not 
 thrown any gloom over your prospects." 
 
 "No," replied David; "I only yielded to what ap- 
 peared to be the wishes of others." 
 
 " I believe you ; and be assured I shall be happy to 
 meet you again." 
 
 Captain Claverton was soon seen from the windows 
 of the hotel, walking by the side of the now happy La- 
 vinia ; and David, thinking that his presence, after what 
 had passed, might render her situation embarrassing, 
 wrote her a kind and considerate farewell note ; and, 
 without waiting either for a reply or an interview, he 
 ordered post-horses, left Malvern that very evening, and 
 returned to his apartments at Cheltenham, not over- 
 pleased with his very eventful tour.
 
 104 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Let us for once look at David in a position of at least 
 comparative comfort. We now find him in Mr. Lorimer 
 Lomax's private apartments, sitting at a table on which 
 are decanters and a dessert. His glass is full, and with a 
 steady hand he carries it to his lips. Lomax is at the 
 head of the table ; and opposite to our hero sits a man 
 of about thirty, who has been introduced to him as the 
 medical attendant of the host. 
 
 " Well," said Lomax, " I am glad that for once I have 
 induced you to be communicative. I have invited my 
 friend Galen here to meet you, because I really wish you 
 to consult him." 
 
 " Ah," replied David, " what can he do for me ?" 
 
 " I can prescribe another bumper of port," said the 
 medical man, at the same time filling his glass, which 
 he had but that moment emptied. 
 
 " You'll make me tipsy !" cried David. 
 
 "Better to be tipsily gay, than soberly sad," replied 
 Lomax. 
 
 "And after all, what have you to be seriously sad 
 about?" 
 
 " Hav'n't I told you enough 1" 
 
 " No," said the Galen. " When you are the victim of 
 a practical joke, laugh and pretend not to care, and peo- 
 ple will not trouble you again: you, however, evince 
 just the annoyance which amuses them, and so you 
 are the man of all others to become the butt of so- 
 ciety." 
 
 " I'm much obliged to you," said David : " besides, you 
 don't know all; there's one thing untold, which I can 
 never tell."
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 105 
 
 " Oh, some nonsense," said the apothecary. " Why, 
 if I had taken things to heart as you have done, I should 
 have been as wretched as yourself. I've had my disap- 
 pointments : I once expected to be a man of fashion, yet 
 here I am at Cheltenham, with blue, red, and green bot- 
 tles in my shop-window !" 
 
 " A man of fashion !" said his host : " when was 
 
 that r 
 
 " I'll tell you when ; and I'll also tell you of a hoax 
 which was played off upon those who well deserved it." 
 
 " Another bottle first," interrupted Lomax, ringing the 
 bell ; and having obtained what he wanted, and passed 
 it round, he added, " And now, Purvis, for your rise and 
 fall in fashion's empire." 
 
 " With all my heart ; — listen to my confessions : — 
 
 " My father and mother were tidy good sort of people 
 of what is called the middling class of society ; and at 
 the age of thirty, I, John Purvis, do pronounce, as the 
 result of my experience, that of all human beings they 
 are the happiest who, when addressed with the interro- 
 gatory, ' How goes it with you V can reply, ' Middling, 
 thank you.' My mother often talked to me of her only 
 sister Kitty, who married a surgeon of a marching regi- 
 ment shortly after she was herself united to my father. 
 Kitty used to be voted a beauty ; but (as she departed 
 for India almost immediately after her marriage with 
 Mister, or, as he used to be generally called by cour- 
 tesy, Doctor Mason,) it was never my lot to look upon 
 her personal charms, until they had been a little mellow- 
 ed by time, and bleached — no, that is not the word — 
 tinted with the < yellow leaf,' by the warmth of a tropi- 
 cal sun. 
 
 " My parents died when I was commencing my teens, 
 leaving me in the situation of assistant operative in the 
 establishment of a dispenser of medicines in a certain 
 country town. My master was much in repute; an ir- 
 ritable man, who taxed my physical power to the utmost. 
 I was up early, swept the shop, attended to prescrip-
 
 100 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 tions, served customers, pounded drugs, spread plasters, 
 infused herbs, ted leeches, and balanced the books. 
 
 "It may be supposed I had not much time to spare 
 for the acquirement of the graces: I lived in brown 
 holland sleeves; pasted labels on phials, pill-boxes, and 
 gallipots from morning till night, enveloping them in 
 white paper, and directing them to the unfortunate inva- 
 lids who, by their real or imaginary maladies, brought 
 grist to my master's mill. I wasn't a bit like a gentle- 
 man ; I never thought of pretending to be any thing of 
 the kind : my predecessor had lost his situation on ac- 
 count of high-heeled boots, and hat on one side, and 
 chainery and sealery propensities. This was a warning 
 to me, and perhaps I verged into the opposite extreme; 
 yet, notwithstanding my threadbare condition, Mr. Wil- 
 liam Cheeks would occasionally call in to see how the 
 shop went on without him. 
 
 " In justice to myself, 1 must say it went on much 
 better than it had ever done during his connexion with 
 the establishment. Cheeks was a beau, and a wag, and 
 a wit, and a practical joker ; and how he came to take 
 to me, I cannot quite understand. To be sure, he always 
 made fun of me, and put pigtails under the collar of my 
 coat; and sometimes he tried to disarrange my profes- 
 sional proceedings, altering labels, that I might send lo- 
 tions to those who wanted internal doctoring, and black 
 draughts and salines to rub upon the legs and backs of 
 others who had rheumatisms and lumbaaroes. But 1 al- 
 ways frustrated his endeavours. During his apprentice- 
 ship many such errors had been unwittingly committed 
 through his own carelessness : a gallipot of lively leeches 
 had once been sent by him to a nervous lady, who, ex- 
 pecting nothing but a delicate conserve of roses, suffered 
 the prisoners to escape, and nearly expired before they 
 could be caught. Once, too, he tried to bleed a man in 
 the unavoidable absence of my master : but — the less I 
 say about that the better. Then, too, instead of balanc- 
 ing accounts, he, like a mountebank as he was, preferred 
 balancing tobacco-pipes on his chin.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 1U7 
 
 " Often would he pop his head in at the door, when 
 he knew my master was absent, crying, 'There you are 
 in the pillory, I see ! Why, Purvis, my lad, you are as 
 dull as the sediment at the bottom of a bottle of lotion ! 
 Do for goodness' sake effervesce for once, and come and 
 take a lounge with me.' But Cheeks tempted in vain ; 
 I was constant to the laboratory until the occurrence of 
 a great event, — an event little expected by my master 
 and young Cheeks, still less by myself. 
 
 "Aunt Mason returned to England a rich and gay 
 widow, without encumbrances. The doctor, having ac- 
 cumulated very considerable wealth, died and was buri- 
 ed; and his lady, reconciled to the event by the golden 
 accumulation, wore weeds during the voyage, and con- 
 sidering them literally as sea weeds, discarded them the 
 day she landed. Mrs. Mason, fortunately for me, (as I 
 then thought,) had no male relative in the world except- 
 ing myself; and feeling as she said, the impossibility of 
 managing an English establishment without the assist- 
 ance and protection of a gentleman, she (forgetting that 
 by birth, parentage, and education, I had been disquali- 
 fied for the performance of the part,) wrote me a letter, 
 desiring me to meet her in London, where it was her in- 
 tention to give me every possible advantage, and intro- 
 duce me to the fashionable world as her nephew. 
 
 " The prospect was truly exhilarating : I made up my 
 last pill, bade adieu to Cheeks, and very soon made my 
 appearance in Portland Place, where my aunt had al- 
 ready taken a large well-furnished mansion. 
 
 " I have said that my aunt and I had never met be- 
 fore: I am afraid she was rather disappointed at my 
 appearance, and certainly she was not at all the sort of 
 person I had expected to see. When I arrived, she was 
 arrayed for an evening party at the house of an old ac- 
 quaintance from Calcutta, where she was going to play 
 an India rubber with some other Orientals. 
 
 "'John Purvis,' said my aunt, * I'll introduce you to 
 the fashionable world:' so I of course concluded that 
 she was a leader of fashion herself; and when we pack-
 
 108 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 ed up to leave London for the autumn and winter, in- 
 tending to spend a few months at Leamington, I thought 
 that we should find that popular watering-place a mere 
 puppet-show, in which the scenes were to be shifted and 
 the figures moved by Mrs. Mason and her interesting 
 nephew. Leamington was full, but, to my great sur- 
 prise, my aunt knew nobody there; in fact, I soon dis- 
 covered that her own admission into fashionable society 
 must be a preliminary move to the advance of her 
 nephew. We must devise means to raise a kite, before 
 we can hope to elevate its tail. 
 
 •' In due course of time she formed a few acquaint- 
 ances among the ladies with daughters, who, after visit- 
 ing a watering-place for the express purpose of going 
 into society, never allow a drawing-room to be illumin- 
 ated, or a fiddle to be heard, without entering the one, 
 or jigging to the other. 
 
 " Besides, my aunt was one of those who never lose 
 anything for want of asking; and on the slightest intro- 
 duction, or no introduction at all, she would talk of her 
 little party, and request the pleasure of seeing you at it. 
 
 " There was one lady at Leamington who particularly 
 attracted her attention. She w r as comely and well- 
 dressed, fat, fair, and forty, or thereabouts; she had an 
 excellent house, carriages and servants, and seemed to 
 know nobody. ' That,' said my aunt to me, ' is evident- 
 ly somebody; see how she keeps herself aloof from the 
 tag-rag of the place: I'm determined to know her, and 
 to have her at my house.' 
 
 "Now, when my aunt was once determined to gain a 
 point, she never rested until by hook or by crook she 
 succeeded : and so it was with her fancy for the fair 
 incognita of Leamington. She looked at her earnestly 
 until she attracted the lady's attention ; and then, in au- 
 dible whispers to me, she proclaimed her admiration of 
 her whenever she passed. The lady looked surprised, 
 and seemed to avoid notice; but my aunt was not to be 
 baffled, and she soon announced to me that she intended 
 to give an evening party, and meant to astonish her
 
 HAVID DC MPS. 109 
 
 guests by introducing the unknown lady with the hand- 
 some equipage, who, after some hesitation, had promised 
 to drink tea with her quietly on the following Monday. 
 Had a duchess promised to drink tea with my aunt quiet- 
 ly, she would instantly have issued invitations to all the 
 noisy chattering people she knew, intimating that they 
 were to have the honour of meeting ' her grace.'' On 
 the present occasion, however, having no title to an- 
 nounce, she kept her own counsel, leaving to her guests 
 the enjoyment of an agreeable surprise when they should 
 encounter the hitherto unknown and secluded stranger. 
 Monday night at length arrived; tables were arranged 
 for whist and ecarte, and tea was distributed to about 
 sixty persons who had attended the summons of 'Mrs. 
 Mason at home.' 
 
 " It grew late, and my aunt became fidgety, for the 
 interesting recluse had not yet made her appearance. 
 At length we heard the approach of another carriage; 
 a commotion took place on the stairs, the door was 
 thrown open, and the footman announced ' Mrs. Thread- 
 needle.' My aunt rapidly advanced to the door, and 
 led forward her new acquaintance, who was adorned 
 with feathers and flowers, and a short white satin dress 
 looped up with daffodils. At the same instant a panic 
 seemed to pervade the assembly : Mr. Decorum walked 
 hastily to the bell, rang it violently, and when the ser- 
 vant appeared, ordered his wife's carriage ; all the mo- 
 thers and aunts cloaked and shawled their respective 
 daughters and nieces; two most strictly particular old 
 maids fainted dead away; and several gentlemen, after 
 looking at each other in evident amazement, yielded to 
 uncontrollable laughter. The less I say about the mat- 
 ter the better: the fact is, the interesting unknown had 
 no business there; and my aunt has never since thrust 
 her acquaintance upon a good-looking plump lady, mere- 
 ly because she wore fine clothes, had a good house, a 
 smart carriage, and servants in livery. 
 
 " My aunt suddenly discovered that the air of Leam- 
 ington did not at all agree with her constitution, and we 
 
 10
 
 110 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 made a little tour, which in seasonable time ended at the 
 door of the mansion in Portland Place. 
 
 " 1 have shown the danger of hastily forming neto 
 acquaintances; now I will prove that there is peril in de- 
 liberately cutting old ones. Every thing seemed to have 
 prospered with my aunt : a lady well known to her in 
 India had made a splendid second marriage, and through 
 her means we were at length visited by many leading 
 fashionables, and had a very extensive and satisfactory 
 acquaintance. She therefore determined to announce 
 her first ball ; the night was fixed, nothing else inter- 
 vened or clashed in any way with our arrangements, 
 and Mrs. Mason's ball really promised to be a most suc- 
 cessful affair. 
 
 "'And only think, aunt Mason,' said I, taking a card 
 from the table; 'only think of my old friend Cheeks 
 being in London ! — of course you will ask him on Wed- 
 nesday night.' 
 
 " ' Cheeks !' drawled my aunt ; ' who is Cheeks V 
 
 " ' I knew him when I was in the shop,' said I. 
 
 "'Hem ! what, a customer?' inquired my aunt. 
 
 " ' Oh no,' said I : ' Cheeks was my predecessor.' 
 
 " ' You must cut him, then.' 
 
 " ' And won't you invite him V said I. 
 
 "'Impossible!' replied my aunt. 
 
 "At this moment Mr. Cheeks was announced; and 
 in walked my old acquaintance, looking very like a mer- 
 cer's apprentice, but grasping my hand with warmth and 
 good humour. Mrs. Mason raised her glass, threw one 
 glance at his person, and gathering her cashmere about 
 her, glided from the room. 
 
 " ' You are a lucky fellow, by Jove !' said Cheeks : 
 ' my eye, what a house ! But you don't give me a proper 
 welcome: an old friend's hand, when taken, should he 
 well shaken ; but you are like a cooling emulsion — your 
 good fellowship has evaporated.' 
 
 " ' And, pray,' said I, ' what brings you to London V 
 
 "'Oh!' said Cheeks, 'I've been here a long time, 
 walking hospitals, and that sort of thing; and now I've
 
 DAVID DUMPS. Ill 
 
 set up for myself and drive a buggy. By-the-by, you 
 can do me a power of good ; introduce me at your 
 aunt's party on Wednesday ; say I cured her or your- 
 self of some hitherto incurable complaint, and my for 
 tune is made.' 
 
 " ' Cheeks,' said I, ' it cannot be.' 
 
 " ' No, no,' replied Cheeks, ' I only jest: but, without 
 any puffing of that sort, I shall be happy to wait upon 
 the good lady.' 
 
 " ' Cheeks,' said I, ' unless she invites you, I — I — in fact 
 — / have not the power.' 
 
 " « No, no, very proper,' he good-humouredly an- 
 swered ; « but tell her we are old friends, and she will 
 invite me.' 
 
 "'It is best to be plain at once,' I replied: 'I have 
 asked her to invite you, and she won't.' 
 
 " ' She won't !' cried Cheeks, colouring up to his eyes. 
 
 " ' She will not,' said I : but, to soothe him, I added, 
 ' Look at this list of friends she has invited, and then, 
 perhaps you will see that, as you don't know any of 
 them — ' 
 
 " ' — I am not fit to sit in their company, I suppose 
 you mean,' cried Cheeks indignantly, and taking from 
 me the invitation list, over which he glanced his eye. 
 
 " < I don't mean that, Cheeks,' said'l, ' but — ' 
 
 '"No matter,' replied Cheeks, rising abruptly ; 'my 
 buggy is at the door, and I wish you a very good morn- 
 ing;' and, without saying another word, he walked off', 
 and left me alone in my glory. 
 
 " I was vexed at this, for it was not in my nature to 
 slight a person with whom I had once been on terms of 
 intimacy : but I knew that expostulation with my aunt 
 would be unavailing, so, endeavouring to purge my me- 
 mory of the embryo doctor, I gave myself up to antici- 
 pations of the future. 
 
 " Wednesday night came at last ; and my aunt de- 
 scended from her chamber in an Indian muslin garnish- 
 ed with beetles' wings, a turban on her head, diamonds 
 on her neck, bangles on her arms, and Delhi scarfs on
 
 112 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 her shoulders. Together we perambulated the already 
 brilliantly illuminated apartments : there were the exo- 
 tics, and the candelabras, and the ottomans. The supper 
 table was covered with every delicacy in and out of 
 season ; the china, the glass, the plate — all were unique 
 of their kind. We had lingered too long in the tempo- 
 rary room ; we expected to be too late to receive the 
 first guests : but we found the ball-room still empty, and 
 comfortably seated ourselves in solitary grandeur. 
 
 " ' That clock must be wrong,' said my aunt. 
 
 " ' Yes,' said I, perceiving it was very late ; ' but you 
 know, aunt, they often put clocks wrong at balls.' 
 
 " ' True,' replied she; and again we walked the rooms. 
 Once or twice the servants came and fidgeted about, 
 and cast inquiring glances towards us ; but we took no 
 notice, and again returned to our seats, complaining that 
 we felt uncommonly sleepy. 
 
 " At length the inimitable Mr. Weippart approached 
 us with his watch in his hand, inquiring whether it was 
 possible that there could be any mistake. 
 
 "'Mistake, my good sir!' cried Mrs. Mason, start- 
 ing up : ' what can you mean by asking such a ques- 
 tion?' 
 
 " ' I merely mean, madam,' he replied,' ' that it is now 
 considerably past one, and — ' 
 
 " ' Past one !' cried the lady in consternation, ' and is 
 nobody arrived?' 
 
 " ' No, madam : may I presume to ask if you are 
 certain that the night was correctly stated on your 
 cards V 
 
 " ' Perfectly certain, sir,' she answered, turning very 
 pale ; and again we paced the rooms. 
 
 "Two o'clock at length struck, and my agitated aunt 
 could no longer restrain her anxiety; she grasped my 
 hand convulsively, and bathed her brow with eau de 
 ( "ologne. 
 
 " Mr. Gunter, and his merry men all, looked as anx- 
 ious and disconcerted as ourselves ; and Mr. Weippart 
 feeling perhaps the silence too intense, and thinking that
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 113 
 
 a little music might help to pass away the time, sud- 
 denly struck up the galop from the Cheval de Bronze. 
 
 "My aunt started from her seat, gazed wildly round, 
 and then fell down in a fainting-fit ; and before she came 
 to herself, she was by my direction carefully deposited 
 in her bed, at three o'clock in the morning. 
 
 " Day began to dawn, the sun began to rise, and gra- 
 dually the numerous cries of London were heard in the 
 street. The lamps and candles were extinguished; the 
 ices had lost their consistency, the fiddles had been depo- 
 sited in their cases; Mr. Gunter was on his pillow in 
 Berkeley Square, and Mr. Weippart and his band were 
 gone to prepare for Lady Rigd urn's dejefme at Twicken- 
 ham ; when, yawning violently, and exhausted with agi- 
 tation and disappointment, I retired to rest. 
 
 " At breakfast the mystery was explained. The house 
 was all day long besieged by servants sent to inquire 
 after me and my aunt, who, it appeared, had postponed 
 her ball ' on account of the serious indisposition of her 
 nephew, Mr. John Purvis.' 
 
 " This was not to be credited ; but I at length got pos- 
 session of one of the notes which had been so strangely 
 forwarded to every one of the guests invited by my 
 aunt. At one glance I recognised the hand of Cheeks ; 
 and I then remembered that he must have carried off 
 with him the list of the company which I had placed in 
 his hand." 
 
 " Oh, the vagabond !" cried Lomax. " Well ?" 
 
 " Well, my aunt soon after married, and retired to 
 some country town, where no doubt she reigns an un- 
 disputed queen. As for myself, I was sick of flounder- 
 ing about in an element which I was never intended for, 
 so I returned to the shop ; and here I am as busy and 
 as happy as the day is long." 
 
 " And where is Mr. Cheeks '?" inquired David anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " Thank you for the inquiry : he is now my partner." 
 
 "Keep me out of his way, then," cried David: "he 
 is the very sort of man I have a dread of." 
 
 10*
 
 I 14 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " Nay," said Purvis, " he is older now, and too busy 
 to tease idle people : and, Mr. Dumps, as I am to pre- 
 scribe for you, let me whisper a word in your ear : — 
 Had you a profession, or some rational pursuit to occupy 
 your mind, you would not get into scrapes so often; and 
 when trouble did fall in your way, it would not engross 
 your thoughts and depress your spirits. Had I no shop 
 and no patients, I should feel and look just as miserable 
 as you do." 
 
 " Oh, but you don't know what I've got upon my 
 mind !" 
 
 " Well, when we meet again, you may perhaps tell 
 me," said the worthy apothecary, rising ; " and as I have 
 many visits to pay, I must wish you good night. And 
 pray, Mr. Lomax, have the goodness to give my patient 
 the remainder of that bottle in small doses, — a wine- 
 glass at a time, and by no means to be shaken." 
 
 " And shall I take him to the Rotunda ball V 
 
 "Certainly ; and let him shake himself as much as he 
 pleases." 
 
 " Well, Dumps," said Lomax when they were alone, 
 " you are no longer your own master : let us finish the 
 bottle, and then prepare for the ball." 
 
 " No, no," cried David. 
 
 " Your doctor's orders, and I'll see them enforced : 
 in the first place, off with your dose." 
 
 We beg to say that our hero was by no means intoxi- 
 cated ; but the combined effects of social chat and good 
 wine had so far elevated him, that of his own free will 
 he went to adorn himself for the ball.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 115 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 David Dumps at a ball ! Yes, and actually dancing! 
 — and then sitting by his partner's side, and putting in a 
 sober serious word now and then, in the intervals of her 
 very animated conversation! He was, as we have be- 
 fore admitted, certainly elevated, saying much more 
 than usual, and then having a very confused and imper- 
 fect recollection of what he had been saying. 
 
 Clara Titterton, to whom he had been introduced bv 
 Lomax, was a young lady approximating to thirty, the 
 daughter of a widower, whose darling she naturally 
 was. 
 
 Mr. Titterton did not accompany his daughter to 
 balls and parties, for he was old and infirm ; she 
 therefore had always to seek a chaperon, — a circum- 
 stance equally disagreeable to herself and to her fe- 
 male friends ; for mothers and aunts had always 
 daughters and nieces of their own to take care of, and 
 poor Clara often felt she was in the way. But Clara 
 was one who soon reconciled herself to all inevitable 
 events, good, bad, or indifferent ; she had inexhausti- 
 ble spirits and an ever-ready laugh, which was as 
 exhilarating as it was contagious. She was by no 
 means a beauty, but exceedingly well-looking ; a round 
 fair face, with sparkling eyes, a mouth full of white 
 teeth, a dimple in each cheek and one in her chin, and 
 ringlets waving round a white forehead. It all seemed 
 formed and put together for laughter: .and then her 
 small round figure was equally adapted for the active 
 evolutions into which laughter always throws her vota- 
 ries. It was not only at ridiculous things that she laugh- 
 ed, — any body can do that, — but she could laugh off all
 
 116 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 petty annoyances, and some that were too heavy to be 
 laughed oil' she contrived to lighten by a laugh. 
 
 At thirty we find her unmarried ; but not because she 
 had never loved, or been wooed by lovers: — often had 
 her laugh exhilarated a partner ; and now and then, in 
 shady pathways, had she laughed over happy day- 
 dreams of futurity, arm-in-arm with him who at the 
 time she looked upon as the partner of her life. But 
 from all her day-dreams she had been startled by awk- 
 ward realities; her loves had all been nipped in the bud: 
 yet Clara never was cast down, or at all events never al- 
 lowed the world to mark her chagrin. Some said she 
 wanted feeling; for when all was at an end between her 
 and the man she seemed to love the best, she heard his 
 name mentioned shortly after, and yet laughed till she 
 actually cried ! Is it possible that they were mistaken, 
 and the laugh was then assumed to hide the tears'? Be 
 that as it may, Clara still laughed on with a few people, 
 and at a great many. 
 
 There was nothing spiteful, ill-natured, or satirical in 
 Clara's laugh : she did not go out to quiz, and go home 
 to caricature ; she laughed at herself more frequently 
 than at others; and when the joke was against herself, 
 she delighted that others should laugh too. 
 
 David's solemnity of demeanour amused her exceed- 
 ingly ; and as they danced together, the contrast between 
 herself and her partner frequently excited her risibility. 
 She had a knack of finding out the good points in peo- 
 ple's characters, and she considered him a well-meaning, 
 good-hearted, low-spirited, inoffensive, nervous man. 
 When David had danced his dance, and said his say, 
 another partner was introduced to Miss Titterton, who 
 led her away to join the dancers. The new partner 
 was a very tall, handsome man, a major in the army, 
 about forty-five years of age, well preserved and made 
 up, padded and darkened. He seemed exceedingly 
 taken with his laughter-loving acquaintance; danced 
 her for half-an-hour, walked her for another half-hour, 
 and sat her down for the rest of the evening in a corner, 
 wnere, playing with her fan and looking unutterable
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 117 
 
 things, lie did utter a great deal of nonsense, and per- 
 fectly bewildered poor Clara, who however laughed all 
 the time. At length she was summoned by her chape- 
 ron : the major shawled her, and shook her hand, and 
 laid his own hand on his heart, bowing, sighing, and 
 turning up his eyes ; and having deposited her in the 
 carriage, he leisurely listened to the last sound of her 
 laugh, and then marched off* to the Plough Hotel. 
 
 When Clara got home, she ran laughing up to her 
 room ; and whilst her maid was undressing her, she 
 could not resist telling that a gentleman had paid her 
 very particular attentions, and had made her an offer. 
 
 ""A hoffer, Miss! Oh, my!" 
 
 " Yes," cried Clara, laughing: "so absurd! — I pre- 
 tended not to understand him ; and then he asked if my 
 papa was in the room. When I said, ' No,' he cried, 
 ' How shall I live till to-morrow ! — if I do live till to- 
 morrow, I must throw myself at his feet !' ' 
 
 " Lau! Miss, — how T pretty !" 
 
 " Very funny, I think ; — I wonder what I ought 
 to do !" 
 
 " Take my advice, Miss, and ask your papa to go 
 and call on him." 
 
 "I do think I must," said Clara, laughing, as she put 
 her hair in paper; and then, having thought over all the 
 fine things that had been said to her, she put her head 
 upon her pillow, and again resolved to make her papa 
 seek him at the Plough Hotel. But then it occurred to 
 her that she had never ascertained his name: — it cer- 
 tainly began with D ; but a card left ( for Mr. D.' at a 
 public hotel would never do ; and greatly amused at 
 this little embarrassment, she laughed herself to sleep. 
 
 The next morning, David was sitting about mid-day 
 in the coffee-room alone, trying to amuse himself with a 
 newspaper containing no news, when an elderly gentle- 
 man walked in, and, after looking deliberately round the 
 room, called the waiter. At first he took no notice of 
 what they were saying ; but what passed between them 
 soon attracted his notice. 
 
 " No, sir — can't say I do, sir," said the waiter.
 
 118 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 "He was at the public ball last night," said the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " Might be, sir — can't say, — so many gentlemen here: 
 — let me see, — number 27 ? — no ; number 27 is gone. 
 Name begins with D, you said, sir?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " D ! — let me see, — we've had plenty of Ds here." 
 
 " But you have none now?" inquired the old gentle- 
 man. 
 
 "Oh ! what am I thinking of! — I dare say that's the 
 gentleman you mean, sir; — Mr. Dumps, sir." 
 
 The elderly gentleman approached David. 
 
 " Your name begins with D, I'm told ?" 
 
 " My name is Dumps," said David, rising. 
 
 " Thank you, sir. — Waiter, you may leave us. — My 
 name, sir, is Titterton." 
 
 " Pray sit down, sir," said David, wondering what 
 was coming. 
 
 " You were at the ball last night, I believe ?" 
 
 " I — I believe I was, sir." 
 
 " And you danced with my daughter?" 
 
 " Your daughter, sir!" 
 
 " My name is Titterton, as I said before." 
 
 " Oh ! Titterton,— Mr. Titterton ;— ah ! yes ; Miss 
 Titterton — I remember now — the lady who laughed." 
 
 "You had a pleasant evening?" 
 
 " Why, — pretty well," said David. 
 
 " You can, I suppose, guess the cause of my doing 
 myself the honour of calling on you to-day?" 
 
 "/, sir!" ejaculated David. 
 
 " Of course my daughter repeated to me what passed 
 between you last night; — your very flattering approval 
 of her, and your anxious desire to address me. I have 
 but one child, sir, who will at my death inherit the little 
 I possess. I of course can know nothing of your con- 
 nexions, situation, or prospects ; but if you are as frank 
 as myself, I trust that our negotiations will terminate to 
 the satisfaction of all parties." 
 
 David sat in utter consternation. Had he really made 
 an offer of marriage the night before, and forgot all in
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 110 
 
 the morning ! He had heard of such things, but he 
 could not believe that his head could have been so con- 
 fused. 
 
 "If you will walk with me as*far as Cambray," said 
 Mr. Titterton, " we may converse with less chance of 
 being interrupted. You are agitated 1 — no wonder ; it 
 is a serious era in a man's life. Here is your hat, I be- 
 lieve ?" 
 
 David passively took it, unconsciously put it on his 
 head, and scarcely knowing what he was about, walked 
 into the high street with his unexpected visiter : as the 
 distance is but short, and he talked all the way, the invo- 
 luntary Romeo found himself under the balcon}' of his 
 Juliet before he had time to collect his ideas. She, how- 
 ever, was not seated there, leaning " her cheek upon her 
 hand ;" so the venerable parent opened his own door 
 with a latch key, led him in, and David, as he ascended 
 the last stairs, heard him say, 
 
 " Well, Clara, his name began with D, sure enough. 
 I've found your last night's partner. It is not necessary 
 for me to introduce Mr. Dumps to you." 
 
 Clara had risen, and walked a few steps forwards ; 
 but when she saw David enter, she started back, sat 
 down upon the sofa, and, bursting into a fit of uncon- 
 trollable laughter, exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh ! but this is too ridiculous !" 
 
 Not a muscle of poor David's countenance moved; 
 and as Clara, unable to speak, continued to give vent to 
 her risibility, Mr. Titterton, looking at her with displea- 
 sure, said, 
 
 "My dear, really this is too bad! Consider Mr. 
 Dumps's feelings !" 
 
 " I do, I do," cried Clara ; " what can he think ?" and 
 again she laughed ; but suddenly rising, she said to her 
 father in a half whisper, 
 
 " Dear papa, leave us together; you only add to his 
 annoyance, and I will soon explain all." 
 
 Mr. Titterton, with some reluctance, bowed to David 
 and left the room ; and as soon as the door was closed, 
 Clara again threw herself on the sofa, laughing more
 
 120 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 immoderately than ever. Had he laughed too, had he 
 even smiled, — or, on the other hand, had he risen from 
 his ehair, and stormed and stamped with indignation, — 
 the young lady might sooner have tranqnilliscd herself; 
 but his dull immovability ol' feature, under existing cir- 
 cumstances, struck her as so supremely ridiculous, that 
 it was long before she could articulate a syllable. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," at length she almost sob- 
 bed : " I fear you must think me very rude." 
 
 " Not at all," said David : " if it is any amusement to 
 you, pray don't mind we." 
 
 " I almost fear to ask you why you did us the honour 
 of calling to-day ; I fear my father — " 
 
 " Your father brought me." 
 
 "Then — I — I — fear that he inquired for vou at the 
 hotel." 
 
 " He did, madam." 
 
 M And — and — spoke of — of — " 
 
 " Marriage," said David, fixing his eyes on the 
 carpet. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Clara, starting up and pacing the room, 
 " this is beyond a laughing matter ;" and then, leaning 
 her elbow on the mantelpiece, and her forehead on her 
 hand, she seemed for some minutes lost in thought. 
 David all the time sat as still as a mouse, and said no- 
 thin o-. 
 
 " There is but one thing to be done," at length said 
 Clara, as if solilpqaising : "it is always best to come to 
 the point, and undeceive a person at once." And she 
 sat down again; and looking laughingly in David's face, 
 she added, 
 
 " You came half unwillingly, I suspect." 
 
 David, looking askance at her good-humoured coun- 
 tenance, could not help replying, 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Clara: "well, then, I've killed two 
 birds with one Ball T 
 
 " Ma'am ?" 
 
 " You did not dance after you left me last night, I 
 presume ?"
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 121 
 
 "No," said David; " I seldom dance." 
 
 " I did," replied Clara. 
 
 "I know it: I saw you dancing with Major De- 
 haney." 
 
 " Dehaney 1 — oh ! that was his name ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he was staying at the Plough, too, you 
 know." 
 
 " Well," said Clara, "and have you seen him since?" 
 
 " Oh yes," replied David : " he came home last night 
 infamously tipsv." 
 
 " Tipsy !" 
 
 " Yes, and set off at five o'clock this morning to join 
 his regiment in the West Indies." 
 
 " You don't mean that !" exclaimed Clara, laughing 
 again, though the laugh was now turned against herself. 
 
 '* Have you known him long ?" inquired David. 
 
 " Not very," she replied ; " but I ought to have known 
 him belter." 
 
 " Ah, well, you must wait a long time for that ; for 1 
 heard he stayed at Cheltenham till the very last moment, 
 and that the ship was to sail to-night." 
 
 " So much for Major Dehaney !" said Clara ; and 
 then she began to consider what had best be done about 
 the major's involuntary substitute. But before she could 
 begin an explanation, Mr. Titterton returned and invited 
 him to partake of their family dinner ; and the invitation 
 was accepted with so much satisfaction, that she had 
 not the heart to interfere, but thought it best at all events 
 to receive him that one day, and take a more favoura- 
 ble opportunity for extinguishing his too flattering hopes. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " Upon my word, Mr. Dumps, you astonish me !" 
 said Lorimer Lomax, after David had, with a faltering 
 voice, detailed to him the result of his introduction to 
 Miss Titterton. " Here have I been a man about town 
 for we won't say how many years, and I've always been 
 
 11
 
 122 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 obliged to make love for myself; — never yet found it 
 ready made ! Love at first sight, too ! Why the devil 
 did I take such a fascinating creature to the ball with 
 me ! had I not done so, I might have been the happy 
 man !" 
 
 " Happy, do you call it?" 
 
 " Happy ! to be sure ! Something to love one, some- 
 thing to love ! can aught else be wanting to ensure the 
 happiness of a man ?" 
 
 "Pleasant to love, certainly, provided it's reciprocal." 
 
 " Well, you don't dislike Miss Titterton ?" 
 
 " Not at all ; her laugh is so cheerful." 
 
 " You are inclined to like her, then, and will like her." 
 
 " But, suppose I did?" 
 
 " Why, she loves you already." 
 
 " How can that be on so short an acquaintance ?" 
 
 " For my part," said Lomax, " I often wonder how 
 two people can go on loving who have known each 
 other long and thoroughly. Your intimacy is in its very 
 bloom and freshness." 
 
 " There's something in that," replied David. " But, 
 then, people always laugh at the idea of love at first 
 sight." 
 
 "And I can make a jest of it too; but do not suppose 
 I should be the less likely to avail myself of a pretty 
 girl's spontaneous affection, with such a treasure offered 
 to me. No, no; but, nevertheless, I'll sing you a song 
 on the subject ;" and, arranging his guitar, he sang as 
 follows: — 
 
 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. 
 
 i. 
 Oh there's nought in the wide world like love at first sight, 
 I've said it — I've sung it — and am I not right? 
 Oh, yes, and I'll prove it. I happened to note 
 Last night on the river a beautiful boat: 
 A maid sat within it — how paint what I feel ? 
 I saw her jet ringlets — I saw her profile'. 
 1 knelt on the bunk — I was wild with delight ! 
 Oh ! there's nought in the wide world like love at first sight. 
 
 ii. 
 This morning I sought her, — I stated the case; 
 She rose to receive me, — I saw her full face !
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 123 
 
 She look'd all the love that one eye can express, — 
 
 She couldn't do more and she didn't do less; 
 
 And, oh, when I call'd her, she liinpingly came, 
 
 Just as iti little darling ! she hadn't been lame .' 
 
 Her ringlets were false, she was four feet in height: 
 
 Oh, there's nought in the wide world like love at first sight. 
 
 " That's pretty encouragement for me," said David 
 when the sons was over. 
 
 "Nay, it cannot apply to your case, for you have had 
 the gift of second sight already. She loved last night, 
 and had not changed her mind this morning ! A rare 
 virtue that in woman !" 
 
 " True; then you think I had better go to dinner?" 
 
 "Gol of course; and tread on her toe under the table 
 all dinner-time.'' 
 
 " Don't sav so," said David. 
 
 " But, stop!" cried Lomax, "you must not go that 
 figure. Here, Sam, take Mr. Dumps to my room, and 
 dress him as you dress me: send for the hair-dresser, 
 and a bouquet of moss-roses. " Go, go !" added he, 
 turning to David, who was about to expostulate; "you 
 have only twenty minutes ;" and he without further ce- 
 remonv was hurried to Lomax's dressing-room, where 
 Sam and the coiffeur went through their evolutions. 
 
 The intelligent reader is already in the secret of Miss 
 Titterton's astonishment at Mr. Dumps's morning call in 
 Cambray Place ; we cannot therefore attempt a mystery, 
 or pretend that the broad laugh with which she received 
 him at the dinner- hour in his smart array was in reality 
 nothing more than a smile of encouragement. But 
 though she did laugh, she was really vexed at having so 
 far misled an inoffensive man ; and when she accepted 
 his moss roses and put them in water, she was grieved 
 to think of the disappointment which was in store for 
 him. She talked, and laughed, and played, and sang, 
 and still postponed the awkward explanation which she 
 felt it her duty sooner or later to make ; and he walked 
 home about eleven o'clock, very much pleased with 
 Clara, and thinking himself really, after all, a very for- 
 tunate person. 
 
 But then, though somewhat softened by time and dis-
 
 124 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 tancc, would recur the memory of his crime. Ought a 
 man so circumstanced to think of marriage '? He had 
 often heard that murder sooner or later would out; ten 
 years might elapse in seeming security, but then it might 
 be revealed with tenfold horror, for a wretched wife 
 might be doomed to see him hung. Shuddering at the 
 idea, he went to bed, and dreamed that at the moment a 
 reverend gentleman was uniting him to Miss Titter- 
 ton, and tying what is called the hymeneal knot, the 
 image of Rebecca the avenger rushed between them, 
 transferring the noose to his neck, and hoisting him to 
 the highest beam in the church ! 
 
 But the next day David again basked in the sunshine 
 of Clara's laugh; and though night ever brought with it 
 harassing dreams, or waking terrors that were infinitely 
 worse, the intimacy with the Tittertons increased, and 
 Clara still delayed the final explanation. 
 
 David, satisfied that he was himself preferred, lost, 
 when alone with the fair object who so favoured him, 
 much of that awkwardness and bashful reserve which 
 had always elsewhere obscured his good qualities. 
 Grateful to her for a partiality which was to himself 
 astonishing, he began to love her as he had never before 
 loved any human being; and though always serious, 
 and frequently abstracted, he seemed to enjoy her society. 
 
 Clara was, as we have already stated, beyond that 
 first heyday of girlhood when a perfect Adonis alone is 
 to become an accepted lover. She had endured many 
 disappointments, and now and then seriously asked her- 
 self, laughing all the time, whether it was possible she 
 could ever die an old maid. A time there was when 
 the idea of her marrying such a man as David would 
 have been treated by her with contempt: now she 
 laughed at the notion, 'tis true, but every day it dwelt 
 longer and longer in her imagination, and she sometimes 
 caught herself debating the advantages and disadvan- 
 tages of such a step. 
 
 Thus did a whole month slip away. David became 
 every day less awkward in her eyes; and, could she 
 uct him to explain the cause of his frequent sadness and 
 abstraction — could she induce him to forget both, she
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 125 
 
 really thought that she could eventually make up her 
 mind to love, honour, and obey him ! 
 
 Daily she became more accustomed to his attentions, 
 and daily he felt himself more at home in the house of 
 her father. On one occasion, having dined at the hotel, 
 he came early to spend the evening in Cambray Place; 
 and though asked by the servant whether he would not 
 "join the gentlemen" in the dining-parlour, he preferred 
 ascending to the drawing-room, where he was pretty 
 sure of finding Miss Clara seated at her embroidery, and 
 ready to receive him with a laugh. 
 
 " But you are not alone to-day," said David after the 
 usual compliments of the evening. 
 
 " Oh ! you've found that out already, have you ?" 
 replied his laughing love. " Well, I suppose you are 
 full of curiosity V 
 
 " May I ask who is below with your father ?" 
 
 " It is somebody I love very much." 
 
 "Indeed!" said her admirer. 
 
 " Yes, and somebody who loves me very much." 
 
 " Really !" ejaculated David. 
 
 " And reciprocity, you know, is every thing." 
 
 " Is it any body I know ?" 
 
 "Certainly not; it is a very excellent kind old uncle 
 of mine, who has come to Cheltenham to see us, because 
 silly people told him there was a great deal going on 
 which he ought to take cognizance of." 
 
 "Oh !" said David with an expression of satisfaction. 
 
 "But here he comes!" cried Clara; and as the door 
 opened and an elderly gentleman entered, she added. 
 " Mr. Dumps, I must introduce you to mv uncle, Mr. 
 Mi Id may." 
 
 David uttered an exclamation of surprise and sank 
 back in his chair insensible ; for before him stood the 
 Mr. Mildmay he had met at Arras, and to whom he had 
 refused to give an assurance of his innocence. 
 
 When Mr. Dumps recovered his faculties, he found 
 himself alone with Mr. Mildmay, who was sitting oppo- 
 site to him, just as he used to do at the prison at Arras, 
 and fixing upon him the penetrating eyes which were 
 then so much dreaded. 
 
 11 *
 
 l'^ti DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " It is no dream, then !" exclaimed David. 
 
 " It is indeed a painful reality," said Mr. Mildmay. 
 
 "Have you any tiling to communicate to me/*' 
 
 " Have you any thing to ask?" 
 
 "I need not remind vou of our former meeting: all 
 that then passed is evidently deeply impressed upon your 
 mind." 
 
 "I was innocent of the charge brought ngainst me." 
 
 "Yes; but before you were aware of the precise na- 
 ture of that charge, you refused to assert that you were 
 innocent: you also evidently dreaded the approach of 
 some witness, and had some crime on your conscience 
 of which you feared the disclosure !" 
 
 David covered his face with his hands and was silent. 
 
 Mr. Mildmay again addessed him. 
 
 " When we last parted, I saw that there was mystery 
 about you; but as I had no clue to your crime, what- 
 ever it might be — as I had no charge to make against 
 you, I left you to the mercy of the justice of Providence. 
 But now that I find you domesticated in the house of 
 my brother-in-law, associating on terms of intimacy 
 with my niece, I tell you frankly that I must and will 
 investigate your character and conduct, and that your 
 remaining one hour more here depends on your giving 
 me a full explanation." 
 
 " To-morrow," said the man of mystery — " perhaps — 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Be it so," replied Mr. Mildmay, rising : " and I trust 
 your detail will be so satisfactory that we shall for ever 
 after be friends." 
 
 David prepared to depart, for Mr. Mildmay had 
 already rung the bell as a hint that his absence un- 
 expected; but at its sound Clara entered the room and 
 advanced towards her admirer, holding out her hand. 
 There was no laugh upon her features ; indeed her eyes 
 looked as if she had been crying. 
 
 '•You are going," said she: "shake hands with me, 
 and let it be a token on my part that I believe you inno- 
 cent, and on yours that you appreciate my good opinion 
 and will prove yourself worthy of it. Come, do not be 
 cast down : I have long seen that some secret has de-
 
 DAVID DUMP!* V27 
 
 pressed your spirits ; tell all frankly to my uncle, and you 
 will be happier, and /shall be happier toe if I see you so." 
 
 David could not reply; but he took her hand, pressed 
 it to his lips, and hurried from the house. 
 
 " I hope I did not say too much," said Clara to her 
 uncle as soon as he was gone. 
 
 "No, my love : under the circumstances, I should have 
 wondered had you said less." 
 
 "Nor did I say it too kindly 1 — I hope not." 
 
 " No," said her uncle, kissing her. 
 
 " Well, one thing is very plain," said Clara, sitting 
 down, and half laughing, half crying. 
 
 " What is that, pray?" 
 
 " That I am never to marry. This is the way every 
 little matrimonial glimmering has been prematurely ex- 
 tinguished." 
 
 " Well, we will hope that this will burn brightly again 
 to-morrow," replied her uncle. 
 
 " You know best how far that is probable. And now 
 pray do tell me the history of your former meeting with 
 Mr. Dumps." 
 
 Mr. Mildmay briefly but distinctly told her in what 
 situation he had met Mr. Dumps at Arras, and all that 
 befel him there ; and Clara, though she occasionally 
 laughed at his dilemma, acknowledged with a sigh that 
 there was something very suspicious about his dread 
 that something would be discovered, and that somebody 
 would bear witness against him. 
 
 " Who, in the name of goodness, could Rebecca be, I 
 wonder !" said Clara; " Rebecca the avenger !" 
 
 " It is quite impossible for me to guess ; and as you 
 must remain equally in the dark until to-morrow, let 
 me light your candle for you, and wish you good-night." 
 
 " But where is papa 1" 
 
 "Gone to bed: you know," said Mr. Mildmay, "he 
 always goes to bed when there's any thing disagreeable 
 going on in the house." 
 
 " True," said Clara, laughing ; " I forgot that. Do 
 you know, I think it's a very good plan. Good-night," 
 she added, kissing him. 
 
 " Good-night ! and may we be happy to-morrow !"
 
 128 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 The uncle and niece then separated. 
 But many hours elapsed ere the light was extinguished 
 in Clara's room. What could he have done! Again 
 and again she asked herself the question, but without 
 arriving one atom nearer the solution of the mystery. 
 He was not the sort of man to do a rash and desperate 
 act; but then it was possible that his peculiar manner 
 had been assumed, and for the very purpose of escaping 
 detection. She had heard of such things, had read of 
 them in novels, and seen them in melodrames. "The 
 Miller and his Men," thought she, " were they not all 
 robbers? and did they not ail assume a peaceful, homely 
 exterior that they might the better carry on their horrid 
 trade?" 
 
 Clara slept little that night, and at an early hour she 
 awaited the presence of her father and uncle in the 
 breakfast-room. The meal was despatched more hastily 
 than usual ; and then Mr. Mildmay gave orders that 
 when Mr. Dumps called, he was to be shown up to him 
 in the drawing-room. 
 
 Twelve o'clock passed — one, two! still it seemed 
 undignified in any of the young lady's family to go in 
 quest of the absentee. 
 
 Three o'clock struck; and then Clara, unable any 
 longer to endure her suspense, came to her uncle, entreat- 
 ing him to call at the Plough hotel. 
 
 "Something must have happened," said she; "he 
 would have written, at all events, had he been well : but 
 you know how the sight of you agitated him — I am 
 quite sure he is seriously indisposed." And she laughed, 
 or affected to laugh, as she added, " You'll find that poor 
 face of his in a night-cap, and he ejaculating my name 
 in the ravings of fever. For God's sake, go, dearest 
 uncle," she added earnestly, " and come back and tell 
 me the worst." 
 
 Mr. Mildmay could not refuse to comply with her 
 wishes; he walked to the Plough hotel, and on inquiring 
 for Mr. Dumps, was informed by the waiter that he had 
 left Cheltenham by the London mail the night before ! 
 
 "Gone!" said Mr. Mildmay; "and did he leave no 
 letter, no message?"
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 129 
 
 " No, sir, nothing." 
 
 "The unprincipled scoundrel!" said Mr. Mildmay, 
 and walked back to make known the result of his inquiry. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Six weeks after the events narrated in the last chap- 
 ter, we find Mr. Dumps lodging in a second floor in 
 Arundel-street, Strand. However imaginary or really 
 trivial many of his former distresses had been, it must 
 be admitted that he was now involved in a good sub- 
 stantial trouble. 
 
 Separated from the woman he loved — from the wo- 
 man, too, who had so long tolerated his attentions, and 
 she the niece of one among the few men living who could 
 bear witness against him, (not, indeed, to the nature of 
 the crime, but that there actuallv was a crime,) — is it 
 to be wondered at that he sat in his chamber in utter 
 despair, and longed to run down to the end of the street, 
 to throw himself over the parapet, and drown himself in 
 the Thames'? 
 
 He was without any pursuit, without any object in 
 life; memory brought back the past stained with crime 
 and blood ; and to him the future was a blank, hopeless ! 
 comfortless ! He had shot a fellow-creature in solitary 
 single combat, contrary to all law, without seconds or 
 witnesses of any kind. There were, indeed, two wit- 
 nesses that such a crime had been committed by him ; 
 was it not, then, wiser and better to deliver himself up to 
 justice at once, rather than go on for ever trembling at 
 shadows 1 
 
 The people at David's lodgings did not profess to 
 cook for him, and about six o'clock, feeling exceedingly 
 hungry, he wandered forth in search of a dinner. Poor 
 human nature ! — thus it is ! We talk of all-consuming 
 sorrow, devouring grief, gnawing pains, and anguish 
 that cuts into our very vitals; and then we take a long 
 breath, wipe our eyes, sit down to table, unfold our nap-
 
 130 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 kin, take the carving-knife and fork, pick and choose 
 the choice little bits that please us best, sip sherry, take 
 one glass of port, and finish with a bottle of claret. 
 Then, unless we have overdone it, and ate too much, 
 \vc feel a great deal better, and don't have a relapse un- 
 til next morning. 
 
 David, in the midst of his sorrows, which for the last 
 hour had been considerably aggravated by hunger, went 
 to a well-known dining-house, called the Albion Hotel, 
 situated close to Drury-lane theatre. In the large coffee- 
 room, which still, after the fashion of the olden time, is 
 divided into boxes, may be found men of all grades and 
 professions; and there, in the box immediately opposite 
 to the stove, David encountered his old acquaintance 
 Captain Kilkenny. 
 
 It was not likely that Kilkenny ever could forget one 
 of the heroes of the Boulogne tragedy, especially as he 
 had visited him on the part of Mr. O'Flaney respecting 
 his farcical feat of the previous night, and had also 
 borne him from the scene of bloodshed, and seen him 
 safe on board the Waterwagtail. He recognised him 
 the moment he entered, hailed him unceremoniously, 
 and made him enter his box and join him in the repast 
 which was preparing. 
 
 "And how many men have you murdered since we 
 last met?" said Kilkenny in a tone of voice calculated 
 to startle the peaceable inmates of the coffee-room, and 
 to make David anticipate the speedy entrance of the 
 officers of justice. 
 
 " Hush, for goodness' sake!" said David. " I have as 
 yet escaped detection." 
 
 "Dear me! I of course thought you had been hung 
 long ago !" cried his tormentor, laughing, and in as 
 loud a key as before. 
 
 " But now, pray, do be serious, and, above all, speak- 
 low. When you left me, what happened on your return 
 to— to— " 
 
 " To the scene of blood," whispered Kilkenny. 
 
 " Pray, be serious, and relieve my mind. You found — ?" 
 
 "Nothing!" said Kilkenny with mock solemnity.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 131 
 
 "Nothing!" 
 
 "Nothing, — and, what was more strange, no body! 
 The ground was much saturated with blood — " 
 
 David groaned. 
 
 "But the corpse had disappeared!" 
 
 " And what did you do?" gasped David. 
 
 " Why," replied Kilkenny, " I thought, unless I was 
 questioned, the wisest thing was to say nothing about it. 
 I heard a great deal about the mysterious disappearance 
 of that fellow, — what was his name?" 
 
 " Arden, — Mr. George Arden." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Arden, — for he was in debt all over the 
 town. But, as you may well suppose, taking into con- 
 sideration the last glimpse you had of him, he never 
 walked back into Boulogne to pay his bills. Having ra- 
 ther in a hurried way paid the last debt of nature, I sup- 
 pose he considered that all the other little items were 
 cancelled." 
 
 " And Miss Tatum ?" 
 
 " Who the devil's Miss Tatum?" 
 
 " Why," said David, " the young lady in black." 
 
 "Oh! I know, — spectatress of the fight. Like my- 
 self, she seemed to wish to keep her own counsel; for 
 next day, when I met her walking with a hobbling old 
 man — " 
 
 " Her father."' 
 
 "Very probable, — she looked me full in the face with 
 a sort of never-saic-you-before expression." 
 
 "And what did you say?" 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " Then you don't know what became of the body !" 
 
 "No; — unless, indeed, Miss Tatum dragged it to the 
 edge of the cliffs, and threw it into the sea." 
 
 " You don't mean that V 
 
 " Well, then, I suppose some friend or relative smug- 
 gled it off to Calais, embalmed him, and embarked him, 
 and went with him to Dover." 
 
 " Perhaps," said David, " he did not die immediately." 
 
 " If so, it is the more probable that he was carried off 
 to Calais, there to breathe his last ; for, after the fearful
 
 132 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 effusion of blood we witnessed, recovery was not to be 
 thought of." 
 
 "You think not?" said David, his last lingering hope 
 departing. 
 
 " Think not ! I'm sure of it. — But here comes our 
 dinner, and also my old friend Commodore Cockle, who 
 promised to meet me here, and is always punctual as 
 clockwork. Here, Cockle, — I need not introduce this 
 gentleman, Mr. Dumps, he you smuggled off from Bou- 
 logne, that day that you cheated the hangman of his 
 due." 
 
 " Pray, don't talk so loud," said David, at the same 
 time shaking hands with Mr. Cockle, who received him 
 cordially, notwithstanding Kilkenny's remarks. 
 
 " Hush, you silly fellow !" said he; " they don't hang 
 in France." 
 
 " No !" said Kilkenny. " Well, well, that accounts 
 for our having Mr. Dumps's company to-day." 
 
 " But, by-the-by," exclaimed Cockle, " Lomax wrote 
 me word two or three months ago that you were in 
 Cheltenham." 
 
 " I icas there," replied David. 
 
 " But since that, he wrote again, and told me an awk- 
 ward storv, — some like scrape that you were involved 
 in." 
 
 " Oh ho !" cried Kilkenny ; " another awkward story!" 
 
 "What did he say?" inquired David. 
 
 "'Faith, I hardly know; — something about love at 
 first sight ; ending in desertion of the lady ; and, more- 
 over, a rumour that a certain uncle knew more of your 
 past conduct than was quite convenient." 
 
 "By heaven !" said David, " it seems my fate always 
 to excite suspicion ; but I assure you on my honour that 
 I am innocent." 
 
 " What did you say V interrupted Kilkenny, with a 
 very peculiar expression of countenance. 
 
 " I say that my intentions have never been bad ; and 
 when involved in equivocal situations, it has been 
 through no intentional error of my own."
 
 DAVID DUMPS, 133 
 
 "Will you excuse me for saying that it appears to 
 me there has been always a want of frankness and can- 
 dour about you?" said Mr. Cockle. '.'Perhaps you 
 wanted courage to state the facts as they occurred ; 
 but, at all events, I suspect that to no one human being 
 have you ever yet told the truth." 
 
 "Oh !" cried Kilkenny, laughing heartily, " that beats 
 all J said to him about hancrinsj." 
 
 "Do not misunderstand me, Mr. Dumps," continued 
 Cockle seriously. " I do not mean that the vice of lying 
 is habitual to you : I merely say that, having an awk- 
 ward story to tell about yourself, you never frankly and 
 honestly told it; and therefore, having been driven to 
 concealment and equivocation, you have made matters 
 worse, and continually involved yourself in mystery." 
 
 " Why, that is very like what you used to say of me," 
 said Kilkenny. 
 
 "Very true," replied Cockle; "and now, our filberts 
 and port and sherry being on the table, I have a great 
 mind to tell Mr. Dumps a story for his future edifi- 
 cation. 
 
 " It was at a public school that I first became ac- 
 quainted with my friend Bob. He was then a little 
 round-faced curly-pated boy, about ten years of age ; 
 and I being two years his senior, and there existing 
 some intimacy between our parents, he was put under 
 my protection. 
 
 " Bob had been a spoiled child, and until his tenth 
 year the world had been to him a world of pies and 
 tarts, of comfits and comforts. His will had been the 
 regulator of the paternal mansion, and his pleasure the 
 main object promoted by his mother. All this ended 
 (that is, as far as the young gentleman's residence at 
 home was concerned,) in those roots of all evil, idleness 
 and ignorance ; and some rash and glaring acts of in- 
 subordination having brought upon Bob's head the 
 wrath of his father, (whose head, by-the-by, was more 
 in error than his son's,) the young reprobate had sudden 
 notice to quit, and, in spite of the threats, entreaties, and 
 hysterics of his mother, he was immediately borne off 
 to the academic shades superintended by the Reverend 
 Doctor Rearpepper. 
 
 12
 
 134 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " I soon, fool that I was ! became very fond of Bob. 
 We naturally get attached to those who cling to us for 
 support ; and every thing was so new to him, poor fel- 
 low ! that without me he was miserable. 
 
 " At that very early age, Bob had acquired a taste 
 for extravagance; his money always burnt a hole in 
 his little breeches' pocket; and when it was gone, many 
 a shilling did he borrow of me, and many more did he 
 owe to Mrs. Puffy, the fat vender of pastry, whose resi- 
 dence was ' down the street.' 
 
 " These premature extravagances, petty as they cer- 
 tainly were, of course led to little difficulties: and per- 
 haps the worst, result likely to arise from early embar- 
 rassments is, the habit of fibbing, and making a mystery 
 and concealment of troubles which nothing but candour 
 could really remedy. And thus it was with Bob: had 
 I not loved him and been a real friend, he would have 
 forfeited my friendship a hundred times ; so often did 
 he borrow, so often did he promise repayment, and so 
 often did he forget, to fulfil the promises he voluntarily 
 made. But no, I wrong him — he did not forget ; I al- 
 ways saw that he felt infinitely more annoyed than I 
 did when he stood before me a defaulter, and his flushed 
 cheek and moistened eyes proved that he endured hu 
 miliation, and that he, at heart, was even then my ho- 
 nourable friend. 
 
 " Are there sweets in jam pies that can atone for sub- 
 sequent humiliations like these? I should have thought 
 not ; but poor Bob still ran down the street, and outran 
 his pocket-money ! 
 
 " At sixteen I left Doctor Rearpepper's establishment ; 
 and many were the tears that poor Bob shed at my de- 
 parture. He said nothing at all about the nine shillings 
 and fourpence halfpenny that he owed me; but when I 
 said, ' Bob, be sure you write to me,' I suspect that he 
 almost expected me to add, ' and don't forget to enclose 
 the money.' 
 
 " During my residence at Oxford we never met. At 
 first our interchange of letters was frequent, and the 
 style of our communications most affectionate ; but gra- 
 dually our correspondence flagged, and for a whole year 
 I heard nothing of him. At length, by the coach came
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 135 
 
 a splendidly bound copy of a work which he knew to be 
 my favourite ; and in the title-page was written my 
 name, and underneath the words, ' From his affectionate 
 and grateful friend Bob.' 
 
 " ' Yes,' thought I, as J read the inscription, ' and still 
 thou art my honourable friend !' 
 
 " Bob, after so long a period had elapsed, was natu- 
 rally ashamed to send me the few shillings that he owed 
 me; but he could not be happy till he had spent many 
 pounds on a gift which was intended to repay me. With 
 the parcel I received a letter announcing his having en- 
 tered the army, and adding that he was about to join 
 his regiment, which was then on a foreign station. He 
 entreated me not to suppose from his long silence that 
 he had forgotten me ; and, in short, there was so much 
 warmth of heart about the whole letter, that Bob was 
 reinstated in my good graces, and I wrote him a most 
 affectionate reply, assuring him that whenever we met 
 he would find me unaltered. 
 
 " After quitting Oxford, I travelled on the Continent 
 for many months ; and on my return to England, I 
 found my friend Bob at a hotel in Bond Street, and, in 
 every sense of the words, ' a gay man about town.' 
 
 " Ours was more like the reunion of boys after a sum- 
 mer's vacation, than the meeting of men who had seen 
 something of the world. We could talk only of the past, 
 of frolic and of fun ; and while arm-in-arm we ranged the 
 streets of the west end, we laughed almost as much, and 
 were really nearly as thoughtless, as in the days when 
 together we ranged the play-ground of old Rearpepper. 
 
 " Whatever / may have been, Bob was indeed un- 
 changed ; and not alone in spirits and temper, for I soon 
 found that his old habits had grown with his growth and 
 strengthened with his strength. He still retained his 
 'sweet tooth,' and daily did he lead me into Gunter's or 
 Grange's, (nay, often into both in turn,) and there I saw 
 him indulge as he used of old in the habitation of Mrs. 
 Puffy ; — the only difference was, that his dainties were 
 somewhat more refined, and more expensive; for, alas! 
 I soon saw the old injunction, ' Put it down to my bill,' 
 had by no means fallen into disuse. All other trades- 
 people were most impartially dealt with by Bob in the
 
 130 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 same way ; and I saw him take possession of trinkets, 
 coats, hats, and boots, without considering it requisite to 
 take his purse out of his pocket. 
 
 "Now I knew that Bob would eventually, in all pro- 
 bability, be exceedingly well off; but I greatly doubted 
 his having it then in his power to pay for one-fourth of 
 the valuable articles which I saw him so unceremoni- 
 ously take possession of. I one day ventured to speak 
 to him on the subject; and from his embarrassed man- 
 ner, and the deepened colour on his cheek, I saw that he 
 felt the truth of what I said: but I soon found that with 
 the old error, he still retained the old habit of fibbing to 
 endeavour to conceal it ; and the consequence was, that 
 we spent our evening together with much more reserve 
 than usual. 
 
 "The next morning I forgot all that had passed; for 
 Bob ran to my bedside to inform me that he was order- 
 ed to India, and must leave London in a day or two. He 
 showed me his letters, and it was evident that he must 
 prepare for his immediate departure. 
 
 " We breakfasted together; and during the repast, the 
 waiter was continually presenting him with wafered 
 notes; and it appeared that several persons had called, 
 very earnestly wishing to see him. I had my suspicions 
 about these visitations, but said nothing. 
 
 " Immediately after breakfast, Bob took my arm and 
 requested me to walk with him ; and after passing 
 through several streets and squares in unusual silence, 
 and with an appearance of agitation in his manner, he 
 suddenly addressed me. 
 
 " ' There is no alternative,' said he ; ' I must go.' 
 
 " ' You must, indeed, Bob,' I replied, — ' unless you are 
 detained.'' 
 
 " ' Detained !' said Bob, blushing ; ' how do you 
 mean V 
 
 "'Pardon me,' I answered, 'but really few young 
 men could go on as you have lately done, and be pre- 
 pared for a departure so sudden. Now, my dear Bob, 
 you know what my finances are ; you know I have lite- 
 rally nothing to spare: but if, knowing this, you think I 
 can be of temporary use to you, command me.' 
 
 " Bob grasped my arm, and his eyes watered; but he
 
 DAVID DC MI'S. 137 
 
 was ashamed to own the extent of his encumbrances, 
 and therefore hastily answered, 
 
 " • This is like yourself, my dear friend, and at the 
 moment you may indeed serve me by putting your name 
 to a bill.' 
 
 " ' Not of large amount, Bob, I trust?' 
 
 " ' No — yes — larger, I fear, than — ' 
 
 "' If it be a lar^e sum, Bub, vou know that if your 
 draft is not honoured when it becomes due, /shall go to 
 prison instead of you.' 
 
 " ' Never !' said Bob with a fervour and an evidence 
 of deep feeling which I could not distrust. 
 
 " ' Well, then, what is the sum ?" said I. 
 
 " ' First, let me tell you some circumstances which 
 press heavily on my heart,' said Bob ; ' not here — come 
 with me this way.' 
 
 " And in solemn silence he led me to Portman Square. 
 
 " ' What can all this mean V said I at last. 
 
 " ' Hush !' said Bob ; ' you see that house V 
 
 " And he pointed to a very handsome well-appointed 
 mansion. A footman was standing at the door receiving 
 cards from a lady in a carriage. 
 
 " ' See the house V I replied ; ' to be sure I do ; and 
 what then?' 
 
 " ' That house is owned by one of the wealthiest com- 
 moners in England.' 
 
 " ' Umph !' said I ; 'the owner, I suppose, is rich.' 
 
 " ' He has an only daughter,' said Bob. 
 
 " ' Has he ?' I answered. 
 
 " ' His sole heiress,' added Bob. 
 
 " ' What then V I replied. 
 
 " ' I am ashamed of having concealed all this so long 
 from so dear a friend,' murmured Bob. 
 
 "'All what?' 
 
 " ' But the secret was not my own.' 
 
 " ' What secret ?' 
 
 " ' That lovely girl !' 
 
 " ' Upon my word, Bob,' I cried, ' you put me out of 
 all patience i' 
 
 " ' I have won that girl's affections.' 
 
 "'The heiress?' said I. 
 
 12*
 
 138 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " ' She loves me,' whispered Bob. 
 
 " ' My dear fellow,' I exclaimed, ' this is news indeed! 
 — you have no occasion of assistance from a poor fellow 
 like me.' 
 
 " ' Oh !' said Bob, ' you have not heard all. She loves 
 me to madness, poor dear girl! But, rich as her father 
 is, were he to suppose that I am involved, he would for- 
 bid the match.' 
 
 " ' A very sensible old man.' 
 
 " ' That may be ; but there is another obstacle — my 
 rank : Clara will not consent to marry any thing below 
 a captain.' 
 
 " I could not repress a laugh. 
 
 '"It is a foible, perhaps,' said Bob, rather piqued; 
 ' but it is her only one, and I must humour it. But my 
 promotion depends on my going to India, and — ' 
 
 "'Well, well,' said I, ' I understand all this; but tell 
 me at once what you wish me to do for you.' 
 
 "'To put your name to a draft for one hundred and 
 ninety pounds,' faltered Bob. 
 
 " ' Mercy on me ! what a sum !' said I. ' However, 
 it must be done: and when the draft becomes due — ' 
 
 " ' I will honourably pay it !' 
 
 " ' H not, to prison I go. And now let us return to 
 our hotel.' 
 
 " ' One moment,' said Bob : ' I love to look at the 
 house.' 
 
 " ' At the casket which contains the gem?' said I. 
 
 " « Yes ; and for you?' sake, too, I love to look at it. 
 You see those three windows shaded with sky-blue silk 
 curtains? Oh, such a little room that is! — and that room 
 I always mean to be your own exclusively, when / am 
 master of the mansion. Such a room! — the furniture 
 so exquisite ! — and such a sweet look out over the 
 square! — But come, we'll talk all that over while we are 
 at dinner.' 
 
 " Before the meal was half finished, Bob seemed quite 
 to have recovered his spirits; and I could not help sus- 
 pecting, that as the prospect of an immediate separation 
 did not seem to depress him, he loved the lady less than 
 he loved her gold.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 130 
 
 "* Is she pretty V said I after a long pause, during 
 which /at least had been thinking of her. 
 
 " ' Who? said Bob, starting. 
 
 " ' 1 say, is the lady pretty V 
 
 " ' What lady V said Bob. 
 
 " ' Why, your love, to be sure.' 
 
 " ' Which do you mean? 
 
 " ' Nonsense, Bob ! — I mean the girl you are attached 
 to ; — why, man, she who lives in Portman Square.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! what icas I dreaming of! — very pretty.' 
 
 " ' I can't imagine, Bob,' said I, ' when you contrived 
 to win your divinity: you and I have been for months 
 almost inseparable, and ' 
 
 " ' Ask no questions,' said Bob : ' the secret is not my 
 own.' 
 
 "'Not entirely, certainly,' I replied. ' Is she to in- 
 herit the house in Portman Square ? 
 
 " ' To be sure she is : and such a house as it is ! — and 
 that room which I mean for you ! You are fond of a 
 hot bath ? 
 
 " ' Very.' 
 
 "'There is a sky-blue silk sofa in that room ; and 
 when you touch a spring, it flies up, (I don't exactly 
 know the principle on which it acts,) and turns into the 
 most delightful bath !' 
 
 " ' Indeed !' 
 
 " ' Yes, a marble bath.' 
 
 '"Marble? 
 
 " ' White marble without a speck ; — she did tell me 
 where it came from, — but that's no consequence.' 
 
 " ' How very luxurious !' said I. 
 
 " ' Yes ; and so very complete ! — three cocks !' 
 
 " ' Three /' said I : ' two, you mean.' 
 
 " ' No, no, — three,' replied Bob : ' one for hot water — ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said I. 
 
 " ' And one for cold — ' 
 
 " ' Well, that makes two,' said I. 
 
 " ' And one,' said Bob, ' for eau-de-Cologne.'' 
 
 " In the evening I put my name to Bob's draft ; and 
 the next morning we parted with mutual expressions of 
 regret.
 
 140 DAVID DLMPS. 
 
 "I missed him sadly; and it so happened, that after 
 he went, many untoward circumstances occurred which, 
 having first materially lowered my resources, next ef- 
 fectually lowered my spirits, and I used to saunter 
 through our old haunts looking like the ghost of his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " When he was gone, I became acquainted with many 
 circumstances connected with his expenditure which 
 perfectly astounded me; and at the end of four months, 
 (exactly two months before it was to become due,) I 
 had every reason to doubt whether the draft for one 
 hundred and ninety pounds would ever be paid. 
 
 " I was conscious of my own utter inability to pay it; 
 and I therefore existed for a week or two in a state of 
 mental excitement not to be described. One day after 
 breakfast, I sallied forth more dolorous than usual; and 
 after wandering about for some time, I found myself in 
 Portman Square, opposite the identical mansion inha- 
 bited by Bob's intended. 
 
 " ' Ah !' thought I, ' were Bob now in possession of 
 that house all would go well with us: — his heart is in 
 the right place, poor fellow ! But, alas ! before he puts 
 me in possession of that sky-blue apartment, with the 
 hot water and the cold, and the eau-de-Cologne, I may 
 be in prison, and my name disgraced !' 
 
 " As I looked towards the balcony of the drawing- 
 room, I saw a female watering some geraniums; and, 
 suddenly turning her head towards me, she seemed to 
 recognise my person, and gave me a familiar nod. 
 
 " I soon discovered it was my old friend and near 
 connexion Mrs. Symmons; and, beckoning me to the 
 window, she exclaimed, 
 
 " ' Oh ! I'm delighted to see you ! — we only came to 
 town vesterdav, — we are on a visit to Mr. Molesworth : 
 pray come in, and I'll introduce you.' 
 
 " I knocked at the hall-door in a state of mind not to 
 be described, — the hall-door of a house in which / (by 
 anticipation,) already possessed a room of my own, with 
 sky-blue curtains, and a new-invented spring sofa bath 
 over/lowing with eau-de-Cologne! I walked upstairs; 
 and my friend Mrs. Symmons introduced me to Mr. 
 Molesworth (an old gentleman in a pair of gouty shoes,)
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 141 
 
 his daughter Miss Molesworth (a lovely, fair-haired girl 
 of about eighteen,) her sister Flora (still in a pinafore, 
 and not come out,) and her tiro little brothers (school- 
 boys in round jackets and duck trousers.) 
 
 " ' Dear me !' thought I, ' how poor dear Bob was mis- 
 taken in supposing her an heiress !' 
 
 " In this family I spent many happy days ; and being, 
 though unknown to her, so well acquainted with the se- 
 cret of the young lady's heart, I became more intimate 
 with her than I could have been with any one else, with- 
 out incurring the imputation of ' serious intentions.' In 
 this instance, however, my knowledge of the fair lady's 
 engagement to another person (and that person my 
 friend.) made me feel perfectly at my ease; and we be- 
 came the talk of all our acquaintances, without my be- 
 ing the least aware that we were engaged even in a lit- 
 tle flirtation. 
 
 " To my utter astonishment, Mrs. Symmons came to 
 me one day, (it was the day before that on which Bob's 
 draft was to become due,) and, with a knowing look, 
 asked me why I was so out of spirits? I gave an eva- 
 sive reply, for I did not choose to own the paltry pecu- 
 niary difficulty which was threatening to overpower me. 
 
 "'Nonsense!' said Mrs. Symmons; 'go boldly, and 
 make your offer: your connexions are unexceptionable; 
 and whatever your present income may be, your pros- 
 pects are excellent. Besides, she has enough for both ; 
 for, though not an only child, her father can afford to 
 give her a very excellent fortune.' 
 
 ' ; ' And pray,' I replied, ' of what lady are you talking?" 
 
 "' Miss Molesworth, to be sure; — I hnoic she is at- 
 tached to you.' 
 
 " ' You know nothing about the matter,' said I ; ' for 
 I can tell you that ' 
 
 " I hesitated, for I had no right to betray Bob's secret. 
 
 " ' Well,' said Mrs. Symmons, ' here she comes, and 
 I will leave you together;' and away she went. 
 
 " ' What is the matter?' said Miss Molesworth earnest- 
 ly as she entered ; ' you seem agitated — what has hap- 
 pened ?' 
 
 " ' Are we alone ?' said I after a pause. ' It is better 
 that I should be explicit.'
 
 142 
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " Miss Molcsworth started, coloured, and cast down 
 her eyes. Had I been a favoured lover on the point of 
 making an avowal of attachment, she could not have 
 been more embarrassed. 
 
 " 'Do not be alarmed,' said I : ' I know all !' 
 
 " ' Sir !' said Miss Molesworth. 
 
 " ' I am Bob's best friend, and I know your secret.' 
 
 " *My secret !' she exclaimed. 
 
 " ' Yes, dear lady,' I answered: * I am, as I told you 
 before, the most intimate friend of Bob.' 
 
 " ' Of Bob !' said she. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I replied, taking her hand ; ' I am Bob's school- 
 fellow.' 
 
 " ' And pray, sir,' said she, withdrawing her hand, 
 ' who is Bob V 
 
 "'Do not distress yourself,' I whispered; 'do not 
 think it necessary to conceal any thing from me; — be- 
 fore he left England, Bob told me all.' 
 
 " ' All what V cried Miss Molesworth. 
 
 " ' Your mutual attachment, — your engagement,' I re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Miss Molesworth started up, colouring crimson. At 
 first she could not articulate, but at last she said, 
 
 " ' I know not, sir, to what I am to attribute this con- 
 duct : I have been attached to wo owe, engaged lo no one, 
 — I know not of whom you speak. I had considered 
 you, sir, in the light of a friend; but now, sir, now — ' 
 
 " She could say no more, but sank on a chair beside 
 me in a flood of tears. 
 
 " A mist at that moment fell from my eyes ; I saw at 
 once the full extent of Bob's unpardonable falsehood, and 
 the distressing certainty flashed upon my mind that his 
 draft would be dishonoured. 
 
 "Mrs. Symmons entered at the moment, and found 
 us both apparently plunged into the depths of despair. 
 Miss Molesworth was in an instant weeping on her 
 shoulder; and before a quarter of an hour had elapsed, 
 I found myself breathing forth vows of love to the young 
 lady, and exulting in my discovery that her engagement 
 to my friend Bob was a fable. 
 
 " Miss Molesworth referred me to her father ; but I 
 read in her large blue eyes that she did not dislike me.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 143 
 
 I therefore retired to my bed that night full of love and 
 hope, and dreamed of driving my wife in a chariot 
 drawn by six dragons over the mangled body of Bob. 
 
 " The next morning my first thought was of my ap- 
 proaching interview with Mr. Molesworth: but, alas! 
 it was soon followed by my recollection of Bob's draft, 
 and the too great probability that before night I should 
 be in durance vile for the amount. My own resources 
 were at the moment inadequate to meet the demand ; 
 and could I ask a rich man to let me marrv his da ugh- 
 ter, and expect that his first act would be to pay one 
 hundred and ninety pounds to extricate me from a pri- 
 son ! 
 
 "At length I made up my mind to walk to Bob's 
 bankers, and at once ascertain the worst. I did so, and 
 on my arrival was astounded at being informed by the 
 clerk that he had provided funds for the payment of the 
 draft ! 
 
 " So far I had wronged my honourable friend ; and 
 I was therefore able to appear in Portman Square in ex- 
 cellent spirits. 
 
 "' The course of my 'true love' did, for a wonder, 
 ' run smooth,' and, all our preliminaries having been 
 finally arranged, the Molesworths left town for the fa- 
 mily seat in Wiltshire, and I remained to arrange some 
 legal and other matters, which would in all probability 
 detain me for a couple of months. I was sitting in my 
 own room rather out of spirits the morning after my 
 true love's departure, when the door opened, and in came 
 — Bob ! He was so evidently delighted to see me again, 
 that I could not help receiving him kindly. He spoke of 
 the obligation I had conferred on him previous to his de- 
 parture ; and after frankly acknowledging the gratifica- 
 tion I had felt at his punctuality, I said, 
 
 " ' But how is this ? returned after so short an ab- 
 sence !' 
 
 " ' Oh ! we are not to go to India, after all ; ' I've been 
 no further than Madeira; — we'll talk that all over ano- 
 ther time. I suppose I shall be sent to the West, instead 
 of the East.' 
 
 " ' I only regret it on account of your rank ; it may 
 retard your marriage.'
 
 144 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " ' My marriage !' said Bob, blushing all over, 
 
 " • Yes ; vour marriage with the heiress of Portman 
 Square' 
 
 " « Oh !' cried Bob, starting from his chair and press- 
 ing his hand, 'never — never, I entreat you, mention that 
 subject again. 1 
 
 '•'Why so? said I. 
 
 " • It is all off,' sighed Bob. 
 
 " ' Off!' I exclaimed. 
 
 '• • Yes, the traitress! — But enough, — never name her 
 to me again.' 
 
 " 1 of course promised to obey him, and for some days 
 we enjoyed ourselves very much in the old way. One 
 morning he came to me in real distress, and told me 
 that his tailor had threatened to arrest him for the 
 amount of his bill. 1 offered to go and speak to the man. 
 and endeavour to persuade him to give Bob time. 
 
 " • If he will only give me a month,' said Bob. 
 
 " ' Well,' I cried, ' I can but try him ;' and away I 
 went. 
 
 " The tailor was inexorable ; but he told me that if 1 
 would become responsible for the payment of the debt 
 in a month, he would consent to wait; if not, he was 
 determined to arrest Bob that day. 
 
 " 1 hesitated for a moment ; but, recollecting his 
 prompt payment of the hundred and ninety pounds, 1 
 made myself responsible for the amount of the bill, and 
 then returned to congratulate my friend. 
 
 " When I told him what I had done, he started up 
 and exclaimed, ' You do not mean it ! — you cannot 
 have made yourself responsible for the amount of that 
 fellow's bill'!' 
 
 " ' I have, I assure you,' said I. 
 
 " ' Then,' said Bob,"' you will have to pay it ; I shall 
 not have the money myself; I never asked you to incur 
 the responsibility, — I never expected it, — and I repeat 
 that you will have to pay it.' 
 
 " ' My dear Bob,' said* I, ' it will not be in my power; 
 I am peculiarly situated. At the end of a month I shall 
 be most particularly engaged — my hands, as it were, 
 will be tied, and paying this at that particular period 
 will be out of the question.'
 
 David dumps. 145 
 
 " Still Bob persisted that he never asked me to be- 
 come responsible, and it ended in his leaving me in a 
 very ill humour. My engagements with legal persons 
 employed me for days together in the City, and 1 saw 
 very little of Bob. When we did meet, my manner was 
 cold and constrained ; and it was not till within a day 
 or two of the expiration of the month that I had time to 
 think of the very inopportune and annoying responsi- 
 bility which I had incurred. 
 
 •• That very day I met Bob, and spoke to him most 
 earnestly and seriously about the payment ; but he 
 sighed most deeply, told me how much he lamented my 
 having engaged to make the payment, and pathetically 
 bemoaned the emptiness of his own pockets. The next 
 morning I called on the tailor, earnestly requesting him to 
 renew the draft for another month, and was then told that 
 my honourable friend had called that very day, and had 
 placed in his hands the sum for which I was responsible! 
 
 " I went instantly to call upon him, and he received 
 me with laughter, in which I could not resist joining ; 
 but I confess I laughed the more from the recollection 
 that my hour of revenge was at hand. 
 
 " About a fortnight afterwards, (the family of my in- 
 tended having arrived in town for the wedding, which 
 was to take place the next morning at St. George's 
 Church, Hanover Square,) Bob inquired ' what it was 
 that seemed to occupy me from morning till night, and 
 ivhy it was that we so seldom met V 
 
 " ' My dear Bob,' said 1, ' it has been a secret.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! a secret !' 
 
 " ' Yes ; and the secret has not been entirely my own.' 
 
 " ' Indeed !' said Bob. 
 
 " ' But I will now conceal nothing from you : you, I 
 remember, before you went away, confided your secret 
 to me.' 
 
 " ' Oh ! — ah ! — hem — yes — well V stammered Bob. 
 
 " ' I am going to be married to-morrow.' 
 
 "'Married!' exclaimed Bob : 'tell me all about it ; 
 who is she, — do 1 know her V 
 
 " ' You do not know her; but I have heard you speak 
 of her.' 
 
 13
 
 146 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " ' Indeed ! Where does she live 1 — is she pretty ? — 
 is she rich V 
 
 " ' There is no time,' said I, ' to answer your ques- 
 tions at present : I dine with the family at six, and I 
 mean to take you with me. Go and dress, and in half 
 an hour I will call for you in a carriage.' 
 
 "' Where does your intended live?' said Bob as we 
 drove along Oxford Street and turned into Orchard 
 Street. 
 
 " ' Time will show,' I replied. 
 
 '"Where are we now?' said Bob as the carriage 
 made a sudden turn. 
 
 " ' We are in Portman Square,' I replied. 
 
 " ' And the lady lives — ' faltered Bob. 
 
 " ' In Portman Square,' said I. 
 
 " Bob sat in evident confusion ; and when the car- 
 riage actually stopped at Mr. Molesworth's house, he 
 said, 
 
 " ' I deserve this — I am quite ashamed of myself. 
 Come, come, turn back and drive home.' 
 
 " ' By no means,' said I as the servant gave a thun- 
 dering knock at the door, and then let down the steps of 
 the carriage. 
 
 " ' Look,' said I, pointing upwards, while we waited 
 lor the street-door to be opened ; ' you see those three 
 windows with sky-blue curtains?' 
 
 " ' Oh ! spare me !' cried Bob. 
 
 " ' That room I always mean to reserve exclvMvely 
 for you : there is a wonderful sofa, silken without, and 
 marble within.' 
 
 " ' My dear friend !' said Bob imploringly. 
 
 " ' Don't interrupt me,' 1 proceeded ; — ' an exquisite 
 bath with three cocks; one for hot water, one for cold, 
 and one for eau-de-Cologne. But we have no time now 
 to expatiate on its advantages;' and I jumped out of 
 the carriage. 
 
 » * Why, you won't go in !' cried Bob as he breathlessly 
 ran up the steps after me and vigorously pulled at the 
 tail of my coat. 
 
 " ' Go in !' said I ; ' to be sure : and you will meet old 
 friends, and show me where you used to meet the lady 
 of your love, and — '
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 147 
 
 * ' You are going too far !' whispered Bob : ' I see 
 my error ; I uttered what was false — forgive me — I am 
 cured. But these servants and the inmates of the house 
 will think us mad !' 
 
 " ' Not at all,' I replied. * Speak the truth in future, 
 as I have done to you.' 
 
 " I pressed his hand and led him up stairs. I saw that 
 he was depressed and humiliated ; and when we got to 
 the drawing-room door, he whispered, 
 
 *' ' And do they know it ? I cannot face them.' 
 
 "'They know nothing,' I replied,' 'and shall never 
 know from me any thing discreditable to my honourable 
 friend Bob.' 
 
 " ' I will never utter a falsehood again,' said Bob. 
 And I firmly believe he adhered to his resolution." 
 
 " He was rightly served," said David; 
 
 " I thought you would say so." 
 
 " Well, but how does this story apply to me? /never 
 invented falsehoods to cover my embarrassments." 
 
 *' No," said Cockle, "perhaps not; but you never, 1 
 suspect, confided the real truth to any one." 
 
 " Ha ! ha !" cried Kilkenny, " he has you there !" 
 
 " Consequently," added Cockle, -" you brooded over 
 untoward events until your nerves became morbidly 
 sensitive. Had you told Kilkenny there, or Lomax, or 
 myself, or indeed your lady love, or her uncle, the real 
 honest truth, all might have been smooth with you ere 
 this." 
 
 " Mine is a case," said David, " that admits of no 
 amelioration. Your friend Bob was in an annoying 
 situation, doubtless ; but there was nothing which might 
 not be forgotten and forgiven, and he had been guilty of 
 nothing worse than a fib. But how did he get on with 
 the Molesworths?" 
 
 " Awkwardly enough at first, as you may suppose ; 
 but after a little time he got on very well with Miss 
 Moles worth, her sister, and the two little boys." 
 
 "But as you always called him Bob," said David, " I 
 wonder it did not occur to Miss Molesworth that he 
 must be the Bob of whom you so mysteriously spoke the 
 day you popped the question ; for you then named him 
 as your schoolfellow and intimate friend."
 
 I 18 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " Very true," said Kilkenny; "but then, you know, 
 he of course did not introduce him as Mr. Bob." 
 
 " Oh no ; that did not occur to me," replied David, 
 " and Mr. Cockle did not mention his other name to me.'' 
 
 " Do you know my Christian name," inquired Kil- 
 kenny. 
 
 " No ; — I never heard it that I am aware of." 
 
 " Well, then, to throw more light on Cockle's story, 
 and bring its moral more home, let me tell you that my 
 Christian name is Robert, and that ever since we were 
 schoolboys Cockle has called me Bob." 
 
 " You /" said Dumps. 
 
 " Yes. I trust I am reformed ; and I tell you, as I 
 have already told Mrs. Cockle, that /am the hero of his 
 story. Some weeks after they were married we met 
 again, and then she heard him for the first time address 
 me as Bob. I saw her start, and blush, and look in- 
 quiringly at her husband ; and, to put an end to all mys- 
 tery, I put a bold face on the matter, and had the impu- 
 dence to tell the whole story !" 
 
 " You don't say so !" said David ! 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Cockle; " and now I am sure that 
 my wife esteems my honourable friend Bob almost as 
 much as I do." 
 
 " And now," exclaimed Kilkenny, slapping Mi - . Dumps 
 on the shoulder in a way that made him start, " why 
 will not you take courage, and tell us all the particulars 
 of your story ?" 
 
 " It is very late," said David : " to-morrow — " 
 
 " To-morrow be it, then. At the same hour we will 
 dine here again." And the trio having separated, David 
 returned rather lightened in spirit to his second floor in 
 Arundel-street. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ( lara Titterton might well say that there seemed 
 to be a fatality against the realisation of any of her vi- 
 sions of love and happiness. It is not to be supposed 
 that a girl of her good sense could seriously lament the
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 149 
 
 disappearance of Major Dehaney, a man she had met 
 but once, and who at that interview had poured forth 
 his addresses in a state of semi-inebriation. She laugh- 
 ed at herself for her folly in having for one moment al- 
 lowed such protestations to impose upon her; but no 
 one was aware of her momentary infatuation, therefore 
 no one laughed at her when he so unceremoniously de- 
 parted. 
 
 But Mr. Dumps's equally unexpected flight was a very 
 different affair. His attentions had been seen by her 
 friends and acquaintances for many weeks ; and his vo- 
 luntary desertion caused many rumours, some prejudi- 
 cial to his own character, some derogatory to poor 
 Clara, and all as far removed from the plain truth as 
 possible. 
 
 Mr. Mildmay did all in his power to unravel the mys- 
 tery : and having inquired at the hotel whether there 
 was any person there with whom Mr. Dumps had been 
 on terms of intimacy, he called upon Mr. Lorimer Lo- 
 max, apologising for his intrusion, and requesting that 
 he w T ould throw as much light as possible on the past 
 conduct, adventures, birth, parentage, and education of 
 the mysterious fugitive. 
 
 " In a watering-place like Cheltenham," added Mr. 
 Mildmay, " there can be no concealment. You have, 
 of course, heard that this fellow had been paying his ad- 
 dresses to my niece ; and, strange as it may seem, — but 
 there is no accounting for ladies' tastes, — she began to 
 like him." 
 
 " I wish I could be of real use to you," replied Lo- 
 max ; " but, though I have been domesticated with him 
 for days on board my cousin's yacht, and though we 
 have often been together here, I really must confess 1 
 know very little about him." 
 
 " Pray, tell me where you first met him." said Mild- 
 may : and Lomax proceeded to detail the manner in 
 which he was picked up by the Waterwagtail off Bou- 
 logne harbour, and subsequently landed at Cherbourg. 
 On comparing dates, it was evident that this occurred 
 immediatelv before his meeting with Mr. Mildmav at 
 Arras. 
 
 " So far we have succeeded in putting together two 
 
 13*
 
 150 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 links of the chain. It is clear that he must have left 
 Boulogne in haste, and that he was anxious to be con- 
 veyed elsewhere as speedily as possible. Boulogne, 
 then, was in all probability the scene of his misdeeds, 
 whatever they may have been." 
 
 " I think I know one person who could throw some 
 light on the mystery," replied Lomax, — " an intimate 
 friend of my cousin, at whose request we received him 
 on board the yacht ; but he may be bound in honour 
 not to reveal what he knows." 
 
 " Will you ask him ?" 
 
 " I will write by this day's post to Mr. Cockle, re- 
 questing him to make the inquiry. I trust Miss Titter- 
 ton does not let this unpleasant affair prey on her health 
 and spirits." 
 
 " Why, fortunately," replied Mr. Mildmay, " she is 
 not one who is easily cast down. I have already seen 
 her laugh at this adventure; but it was a laugh that. I 
 suspect, was assumed to cover disappointment and 
 wounded pride. However, she has agreed to accom- 
 pany her father and myself to dine with some old friends 
 who are just arrived here ; and 1 trust, having once got 
 her out, she will recover her cheerfulness." 
 
 Clara's uncle cordially thanked Lomax for the kind- 
 ness and consideration with which he had received him : 
 and Lomax, much pleased with the old gentleman, and 
 interested about his niece, was agreeably surprised, 
 when he went out to dinner, to find that the Cambray 
 party and himself had been invited to dine at the same 
 house. 
 
 Poor Clara, conscious of the gossip which she had so 
 innocently excited, was nervous and flushed; but the 
 party was a very small one, — the host and hostess, (two 
 much-valued friends.) her father and uncle, and Mr. 
 Lomax. Her female friend, though just arrived at Chel- 
 tenham, had already heard that something very annoy- 
 ing had happened, and observing that during dinner she 
 talked and laughed with an evident effort to conceal her 
 mortification, she gave her the signal for departure much 
 earlier than usual, and taking Clara's hand affectionate- 
 ly, led her to the drawing-room. 
 
 "And now," said she, seating Clara in an arm-chair. 

 
 DAVID DUMPS. 151 
 
 and taking a low stool by her side, " do tell me, my dear 
 girl, what is all this nonsense which I have heard about 
 you and some false swain ?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Clara, laughing, " so well does it deserve 
 the name of nonsense, that it is not worth talking about." 
 
 "I should agree with you there, Clary, did I not see 
 that you are hurt and annoyed." 
 
 " Well," said Clara, " I will own that it ivas mortify- 
 ing — and so ridiculous !" 
 
 "Now don't laugh, but seriously tell me about it." 
 
 " I have nothing to tell but what I dare say you have 
 already heard." 
 
 "1 have only heard that some person, whom every 
 body wonders you could like, paid you marked atten- 
 tion, proposed for you, and then packed up his trunk 
 and ran away." 
 
 " True, quite true," replied Clara, laughing; "with- 
 out even leaving ' P. P. C at my father's door !" 
 
 " Can you account for his conduct in any way ?" 
 
 " No ; — T certainly often thought that he had some- 
 thing weighing on his mind." 
 
 " I'll be bound he was a married man !" 
 
 "Oh, no," said Clara; "I don't think that." 
 
 " What could it be, then?" -said her friend. 
 
 " Indeed," replied Clara, " nobody can be more in the 
 dark than myself." 
 
 " Did you know his family ?" 
 
 " No ; indeed I believe he had no relatives living." 
 
 " But his origin — what was it?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing very great, I believe." 
 
 "His fortune?" 
 
 " My father seemed satisfied with his representations." 
 
 "Well; and you knew where he came from, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 " Why, not exactly ; — he had been travelling, and I 
 do not think he had any settled home." 
 
 " No settled home ! — vagabondising from watering- 
 place to watering-place ! — you should be more careful, 
 Clara, with whom you get acquainted. — Who intro- 
 duced you?" 
 
 " The Master of the Ceremonies." 
 
 " Well ; but his name — you do know that, I presume?"
 
 152 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Clara, laughing; "and such a name!" 
 
 " Well, what is it ?" 
 
 "Dumps!" replied Clara, her risibility increasing. 
 
 "Dumps!" said her friend; "what an odd name! — 
 surelv I have heard that name before: good gracious! 
 it just occurs to me where." 
 
 " Perhaps you knew him, then ?" 
 
 " His Christian name ? — make haste, tell me !" 
 
 " David ; — not at all a nice name !" 
 
 " Oh !" cried her friend, " it is the very man ! — the re- 
 probate ! the abandoned wretch !" 
 
 " You have, met him, then?" said Clara; — " where?" 
 
 " At Boulogne." 
 
 " Explain—" 
 
 " I will ; — I almost faint at the recollection ! My hus- 
 band dined out — I retired early to bed — I fell asleep — I 
 was suddenly roused — " 
 
 "By what?" exclaimed Clara. 
 
 " This very Mr. Dumps, who, with his nightcap on 
 his head, was sitting up by my side in my bed !" 
 
 " Oh, this is too much !" said Clara, who, leaning back 
 in her chair, actually laughed herself into strong hyste- 
 rics. Lady O'Flaney rang the bell; and having par- 
 tially restored her friend, she sent to request the pre- 
 sence of the gentlemen, as she had something of import- 
 ance to communicate. 
 
 " Here we have another link to the chain when we 
 least expected it !" exclaimed Mr. Mildmay, when he 
 had heard of his extraordinary invasion of the dormi- 
 tory of her ladyship. 
 
 " Who would have thought he was such a Don Juan !" 
 said Lomax. 
 
 " It is perfectly true," said Mr. O'Flaney ; " I can 
 swear to the name." 
 
 " Mercy on me !" cried Mr. Titterton : " and I have 
 had him daily at my house for the last six weeks !" 
 
 " By-the-by," said Lady O'Flaney, " if I don't mis- 
 take, his name was strangely mixed up at Boulogne 
 with that of some pretty girl." 
 
 " Oh !" said Mr. O'Flaney, " let me consider : yes, 
 yes — I do remember now." 
 
 " What?" inquired every body present.
 
 DAVID DUM?5. 153 
 
 "He disappeared immediately afterwards — no one 
 knew how — and there was a rumour — " 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " I cannot sav whether it was well founded or not — " 
 
 " What was "it?" 
 
 " It certainly was whispered, that this same Mr. 
 Dumps — " 
 
 11 Go on." 
 
 "Had committed murder!" 
 
 Clara's laugh was loud and shrill ; but in one moment 
 she fell back pale and motionless, her eyes fixed, and 
 her teeth firmly pressed together. Her father and un- 
 cle, with her female friend, were fully occupied endea- 
 vouring to restore her to animation. 
 
 " Surely," whispered Lomax to O'Flaney, " the law 
 in France, as elsewhere, must be, that there cannot be 
 a conviction for murder unless a body is found 1" 
 
 " I suppose so," replied O'Flaney in the same low 
 tone ; " but before I left Boulogne, I perfectly recollect 
 an old lady's hinting, at an ecart'e party in the Grand 
 Rue, that David Dumps was a cannibal, and had eaten 
 the body /" 
 
 For so worthless a being as Mr. Dumps was repre- 
 sented to be, it is not to be supposed that a girl like 
 Clara Titterton should long mourn. She could not, it 
 is true, bring herself at once to credit all the allegations 
 brought against him. But what could she say in his 
 behalf? That he had deserted her was but too evi- 
 dent ; and his former reserve and depression of spirits 
 served very strongly to corrobate the worst accusations 
 now brought against him. It was poor Clara's fate to 
 veil her feelings under smiles; and she again appeared 
 in public, and again endeavoured to laugh off the scru- 
 tiny and the pity of the vulgar. 
 
 Mr. Lorimer Lomax felt much interested for the 
 little lady of Cambray, and availing himself of the in- 
 troduction which had taken place, he sometimes called 
 to inquire for her, often joined her and her uncle in 
 their walks, and now and then spent his evenings at her 
 house, never failing on such occasions to bring his 
 guitar. 
 
 Mr. Dumps was not the sort of man for a lady to be
 
 154 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 sentimental about; but Clara having once admitted the 
 possibility of his becoming her husband, the untoward 
 denouement of his brief love-story became as harassing 
 to her as if he had been the Adonis of St. James's Street, 
 with raven curls, white and pink cheeks, hazel eyes, 
 and a dimple on his chin. However uninteresting the 
 hero might appear in the eyes of others, to her, as being 
 the origin of hopes, fears, regrets, and annoyances, he 
 could not fail to be for ever interesting. Mr. Lomax's 
 more lively ballads she listened to without apparent in- 
 terest ; but there was one which seemed to be her most 
 especial favourite, and he had to sing it more than once 
 every evening that he was in her company. 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 i. 
 Though with ease thou sayst " Forget," 
 
 Oh ! how hard the task for me ! 
 Memory, since the day we met, 
 
 Has not had a thought — but thee ! 
 And thy features on my heart 
 
 She hath traced with so much skill, 
 That distinctly, when wc part, 
 
 I shall view their beauty still. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Others gaze with raptured eyes 
 
 On the roses fresh and fair ; 
 But more dearly do I prize 
 
 Faded flowers I've seen thee wear. 
 All thy songs return unsought; 
 
 By thy voice I'm haunted yet! 
 Oh ! when thou canst banish thought, 
 
 And then only, say, — " Forget." 
 
 This was Clara's favourite ballad; a melancholy one, 
 certainly. But why was it her favourite? "Though 
 with ease thou sayst ' Forget,' " — that might apply to 
 David. The deserter might be supposed to wish that 
 the deserted would in time forget him ; and it was na- 
 tural for the young lady who had sanctioned his ad- 
 dresses to remark, "Oh! how hard the task for me!" 
 But there were other lines totally inapplicable to poor 
 David : " All thy songs return unsought, — By thy voice 
 I'm haunted yet!" What could this mean? He in all 
 his born days never could sing a note; and as for his 
 voice, Clara could not pretend to say that it haunted her.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 155 
 
 Then, again, " prizing,"—" Faded flowers I've seen 
 thee wear!" and -preferring them to "roses fresh and 
 fair!" Was it possible that she had ever picked up a 
 pink that David had worn in his button-hole, and then 
 apostrophised it thus? Mr. Dumps was not the sort of 
 man to stick pinks in his button-hole. 
 
 To whom, then, did she apply the verses? — to the 
 singer? to the still cheerful and good-looking Lorimer, 
 who, with his pink riband over his shoulder, lightly 
 touched the guitar, and poured forth the still sweet and 
 pleasing remains of a once full and melodious voice ? 
 Was he the individual who was not to be forgotten un- 
 til thought itself was banished 1 — or was it only that the 
 genera] effect of that song soothed her, and harmonised 
 with her pensive mood ; and that when she listened to 
 it again and again with melancholy pleasure, it was not 
 that she applied the particular expressions to her own 
 case, but only simply approved and admired the ballad! 
 It might be so ; but many at Cheltenham thought that 
 Mr. Lorimer Lomax had stept into the very pair of 
 shoes which Mr. David Dumps had so abruptly vacated. 
 One fact it is at all events our duty to state: Mr. Lo- 
 rimer Lomax became a changed man; he dressed more 
 carefully, held himself more erectly, and, whatever 
 David might have done, he always wore a flower in 
 his button -hole. 
 
 He came not home, as was his custom heretofore, at 
 rational hours to his hotel; and though the very last of 
 the autumnal leaves were now falling from the trees in 
 the Well-walks, he would linger under a certain balcony, 
 (this was the on dit,) warbling pretty ltttle melodies to 
 a certain pretty little lady. 
 
 We believe" that there is some old song (not one of 
 Mr. Lorimer Lomax's favourites) which begins, 
 "Youth's the time for love and joy." 
 
 Now, if this means that youth is the season for most 
 bewildering and lasting attachments, we beg leave to 
 say it is no such thing. A youth loves " to distraction," 
 as the saying is, he does very foolish things, he attempts 
 in every possible way to insinuate himself into the good 
 graces of the girl, and then wins the suffrages of, or else 
 bids defiance to, fathers, mothers, brothers, uncles, aunts,
 
 150 PAVID DUMPS. 
 
 guardians: lie loves! oh! Iiow he loves! but " he loves 
 and he rides away!" — a difficulty, a doubt, a jealous 
 whim, or a feeling of satiety; we cannot say the cause, 
 we only know that so it is; and he goes to another 
 place, and sees another lady, and does the love all over 
 again, and talks of his former love, or what he once 
 falselv imagined was love, as a mere chimera, a mis- 
 take 1 ." But now he loves as never man yet loved, and he 
 persists in it till another change comes o'er the spirit of 
 his dream. 
 
 But it is not thus with your middle-aged man. He 
 has no time to lose: he has kept out of the flame warily 
 and long; but when he once begins to singe his wing, it 
 is all over with him. Then, if he be at all successful, 
 how proud is he of his lady's smile! And if, after 
 luring him on to a proposal, she should jilt him after 
 all !_ -he breaks down at once into the old man ; no 
 more mirth, no more melodies, no mure flowers in the 
 button-hole: his heart is withered, and he loves no more! 
 
 Lorimer Lomax was therefore at forty-five, accord- 
 ing to our notions, just at the very period of life when 
 Cupid makes most havoc with a man. He bought a 
 new wig, more youthful in the wave of its curl than 
 that he used to wear, and he slung his guitar over his 
 shoulder with a new pink riband. He left off the Chel- 
 tenham waters, and quite forgot that he was an invalid; 
 and in the cold dark nights of November, he paced one 
 silent street until he saw a light from her casement 
 beam, and then, defying the chill air, he sang ballad 
 after ballad until the clock chimed midnight and the 
 taper vanished. Then he went sneezing and coughing 
 back to his hotel, indulging in bright dreams of love 
 and happiness ! 
 
 Ought we to wish him success? 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 We left David, two chapters {and three weehs) ago, 
 parting with his friends Cockle and Kilkenny at the 
 Albion Hotel, and promising to meet them at the same
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 157 
 
 hour in the same place the next day, to tell his sad 
 eventful history. 
 
 The three gentlemen were punctual ; and when the 
 cloth was removed, David solemnly revealed all the 
 reader already knows of his adventures at Boulogne. 
 
 "And you have been in the secret?" said Cockle to 
 the captain. 
 
 " When I asked you to take him on board your 
 yacht, I told you he had pressing reasons for wishing 
 to fly the French coast." 
 
 " Ay, but, hang it! I never dreamt of murder! — I beg 
 your pardon, Mr. Dumps." 
 
 " Oh, don't mind me, — I'm used to it. Nothing you or 
 any body else can say is worse than my own thoughts." 
 
 " But, Bob!" exclaimed Cockle, " when you got back 
 to the town, did you tell nobody?" 
 
 " Not I : why should I mix myself up with so bad a 
 story ? I heard a great many rumours and surmises, 
 most of which I knew to be false: one thing, however, 
 I could not deny; — a quantity of blood was seen on the 
 grass where that poor fellow fell." 
 
 " Oh !" groaned David. 
 
 " And as no corpse was to be found — " 
 
 " Well ?" inquired David. 
 
 " — And as the murderer was also missing — " 
 
 '• Yes ?" 
 
 " — It was conjectured that Mr. Dumps had first 
 killed his man, and had then carried him away. But it 
 seems, from your own account, that the fight was 
 forced upon you?" 
 
 " Forced upon me, sir ! to be sure it was. / was not 
 the man to go out killing people, with the chance of 
 beins: killed mvself, voluntarily." 
 
 " Your opponent actually put the pistol in your hand, 
 you say ?" 
 
 "Yes; and he told me when I was to fire, and 
 showed me how to pull the trigger. Lord bless you ! 
 I never fired any thing off before, except pop-guns at 
 school." 
 
 " It is very strange," said Cockle. " Have you ever 
 seen those Tatums since ?" 
 
 14
 
 158 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Do you know where they live V* 
 " On Blackheath, I believe." 
 
 " Well, then, if you'll take my advice, you will go 
 thither to-morrow morning, and make a point of seeing 
 old Tatum. Ask him what he knows of the fate of that 
 young fellow Arden ; ascertain, if you can, what became 
 of the body : but, of course, avoid criminating, or in 
 any way implicating yourself." 
 
 " I'll do it," said David bravely. " Any thing would 
 be better than this perpetual suspense." 
 
 " So I should think," answered Cockle. " To-morrow, 
 my friend Bob and I are going to my house in Somer- 
 setshire for a week or ten days : if you have any thing 
 important to communicate, this is my address ;" and he 
 gave a card. 
 
 " You do not, then, quite abandon me?" 
 " No, no. Cheer up ; communicate with us there ; 
 and be assured that, if we can be of service to you, you 
 may command us. I suppose we shall find you in 
 Arundel-street on our return 1" 
 
 " Certainly," replied David ; and his heart sank with- 
 in him as he parted with his two companions and return- 
 ed in solitude to his lodgings. 
 
 The next morning he set off early to Blackheath, and 
 with very little difficulty found the residence of Mr. 
 Tatum. A female servant opened the door, and, on his 
 inquiring for the master of the house, replied, " Not at 
 home," and seemed inclined to prevent further parley by 
 shutting the door. 
 
 " Perhaps you will let me go in and wait for him." 
 "No, sir, f mus'n't." 
 " Only while I write a note." 
 
 " No, you can't," said she ; " and I'll tell you why. 
 Last Sunday was a week, when the family next door 
 was all at church but one housemaid, a man, a sight 
 finer than you be, called and asked for Mr. Briggs." 
 "Well, what is that to me?" 
 
 " Wait, and you shall hear. Betty next door said, as 
 I might do, ' Not at home ;' and that 'ere chap know'd 
 that afore he cum'd." 
 
 "I'm really in a hurry," said Mr. Dumps impatiently. 

 
 DAVID DUMPS. , 159 
 
 " Lau ! and so was he, — just the very words he used ! 
 * I'm in a hurry,' said he; 'just let me go into the draw- 
 ing-room and write Mr. Briggs a note.' " 
 
 " Very natural." 
 
 " Oh, very ; and Betty next door, as / might have 
 done, if the rogue had come here first, let him in, and 
 went to light a candle for him to seal his note when 
 'twas written." 
 
 a 
 
 A very civil girl." 
 
 "Oh, very. But. he didn't want no candle; for she 
 met him in the passage, and he said he'd left his note on 
 the table, and she let him out, and away he went." 
 
 " Well, there was no harm done." 
 
 " Oh, but wasn't there, though ! When Mr. Briggs 
 cum'd home from church, — oh lau ! how poor Betty did 
 screech ! That 'ere man had taken away all the spoons, 
 and all the forks, and two pair of silver candlesticks 
 under his cloak ; and a power of bank-notes out of a 
 desk he'd been and broken open !" 
 
 " Indeed ! I'm very sorry for it." 
 
 " Can't let you in, if you please," said the maid. 
 
 " Well, but I've very particular business with your 
 master." 
 
 " Oh ! master said if a gentleman called about very 
 particular business — " 
 
 " Yes '?" 
 
 " Yours is very particular?" 
 
 " Urgent business." 
 
 " Oh ! if it's hurgent, he must have meant you. You 
 must call at number — , Blank Court, Cornhill." 
 
 David took out a pencil, and requested the careful 
 guardian of the Tatum property to go and fetch him a 
 piece of paper. 
 
 " I'll put the' chain across the door," said she, " and 
 then I'll fetch it." 
 
 And, suiting the action to the word, she effectually 
 prevented the possibility of his forcing an entrance in 
 her absence, and soon returned with one of Mr. Tatum's 
 own visiting-cards, on the back of which he wrote down 
 the address, and immediately returned to town. 
 
 A coach soon wafted him to Charing-cross; and from 
 thence he proceeded to number — , Blank Court, and
 
 100 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 found himself" at the door of a pawnbroker's shop. He 
 entered, but was obliged to wait, as one or two cus- 
 tomers were in possession of the shopman's ear before 
 he arrived. 
 
 David tried to amuse himself examining the premises. 
 There were gold chains, and cloth trousers, and gold 
 watches, and old black silk stockings, and opera-glasses, 
 and umbrellas, and shawls, and fiddle-cases, and we 
 know not what besides, all ticketed as bargains second- 
 hand, at about the prices which we might pay for pre- 
 cisely the same things new. But his scrutiny was brief; 
 for, the other people being gone, the shopman was at 
 leisure to attend to him. 
 
 "Your pleasure, sir?" said a dandified Jew boy of 
 eighteen or nineteen. 
 
 " I wish to speak to Mr. Tatum," murmured David, 
 greatly agitated at the anticipated interview, and the 
 nature of the topic to be discussed. 
 
 " Mr. Tatum never speaks to no one here ; and if he 
 did, he's been gone pleasuring these six weeks." 
 
 " Oh dear me !" said Dumps, " I have most particular 
 business, and I brought this with me from Blackheath." 
 
 " Oh yes ; that's master's visiting-card, sure enough. 
 All's right, then. Here's all you want sealed up in this 
 packet." 
 
 " Indeed !" said David. " I shall now, then, know all." 
 
 " Oh yes ; you'll find it all right. It's been lying here 
 for you some time." 
 
 " Oh, I wish I had called before!" said David, scarcely 
 knowing what he did, as he mechanically took the packet. 
 
 " You see 'tisn't directed to you," said the lad with a 
 knowing confidential wink; "because we thought you 
 mightn't like your name to be seen, for private reasons." 
 
 "Oh ! ah !" said David, shrinking as he felt that there 
 was one more person in possession of his fatal secret. 
 
 " But, lau!" added the boy, " more does the same than 
 you'd think. The head man's just stept out: leave mas- 
 ter's card, that I may show it's all right." 
 
 Some other persons entered the shop at the moment; 
 and grasping his sealed packet, he walked away, and 
 calling a coach, immediately returned to Arundel-street. 
 
 As soon as he entered his own room, he locked the
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 161 
 
 door, placed the packet on the table, and sinking down 
 in a chair in a state of exhaustion, he gazed at it for a 
 long time without moving, almost without breathing. 
 
 " Now, then," thought he, " all will be revealed, — in a 
 moment I shall know my fate;" and he seized the 
 packet, but instantly threw it down again, as it occurred 
 to him that it would be more prudent to break the seals 
 in the presence of some more friendly witnesses, who 
 would hereafter testify to the truth of the statement, 
 should it in any degree exonerate him. But the state- 
 ment might be one of utter condemnation; — who, then, 
 could he trust 1 His landlady ? — impossible. He knew 
 not one being in all London to whom he could confide 
 such a secret. He paced his room in violent agitation, 
 and at last came to the resolution of setting out instantly 
 for the house of Mr. Cockle in Somersetshire, and break- 
 ing the seals of this important packet in the presence of 
 that gentlemen and his guest Captain Kilkenny. He 
 hastily packed up a few requisite articles, and merely 
 telling his landlady that he was going into the country 
 for a few days, he got into the Bath mail, and reached 
 his friend's house, situated some miles from that city, 
 very early the next morning. 
 
 Great was his disappointment when Mrs. Cockle in- 
 formed him her husband and his friend had spent the 
 last two days at Bath ; but she assured him he was wel- 
 come, and added that she expected them home to din- 
 ner. David spent a very tedious, wretched day : the 
 trees were all leafless, the walks were all sloppy, and 
 there was a nasty drizzling rain. There is nothing so 
 distressing as having a guest to amuse in a country 
 house who can't amuse himself, and who plainly shows 
 you, by his vacant, spiritless smiles and deep sighs, that 
 your efforts are unavailing, and that he is wishing him- 
 self a hundred miles off*. In such a case the wish must 
 soon be mutual. 
 
 This was poor Mrs. Cockle's case; and at length, hav- 
 ing done her best for three very long hours, she pursued 
 her own avocations, and left him to amuse himself (or 
 not) as best he could. With an umbrella and clogs he 
 went down to the village, thinking there never was in 
 
 14*
 
 H\2 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 the world so dirty a place, quite forgetting that all coun- 
 try places must be dirty in wet weather. All the dogs 
 barked at him — and that he did not like; and all the 
 men, women, and children ran out to stare at him at the 
 cottage doors. " What a set of plain people !" thought 
 he. " I used to think Cheltenham the town for beauty ; 
 I'm sure this is (like sweet Auburn) 
 
 " 'The loveliest village of the plain" 
 
 only that the village isn't a bit more lovely than the 
 people." 
 
 He then walked round the church, looked at the 
 tombstones, and in fact ascertained that there was 
 nothing at all worth seeing; and then he returned to 
 Cockle Hall, where the lady of the mansion informed 
 him that her husband and Captain Kilkenny had agreed 
 to join a party to the Bath theatre that evening, and 
 consequently would not return home until the next day. 
 
 " Then," said her guest, " pray let me have a hack 
 chaise, and I will go to them at Bath." 
 
 Mrs. Cockle was only too happy to be spared a tete-a- 
 tete with her guest, and in a quarter of an hour, he, with 
 his sealed packet, was on his way to Bath. 
 
 On his arrival at an hotel, being aware that his friends 
 dined with a party, he took a slight and solitary repast, 
 and about nine o'clock followed them to the theatre. 
 Cockle, who was near the front with some ladies, turn- 
 ed round, looked surprised, nodded his head, and then 
 gave all his attention to the stage. But David fortunate- 
 ly found Captain Kilkenny in the back row, and there 
 being a vacant seat, he took it, and carried on a whis- 
 pering conversation with him, in which Kilkenny readi- 
 ly joined, as he felt no small astonishment at seeing him 
 there, and was anxious for an explanation. 
 
 " Well," said Kilkenny in a low tone, " I hope you've 
 got good news 1" 
 
 " I don't know ; I've got it in my pocket." 
 
 "In your pocket !" 
 
 " Yes, sealed up." 
 
 " Silence !" said an old gentleman to the right. 
 
 " I wish people would let people hear the play !" said 
 a fat lady to the left. 
 
 " Hush !" whispered David.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 163 
 
 "Mum !" whispered Kilkenny. 
 
 For the first time David gave his attention to the 
 stage. The play of Pizarro was drawing towards a 
 close, and the audience were deeply interested in the 
 escape of Rolla and the child over the bridge. 
 
 "Did you hear that man's voice?" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Which man ?" replied Kilkenny. 
 
 " The man they were shooting at going over the 
 bridge." 
 
 " Silence !" said the old gentleman to the right. 
 
 " Abominable !" said the fat lady to the left. 
 
 " Hush !" whispered David. 
 
 " Mum !" whispered Kilkenny. 
 
 David said no more until the next scene, where Rolla 
 rushes in bleeding, lays the child at Cora's feet and falls 
 exhausted. The actor was a fine handsome young man ; 
 his action was graceful, his death picturesque, though 
 the effusion of blood was rather painful to the spectators 
 than otherwise. 
 
 The audience testified their approbation loudly, and 
 it was not until the conclusion of the third round of ap- 
 plause that Kilkenny observed David standing erect in 
 the box, his face pale, his eyes starting out of his head, 
 with one hand pointed immoveably at the actor. 
 
 " I declare most solemnly, His he !" said Dumps, as 
 loud as if he had been addressing a gentleman in the 
 stage-box from the centre one which Mr. Cockle's party 
 occupied. 
 
 "What is the matter with you?" said Kilkenny. 
 
 " Tis he, I tell you," replied David in a hollow voice. 
 
 " You mean that actor?" said Kilkenny, referring to 
 his play-bill. 
 
 " I do," answered David solemnly. " Can the grave 
 give up its dead !" 
 
 " Turn him out !" cried every body every where. 
 
 "By Jove you are right!" said Kilkenny : " see here, — 
 the part of Rolla by Mr. George Arden." 
 
 Mr. Dumps fainted away, and was removed to the 
 hotel, attended by Captain Kilkenny, and speedily fol- 
 lowed by Mr. Cockle. 
 
 When David began to recover himself, he had but 
 a very indistinct recollection of the occurrences of the
 
 161 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 evening ; but Kilkenny soon brought all vividly before 
 him, by stating that he had already sent a note to the 
 theatre, and had no doubt Mr. George Arden would join 
 them as soon as he had finished his performance in the 
 afterpiece. 
 
 "Coming!" cried David; " coming here?" 
 
 " Yes, of course ; it was the very best arrangement 
 that could be made." 
 
 "Alive, or dead?" 
 
 "Alive, decidedly, or I and Cockle should never have 
 volunteered to join your party." 
 
 " But how is all this to be accounted for?" asked poor 
 bewildered David. 
 
 " It can only be explained by Mr. Arden himself," 
 replied Cockle; "and here he comes to answer all your 
 questions." 
 
 Mr. George Arden was very naturally somewhat em- 
 barrassed at making his debut in the character of Epi- 
 logue to his own tragedy, before the three gentlemen 
 who had so anxiously awaited his arrival. But David 
 evinced such extraordinarv satisfaction at beholding him, 
 and the other two seemed so placid, that Arden com- 
 fortably seated himself before the fire in the seat that 
 was offered to him, and accepted the full glass which 
 Cockle placed before him. 
 
 "Alive, I do declare!" exclaimed David, gazing at 
 Arden's handsome face. 
 
 "Quite so, I assure you, Mr. Dumps," he replied, 
 "and not a little ashamed to meet one who has so much 
 reason to complain of my conduct." 
 
 "And your health does not appear to have suffered?" 
 . " I am quite well, thank you," said Arden, laughing. 
 
 " But the wound I inflicted, where was it?" 
 
 •• In your own imagination." 
 
 " Nay, the loss of blood — " 
 
 •• — Was a theatrical contrivance precisely similar to 
 that resorted to by the Rolla of this evening." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed David, taking a long breath. 
 
 " Then," said Kilkenny, " that young lady must have 
 been in the plot." 
 
 " Not at all," replied Arden: " I was plotting against 
 her even more than against this good gentleman here.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 165 
 
 If you will do me the favour to listen, ' I will a round 
 unvarnished tale deliver, of my whole course of love.' — 
 Miss Tatum was at school at Brighton when first I saw 
 her; I was then a thoughtless young man, just entering 
 on the arduous career of the stage. The young ladies 
 were not, I suppose, permitted to go to the theatre ; 
 therefore it was only in my walks that I met her. She 
 was young and inexperienced, — too young for society, 
 yet rather too old for school ; and in her ignorance she 
 not only took me for an independent gentleman, but also 
 thought me a very good-looking one. I very soon con- 
 trived to ascertain her history ; and finding that she was 
 the only child of a very rich retired pawnbroker, I took 
 every opportunity of fostering and encouraging her pre- 
 possesion in my favour, — -threw up my engagement, fol- 
 lowed her to Blackheath, and subsequently to Boulogne- 
 sur-Mer, where I first had the happiness of making this 
 gentleman's acquaintance. Her father had not disco- 
 vered my profession ; but he had made inquiries about my 
 situation and prospects, which were so unsatisfactorily 
 answered, that he gave his daughter strict injunctions 
 never to speak to me again. We had now to contend 
 with a difficulty — and difficulties generally strengthen 
 the attachments of romantic young ladies : we were 
 resolved to carry on a clandestine correspondence, but 
 we were puzzled how to cloak it from the old gentle- 
 man's observation." 
 
 " Ay, so you adopted my Mackintosh ?" said David 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " We did so," replied Arden ; " and your discovery 
 of the trick brought matters to a climax. I persuaded 
 you to meet me, and at the same time despatched a note 
 to Miss Tatum, and one to this gentleman : to her, be- 
 cause my object in meeting you at all was to induce 
 the romantic young lady to marry the man who had 
 fought for her." 
 
 " And why to me?" inquired Kilkenny. 
 
 " Because, as soon as I was supposed to be in a dying 
 state, I knew I should require some active intelligent 
 gentleman who would remove my hated rival from the 
 field, and leave me and the lady of my love together." 
 
 " And a pretty set of dupes we were !" said Kilkenny.
 
 Kit) DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " As soon as you were gone, Miss Tatum in the an- 
 guish of the moment threw off all reserve, and de- 
 clared that if my life was spared, she would, in defiance 
 of consequences, brave her father's anger, and marry 
 the man whose blood then stained her pocket-handker- 
 chief." 
 
 " Well," said David, " you married her?" 
 
 " Unfortunately," replied Arden, " the most difficult 
 and embarrassing part of my performance yet remained 
 to be acted : / had also to throw off reserve, — to con- 
 fess that, instead of facing real danger, I had fallen at 
 the report of a pistol primed with powder only, and that 
 the stream of blood which saturated my Russia ducks 
 had been obtained at a pork-shop in Boulogne, and con- 
 veyed about my person in a little bladder until the pre- 
 cise moment when I wished to frighten away Mr. 
 Dumps, and to gain an entire ascendency over her too 
 susceptible heart. ' He will perish at my feet !' cried 
 the frantic girl; ' is there no help? let me bind up the 
 wound !' But still I put off the confession that there 
 was no wound at all, and, pressing her more closely in 
 my arms, affected to grow fainter and fainter. I never 
 was so completely puzzled in my life; for I dreaded, as 
 well I might, giving my heroine the matter-of-fact in- 
 formation that she had been making much ado about 
 nothing, and that I was perfectly well able to get up 
 and walk back to Boulogne with her. At last with 
 frantic energy she cried, ' Could I but be assured of 
 your eventual recovery, I would watch unwearied by 
 your side for months !' • Would you?' I replied: ' then 
 I have indeed put your affection sufficiently to the test.' 
 
 u * What do you mean?' said Rebecca, as I very 
 coolly rose from my recumbent position, and began to 
 remove my blood-stained garments, which were in fact 
 only overalls, and covered another suit. 
 
 " ' Be happy, my Rebecca !' I exclaimed : ' I am un- 
 hurt.' 
 
 " ' Unhurt!' cried the lady in utter amazement. 
 
 " ' Yes,' I answered, still arranging my costume, and 
 washing my hands and face with the contents of a bot- 
 tle of eau-de-Cologne which I had provided for the pur- 
 pose.
 
 DAVID DUMrS. 107 
 
 " ' I do not understand you, sir,' said she. 
 
 " ' The fact is, it was all a trick,' I replied. 
 
 " ' And I the dupe !' she exclaimed. 
 
 " ' No, no, — Mr. Dumps — my rival,' stammered I. 
 
 " ' Rival ! you are well aware he was no rival,' said 
 Miss Tatum indignantly. ' I was the person to be de- 
 ceived by this mountebank trick! Who are you, sir?' 
 
 "'Dearest! your devoted slave,' I answered in my 
 most insinuating tone. 
 
 " ' After this exhibition, sir, I desire to know who 
 and what you are V 
 
 " ' Until our first meeting,' I replied, ' I devoted my 
 hours of recreation to Thespian pursuits.' 
 
 "j In plain language, you were a strolling player.' 
 
 " ' I certainly had an engagement at — ' 
 
 " ' O what a fool I have been !' cried Rebecca, burst- 
 ing into tears. 
 
 " ' Forgive me ! oh, forgive me !' I exclaimed, throw- 
 ing myself on one knee, putting my head a little on one 
 side, and clasping my hands together. 
 
 " ' Rise, Mr. Arden,' said she with an effort to as- 
 sume composure: ' I feel that I have been much more 
 to blame than yourself, and I have to thank you for a 
 salutary lesson which I trust I never shall forget. Do 
 not interrupt me, — entreaty, argument, expostulation, 
 will be alike useless, — we part here probably never to 
 meet again ; and to prove that I do not resent that 
 which has truly been the result of my own want of 
 prudence, I request you will take my purse, which will 
 enable you the more easily to comply with my wishes 
 when I entreat you — nay, command you to leave this 
 place instantly, promising not to appear again in Bou- 
 logne, at least while I remain there.' 
 
 " I took the purse, which was heavy, and confessing 
 that without it I had not the means of leaving France. 
 I asked her to point out the mode of my departure. 
 
 " •' It is now past eleven,' she replied ; ' at twelve the 
 English coach to Calais will pass along that road which 
 runs within a few hundred yards of us. It will in all 
 probability arrive at Calais in time for the packet; and 
 should that be the case, you will be at Dover this even- 
 ing, and in London early to-morrow.'
 
 168 DAVID DUMP?. 
 
 " ' I obey you,' I exclaimed ; ' but let me hope that 
 years of devoted constancy may — ' 
 
 •• - Silence, sir !' interrupted the indignant lady. « 1 
 shall instantly return home by this path, which leads 
 along the edge of the cliffs to the houses on the Port: 
 presume not to follow me.' 
 
 " ' I will not,' I replied. 
 
 " ' And you will leave this place in the manner I have 
 suggested V she inquired. 
 
 " ' I give you my word that I will do so,' I answered, 
 honouring her for the good sense and decision which at 
 once extinguished all my hopes. 
 
 ••' Then, sir,' said she, 'farewell forever! I leave 
 you without anger, — nay, I leave you with regret, for 
 I cannot but upbraid myself, feeling, as I do, that my 
 folly has involved you in disappointment. God bless 
 you, Mr. Arden ! Should we ever meet again, and I 
 be in a situation to assist you in any way, do not hesi- 
 tate to apply to me: I shall consider it my duty to exert 
 myself in your behalf.' 
 
 " ' She loves me still,' thought I. 
 
 " ' But pray, understand, sir, that any future attempt 
 on your part to renew an intimacy or a correspondence 
 will entirely obliterate the good feeling which a sense 
 of justice now induces me to avow. I wish you success 
 and happiness, Mr. Arden,' she added : « and now, fare- 
 well !' 
 
 "And, without once turning her head, she walked 
 along the path which she had chosen. I stood in a 
 state of bewilderment, gazing after her, and fully ex- 
 pecting that one lingering look from the rapidly-depart- 
 ing figure would at least revive hope in my bosom ; but 
 she was resolute, and on she walked, never looking 
 back, until at length her form faded from my view. 
 I have never seen her since. The Telegraph coach 
 took me up at the hour she named ; and so propitious 
 were the winds and the tides, that I dined that day at 
 Dover, and breakfasted the next morning at the Golden 
 Cross, Charing-Cross." 
 
 "And, after all, I'm not a murderer!" exclaimed 
 David. 
 
 " Having now explained every thing, I will leave
 
 BBS 
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 169 
 
 you, gentlemen,'' said Arden. " It is very late, and 1 
 am sure Mr. Dumps requires repose." 
 
 " O that 1 had known all this six weeks ago !" cried 
 David after Arden had left the room. " I might have 
 explained everv thing to Mr. Mildmay, to Mr. Lomax, 
 and—" 
 
 David paused, and looked as miserable as if his hands 
 had still been stained with gore. 
 
 " By-the-by," said Mr. Cockle, " we have had letters 
 from Cheltenham. We did not like to annoy you ; but, 
 now that all can be explained, it is best to tell you that 
 your friends there are at least aware there was a rurnour 
 of a murder." 
 
 "You don't say so?" cried David. "Well, I must 
 write to-morrow." 
 
 " And I," said Kilkenny, " have had a letter from 
 Lorimer Lotnax : and there is one passage in his letter 
 which deeply concerns you." 
 " What is it ?" inquired David. 
 
 " Why, I should have hesitated to tell you ; but as you 
 voluntarily deserted the lady, there can be no great harm 
 in reading what he says." 
 
 " Read it," said David, breathlessly. 
 " Here it is," continued Kilkenny, producing the let- 
 ter : " read it yourself." 
 
 He pointed to the passage ; and David read aloud, 
 " I am groins; to be married to-morrow to your friend 
 Mr. Dumps's former love." 
 
 The letter fell from David's hand. 
 "To-morrow! — then they are married!" cried he: 
 " then the stain has been removed too late !" 
 
 "By-the-by," said Mr. Cockle, "you have not open- 
 ed your packet. 'Tis true we know every thing we 
 want to know without its aid ; but you may as well 
 break the seals." 
 
 " Open it," replied David, passively, handing the seal- 
 ed parcel across the table to Cockle. The seals were 
 broken, and the envelopes unfolded, until a small red 
 morocco case was visible; and on opening that, to 
 David's utter amazement, he beheld a very handsome 
 diamond necklace, with brooch, bracelets, and ear- 
 
 rings to match ! 
 
 15
 
 170 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " DARING ROBBERY! 
 " FIFTY POUNDS REWARD ! 
 
 " Whereas on the afternoon of the 10th instant a 
 person entered the shop of Messrs. Tatum and Swop, 
 number — , Blank Court, Cornhill, and by a false state- 
 ment, and the production of a card purporting to come 
 from one of the partners, he obtained possession of dia- 
 monds of very considerable value. He has been traced 
 to his lodgings in Arundel-street, Strand, by informa- 
 tion given by the hackney-coachman who conveyed him 
 there ; but, as he left the house abruptly that night it is 
 supposed he is gone towards the coast. He passed at 
 his lodgings under the name of David Dumps ; is about 
 five feet in height, between five-and-twenty and thirty 
 years of age, rather stout, dark wig, sallow complexion, 
 gray eyes, and a melancholy cast of countenance. 
 Whoever will give such information as may lead to his 
 apprehension will receive the above reward.'' 
 
 Before our hero left his bed in the morning after his 
 interview with George Arden, Captain Kilkenny entered 
 his room with the Morning Herald of the preceding day 
 in his hand, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Wish me joy ! I have fifty pounds at my command 
 this morning, when I least expected such a windfall." 
 
 " Fifty pounds !" cried David. " Ah, you are one of 
 the lucky ones ! I might look into newspapers long 
 enough before I should find any intelligence appertaining 
 to myself." 
 
 "Don't be too sure of that," replied Kilkenny. " Be- 
 sides, what are fifty pounds compared with those bril- 
 liants you exhibited last night?" 
 
 " Talking of those brilliants," answered he, sitting up 
 in bed, and looking even more serious than usual, "do 
 you know, I dreamt of them !" 
 
 "Did you indeed!" 
 
 " Yes: I thought I'd take another look at them ; and
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 171 
 
 when I opened the box, they were changed into a suit 
 of jet." 
 
 " Ominous, hey?" 
 
 " Very ominous. One thing is certain — they never 
 could be intended for me ; and should the error be dis- 
 covered, I suppose they'll make a very unpleasant row 
 about it." 
 
 " My good friend," said Kilkenny, " that is precisely 
 what has brought me to your bed-side at this unseason- 
 able hour. Prompt measures must instantly be taken ; 
 for the error is discovered, and the very unpleasant row 
 has commenced." 
 
 " You don't say so !" 
 
 "Yes, indeed ; and the fifty pounds I mentioned is the 
 precise sum I am to receive on delivering you into the 
 hands of justice." 
 
 " Oh !" cried poor David, throwing himself back in 
 his bed, " do it, — do it at once. I'll make no defence, — 
 I'll give no explanation, — I'd rather be killed than go on 
 as I have done all my life. I've been labouring under 
 an imputation of murder for months, and, what was 
 worse, thought myself guilty ; and now, the very day 
 that my character is cleared and my conscience relieved 
 of that crime, I am publicly accused of robbery ! — Take 
 the fifty pounds, and let me die !" 
 
 And David pulled the clothes over his head, and 
 rolling himself up in a ball, gave way to a low melan- 
 choly moaning. 
 
 " Come, come, man, this won't do !" said Kilkenny, 
 with difficulty refraining from laughter. " Peep out of 
 your nest, will you? Nay, for goodness' sake, don't 
 make that doleful noise! Let me see your face, and 
 listen to me calmly;" and he gradually revealed David's 
 countenance by forcibly pulling away the blanket. 
 
 "How can you ask me to be calm!" cried David, 
 starting up in a rage. "You're in a plot against me, — 
 all the world are up in arms against me, I believe." 
 
 "Your present difficulty can easily be removed," said 
 Kilkenny, "for all can be explained ; Cockle, myself, and 
 indeed several other witnesses, can prove that your ex- 
 planation is correct, and that you were yourself as-
 
 172 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 tonished at the contents of the packet, which you opened 
 in our presence." 
 
 " True," said David; "there's something in that." 
 
 " To be sure," added Kilkenny, " it. is unfortunate that 
 they should have obtained your name at your lodgings, 
 and made it public." 
 
 " My name ! — published ! — give me the paper !" ex- 
 claimed Dumps; and having hastily read the paragraph, 
 he again moaned, and again retired under the blankets. 
 
 Captain Kilkenny, seeing that consolation in the pre- 
 sent state of David's mind would be thrown away, went 
 at once to the respectable proprietor of the hotel, point- 
 ed out to him the paragraph, and acknowledged that the 
 occupant of "number thirty-seven" was the individual 
 alluded to therein. He, however, fully explained the 
 circumstances, and stated that Mr. Cockle and himself 
 were going to accompany Mr. Dumps immediately to 
 London. 
 
 Every morning and evening paper contained the pa- 
 ragraph we have quoted ; and as Mr. Dumps had, as a 
 matter of course, been addressed by his own name at 
 the hotel, Kilkenny's explanation was a matter of neces- 
 sity. Mr. Cockle, who lived within a morning's drive 
 of Bath, and always went to the same hotel, was a suf- 
 ficient guarantee for the accuracy of all the captain had 
 stated ; and, after an early breakfast, the trio set off for 
 London, Mr. Cockle leaving at his lodge-gate, as he 
 passed, a note explanatory of his sudden departure. 
 
 David said little during his journey ; and his kind and 
 considerate companions did not attempt to enliven him, 
 rightly judging that, until the imputation of felony was 
 removed, he could not be expected to shake off his de- 
 spondency. They arrived in London at night, so late 
 that no business in the city could be attended to ; but at 
 a very early hour, both Cockle and Kilkenny repaired 
 to number — , Blank Court, Cornhill, — replaced the 
 jewels, not in the hands of the careless Jew boy, but in 
 the possession of Tatum's confidential partner, and, after 
 full and satisfactory explanations, Mr. Swop prepared a 
 paragraph for the evening papers, contradictory of that 
 which had disturbed the peace of our well-meaning and 
 much-misunderstood hero.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 173 
 
 Left to himself for at least three hours, he had at first 
 paced his apartment with rapid and irregular strides ; 
 but as the conviction came upon him, that, however 
 humiliating it might be to have even temporary publicity 
 given to his name in connexion with a supposed rob- 
 bery, still his character must immediately be cleared, he 
 became more tranquil, and, sitting clown by the fire with 
 calmer feelings but with deeper gloom, he thought of 
 her, now, alas ! wedded to another, with whom he had 
 once hoped to unite his destiny! How galling to him 
 was the consideration that she must have seen, either in 
 the " Post," " Herald," " Times," or " Chronicle," 
 " Globe," "Courier," " Standard," or "Sun," the hated 
 paragraph ! Perhaps her husband at the breakfast-table 
 handed it with a smile to her across the muffins, secretly 
 exulting: in the degradation of even an unsuccessful rival : 
 and all this, too, at a time when her mind had already 
 been poisoned against him, and when his name was 
 whispered in connexion with a deed of blood ! 
 
 " I will write to her," said he to himself; — " yes, I 
 will write ; — I will ask for one interview, merely to clear 
 my character — she cannot refuse that : and then, though 
 we shall never meet again, I shall live — or die — compa- 
 ratively happy!" 
 
 When his two friends returned from their protracted 
 interview with Mr. Swop, they found him much more 
 composed than they expected. 
 
 " You may now," said Cockle, " feel perfectly at ease 
 — no one can ever esteem you less on account of this 
 extraordinary mistake — and we have brought you an 
 evening paper, containing the paragraph that fully and 
 unequivocally exonerates you." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Dumps: "I must send it off by 
 the post to Cheltenham, and at the same time this letter, 
 which I have written in your absence ; — pray tell me 
 Mr. Lomax's present address?" 
 
 " ' The Promenade, Cheltenham,' is sure to reach him," 
 said Kilkenny: "but why have you written to him on 
 the subject?" 
 
 " I have not written to him : I have written to — 
 to—" 
 
 15*
 
 174 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " To whom V said Cockle, inconsiderately. 
 
 " To his — wife," replied David, speaking thickly. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Cockle : " take care what you're 
 about." 
 
 "You may read the letter," said he: and Cockle, 
 taking it from his hand, read aloud as follows: 
 
 " Dear Madam, 
 
 " You may start at receiving a letter from one who, 
 however well known to you in former and, to him, hap- 
 pier days, has since been accused of two of the worst of 
 crimes — murder and robbery. Pray grant me one brief 
 interview, in which I may prove to you that I am inno- 
 cent: this will be some consolation to me during my 
 future solitary existence ; and wishing you every happi- 
 ness, I shall bless you for your kindness. I leave London 
 to-night, and shall be in Cheltenham when you receive 
 this; pray, therefore, put me out of suspense, and ad- 
 dress one line to me at the Waterloo Hotel. 
 " I remain, madam, 
 
 " Your obedient humble servant, 
 
 "David Dumps." 
 
 " Then you and your letter, I suppose start together 
 by the same conveyance?" said Cockle. 
 
 "Exactly so. I am unfortunately now so well known 
 at Cheltenham, that were I to write a note at the hotel 
 on my arrival and send it by a porter, my motives would 
 be questioned, and I should be mobbed before I could 
 keep my appointment in the Promenade. This letter, 
 with the newspaper, will be dcliverered by the postman, 
 while I shall rest quietly in my bedroom at an hotel, 
 where I trust I shall not be recognised, until I am sum- 
 moned by Mrs. Lomax's reply." 
 
 "It is not badly planned," replied Kilkenny ; "and 
 may success attend you !" 
 
 "Success!" said the sufferer with a ghastly smile; 
 " what have /to anticipate success in !" 
 
 "Well, let us hear of you, at least," cried Cockle. 
 " And remember, having well cleared your character, 
 you will be at liberty to select another lady, who may 
 not prove so fickle." 
 
 " You don't know me," answered David : " I never
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 175 
 
 should have had the courage to own I loved, had not 
 she — I beg your pardon — I shall be better bv-and- 
 by— " 
 
 "What?" said Kilkenny. 
 
 " — Had not she seemed to love me. But that illu- 
 sion is past: all I want now is to make her confess that 
 no misconduct on my part authorised her union with 
 another." 
 
 " When you want change of scene, come to Cockle 
 Hall — a cheerful country place, a pretty village, and a 
 healthy situation." 
 
 " Thank you," said David, perfectly recollecting the 
 agreeable morning he had spent there ; and shaking 
 hands with his friends, he went to prepare himself for 
 his journey. 
 
 The horn sounded ; " Cheltenham mail !" was shouted 
 by porters, waiters, boots, and chambermaids; and our 
 hero took his place with three other persons in the inte- 
 rior. He could not sleep. In how short a period would 
 he again stand before her who was still dearer to him 
 than all the world ! How soon would that brief inter- 
 view be over! — and then, what was to become of him? 
 to whom should he turn for consolation ? Such were 
 his cogitations during the long, dark, wintry night; and 
 in the morning he alighted at the Waterloo Hotel, Chel- 
 tenham, thoroughly worn out, and dispirited. 
 
 David entered the inn enveloped in a cloak, the collar 
 of which was elevated to hide as much of the lower part of 
 his face as possible; and on his head was a seal-skin cap, 
 very much the colour of sponge, the flaps of which were 
 lowered and nearly enveloped the upper part of his face, 
 so that neither the waiter who ushered him in, nor the 
 chambermaid who prepared his room, could form the 
 least guess what manner of man he was. 
 
 From the inmost recesses of his cap and the collar of 
 his cloak came forth a muffled voice demanding a fire 
 and hot water; and both these luxuries being obtained, 
 he double-locked his door, and threw himself upon the 
 bed. 
 
 Suddenly he started up, enveloped himself as before, 
 rang the bell, and inquired of the chambermaid whether 
 the post was yet delivered.
 
 170 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 " The man's just been here with the letters," said 
 Sarah, simpering. 
 
 " Oh, he has been here; — none for me, of course?" 
 
 '• You haven't told me your name, sir," said Sarah. 
 
 " I know— there can be none for me," added David. 
 " Tell me, my good girl, are the letters delivered at the 
 same hour in the Promenade?" 
 
 " Much about the same," said Sarah. 
 
 " She's got it, then !" cried he, clasping his hands. 
 " You may go." 
 
 Again Sarah departed to tell the waiter she couldn't 
 make out the man in the cloak; and David locked his 
 door once more. Presently he again roused himself: 
 
 '• If her answer is brought, as they do not know my 
 name, they will let it lie in the bar." 
 
 Again he rang the bell, and Sarah made her appear- 
 ance"; and this time the mysterious stranger threw off 
 the incognito so far as to say, that if any letter was left 
 for Mr. Dumps, it must be brought to him directly. 
 
 Can any torture exceed the anxiety of moments like 
 these ! — the waiting, watching, eagerly listening for a 
 person or a letter which comes not ! Now he started 
 up, and paced the room backwards and forwards; then, 
 hearing a noise below or on the stairs, he ran to the 
 door and opened it, and went forward a few paces and 
 peeped over the bannisters. But as the noise subsided, 
 and no one sought his room, he again retired, and sat 
 down by his fire and poked it; and having utterly done 
 away with the very little inclination which it had hither- 
 to shown to light up, he threw down the poker, and 
 paced his narrow den. 
 
 A renewal of the noise below again attracted him 
 forth, and he heard a voice saying, 
 
 " You are sure that is his name?" 
 
 " Yes, sir; he said so," was the reply. 
 
 " A new arrival ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 He now distinctly heard somebody coming towards 
 his room, — he did not dare to breathe. There was a 
 knock at the door, and Sarah, smilingly entered, saying, 
 " A letter for you, sir."
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 177 
 
 Without turning his head, ho pointed to the table, and 
 murmured, " Put it down." 
 
 He could not have ventured to open it in the presence 
 of Sarah or any other human being! 
 
 When he was again alone, he rose, locked the door, 
 walked to the table on which lay the letter, looked at it, 
 took it up, threw it down, and felt as if he were going 
 to faint. 
 
 "What is the matter with me?" cried he at last. 
 "Let me know at once whether I am to see her again." 
 With trembling hand he broke the seal and took off the 
 envelope. (What a bore is an envelope to a man in a 
 hurry !) He unfolded the enclosure, and read as follows: 
 " The Master of the Ceremonies' first Ball for the win- 
 ter season will take place on Thursday next, the sixteenth 
 of December" 
 
 David crumpled it up in his hands, and made use of 
 an expression exceedingly indecorous, and improper for 
 us to transcribe, and most unceremonious as applied to a 
 master of the ceremonies. 
 
 But the period of suspense must one way or another, 
 sooner or later, come to an end; and when Sarah again 
 knocked at the door, she brought an exceedingly small 
 envelope of pink paper, containing the minutest possible 
 note, extremely odoriferous, and in pale blue ink was 
 written the following brief address: 
 " To David Dumps, Esq. 
 
 " Mrs. Lorimer Lomax presents her compliments to 
 Mr. Dumps, and will be happy to receive him as soon as 
 it is convenient to him to favour her with a call." 
 
 Mrs. Lorimer Lomax ! Yes, there it was, — not ex- 
 actly in black and white, but in pink and blue ! She had 
 indeed renounced and forgotten him, and she now un- 
 feelingly addressed him under the hated name which 
 identified her as another's ! A rumour may be false, an 
 assertion incorrect ; and he had travelled to Cheltenham 
 with a vague, indistinct, unacknowledged notion that, 
 after all, he might be happy; but now the rumour was 
 corroborated by her own pen, and he crushed the letter 
 in his hand. But there was no time for inactive regrets: 
 he put on his great-coat, and prepared for his visit. He 
 would now have given worlds to have avoided this in-
 
 1 * N DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 terview ; but lie had sought it, had travelled many miles 
 to obtain it, and the lady had condescended to grant his 
 very urgent request. He could not, therefore, think of 
 evading it, and therefore slowly and reluctantly he 
 walked towards the Promenade. 
 
 "Alas!" said he to himself, " I know her well, — she 
 will laugh at me! Oh, Clara, Clara! would that we had 
 never met!" 
 
 He knocked at the door, and the footman ushered him 
 up stairs into the drawing-room, where he was left alone 
 to meditate over the little articles of bijouterie which 
 ornamented the tables. 
 
 " Here she spends her mornings," soliloquised David; 
 " here she probably read the account of my imputed rob- 
 bery, — here she received my letter, and there lies the pen 
 with which she this morning addressed me. Here, too, 
 her husband sits with her, and talks to her, and doubtless 
 abuses me. Oh ! why came I hither?" 
 
 But he heard a footstep, — he turned, and the master 
 of the house, the husband of the lady, stood before him, 
 and holding out his hand, uttered a frank and hearty 
 welcome. 
 
 David could not take the proffered hand, — he could 
 not speak : — there was something so heartless in a man's 
 supplanting another in the affections of a girl, being all 
 the time perfectly aware of their attachment, and then 
 asuming towards him so grossly wronged the language 
 of friendship. David sank down on a chair. 
 
 "My good sir," exclaimed Lomax, "you have, I fear, 
 suffered much since we met." 
 
 " I have indeed," replied David. 
 
 " But now, I trust, your sorrows are over." 
 
 "Over!" 
 
 " Yes ; be assured that no one has the slightest doubt 
 of your integrity : you have not lost one friend in con- 
 sequence of that unfortunate rumour." 
 
 " Not lost a friend !" said his visiter biitterly ; " no, 
 perhaps not, for I had not one friend left." 
 
 " Nay, you really wrong us : to say nothing of others, 
 there are mvself and Mrs. Lomax." 
 
 " Mrs. Lomax !"
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 179 
 
 "Yes ; you did profess once to take an interest in her, 
 and she really has felt much for you." 
 
 " Well !" exclaimedDavid, " this really exceeds every 
 thing I could have anticipated." 
 
 " What do you mean, my good fellow?" said Lomax. 
 " Why, after all that has passed between Mrs. Lomax 
 and myself within the last two months, 1 really think I 
 might have been spared — " 
 
 "Passed between you? O dear me! speak to her 
 yourself — you must have misinterpreted her intentions. 
 Here she is." 
 
 The door opened; Mr. Dumps rose from his seat; 
 and Mrs. Lorimer Lomax, in the form of Miss Rebecca 
 Tatum, entered the room. David sank down again, 
 and the lady, crossing the room, and, with some con- 
 fusion of manner, extended her hand towards him. 
 " Miss Tatum !" exclaimed he. 
 
 " Mrs. Lomax you must call me now," she replied ; 
 " and as I was a very giddy, foolish, girl when we last 
 met, I shall beg you to forget the past, and to date our 
 acquaintance from this day." 
 
 "You seem astonished!" exclaimed Lomax. "I 
 thought you were aware of my marriage with your old 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " I am astonished indeed," replied David. 
 " Yet surely," said Rebecca, " your letter alluded to 
 our former meeting." 
 
 " Oh dear no : I thought I was addressing another lady !" 
 " Then Who, in the name of wonder, did you think 
 I had married ?" inquired Lomax. 
 " Clara ; I mean, Miss Titterton." 
 " Oh, I understand now." 
 " And is she — " he paused. 
 " Married, you mean ?" added Lomax. 
 David nodded, but could not speak. 
 " She is free," replied Lomax. 
 
 " And I came here expecting to see her your bride !" 
 exclaimed David, draining a bumper of Madeira from 
 the luncheon tray which had been placed beside him. 
 
 "Why, she was his confidant," said Rebecca; " and 
 he assures me he used to sit by her side for hours 
 together talking about me !"
 
 180 DAVID DUMl'S. 
 
 " Very suspicious, was it not ?" replied Lomax. 
 " I care not," cried David, " if Clara be but still 
 unmarried." 
 
 ■ And what made you think she was my wife?" 
 " Because, in one of your letters to Kilkenny, you 
 said you were going to be married to — " He stopped 
 suddenly, and looked awkward. 
 
 " Oh, I remember what I said perfectly," replied 
 Lomax. " I was going to be married to your ' old 
 flame ;' that was the expression — and very true, was it 
 not r 
 
 " No, no,—' old friend 1 would have been much more 
 appropriate," answered the lady. 
 
 "The devil take such friendship!" thought David, 
 as the intercepted correspondence with George Arden 
 flashed upon his memory. But he had now seen a little 
 of the world; so he smiled at Mr. Lomax, bowed to 
 Mrs. Lomax, and kept his thoughts to himself. 
 
 " And now can we be of any use to you ?" said Lo- 
 max : " will you dine with us to-day?' 
 
 " To be candid, I must acknowledge, I can enter into 
 no engagement — I can think of nothing — until I have 
 seen Clara." 
 
 " Of course not," replied Mrs. Lomax considerately : 
 " they still live in Cambray." 
 
 " I must go thither; — and yet perhaps I ought to pre- 
 pare her for the visit. You are acquainted with her; 
 will you do me the favour of calling there, my name 
 having been so unfortunately linked with your father's?" 
 " Oh, that horrid mistake !" interrupted the lady : 
 " we all know you were not to blame." 
 
 " Well, then, will you announce my arrival to her 1" 
 " Why, I know her very slightly ; but here is one of 
 her most intimate friends, who, I am sure, will be happy 
 to oblige you." 
 
 The door opened, and a stout good-looking lady 
 walked in and shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Lomax; 
 and then the latter, turning round, exclaimed, 
 
 '• Dear me! I must not forget to make you two ac- 
 quainted. Lady Betty O'Flaney, allow me to present 
 Mr. David Dumps." 
 
 V
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 181 
 
 "David Dumps!'' cried her ladyship, sitting down 
 hastily, and holding her handkerchief before her face. 
 
 And Mr. Dumps, perfectly well recollecting when and 
 where he had last seen that lady, immediately seized his 
 hat, bowed himself out of the room, and left the house. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 With a palpitating heart and a trembling hand David 
 knocked at Mr. Titterton's door in Cambray Place. 
 But, however confused his thoughts might be, he had 
 the discretion to ask for Mr. Mildmay; and that gentle- 
 man being at home, he was at once ushered into the 
 drawing-room. Mr. Mildmay joined him immediately, 
 and received him with a kindness which at once dis- 
 pelled all his anxiety. 
 
 " We have been very much interested about you," 
 said he. 
 
 " You saw that paragraph, I fear?" replied David. 
 
 " Oh yes ; but I received a letter from London which 
 exonerated you, even before I read the newspaper re- 
 futation." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " And I have heard a full and particular account of 
 your interview with Mr. Arden." 
 
 " You astonish me !" 
 
 " Oh, you have not been forgotten by your friends, 
 I assure you, though you did leave us all so cavalierly. 
 Why did you not frankly confide the truth to me? all 
 would have been well, and you, as well as other people, 
 might have been spared much anxiety." 
 
 " I dared not," replied David : " indeed, until I saw 
 Mr. Arden, I really supposed him dead." 
 
 " Well, we must have no more misunderstandings." 
 
 " Indeed I hope not. I came to Cheltenham to enter 
 into every explanation which could be demanded." 
 
 " Oh, I am sorry for that," said Mildmay. 
 
 " Nay, you have kindly acknowledged that you were 
 all interested for me; therefore an explanation could not 
 
 16
 
 182 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 be intrusive. May I ask what kind friend it was who 
 wrote my exculpation from the charge of robbery, be- 
 fore you read it in the paper V 
 
 " Certainly, — it was my niece." 
 
 "Clara?" 
 
 " Yes, Clara. She has been in London since Mon- 
 day, staying with my unmarried sister in Baker-street." 
 
 "And Mr. Titterton?" 
 
 "He is with her. I stayed behind to arrange some 
 trifling business, and mean to join them to-morrow." 
 
 " Then, pray let me travel with you," exclaimed 
 David. " I have come to Cheltenham to very little 
 purpose ; and now the sooner I go back to London the 
 better. I once offered to become your travelling com- 
 panion from Arras : you avoided me then,— perhaps I 
 shall be more fortunate now." 
 
 Mr. Mildmay willingly acceded to his proposal, and 
 at an early hour the next morning they were on their 
 way to the metropolis. 
 
 Clara Titterton had, as Mr. Mildmay said, written him 
 the true statement of David's imputed misdemeanor; and 
 having also seen Captain Kilkenny since her arrival in 
 London, she was aware that he was as innocent of mur- 
 der as he was of felony. We have already sufficiently 
 betrayed her kindly feelings towards David; and when 
 her uncle announced to her that he had been his travel- 
 ling companion, and would in all probability pay her a 
 very early visit the next day, she laughingly said that 
 she supposed he was then to "be put upon his trial. 
 
 " And what will your verdict be?" 
 
 " Oh !" cried Clara, " I am no judge." 
 
 " His fate is in your hands." 
 
 " Well, then, I'll acquit him, and send him about his 
 business." 
 
 " No, no, — keep him out of harm's way for the 
 future." 
 
 Clara laughed ; but she did not think of the meeting 
 that was in store for her without many a serious reflec- 
 tion. Was David for ever to be the victim of petty an- 
 noyances? — and was she, if united to him, doomed to 
 participate in the discomfort which they entailed? She 
 had no such dread ; she knew right well that any in-
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 183 
 
 active mind must inevitably be depressed by trifles 
 which would pass unheeded by one whose hands and 
 thoughts were well employed. 
 
 When he appeared before her, and for the first time 
 ventured to kiss her cheek, she laughed heartily, and 
 told him that his adventures would entitle him to be- 
 come a hero of romance. 
 
 " And will you be my heroine V said he. 
 
 " Certainly not !" exclaimed Clara : " I must have no 
 more adventures." 
 
 " And how will you extricate me from them?" 
 
 " Just as I would keep children out of mischief, — by 
 giving them something to do." 
 
 " But what can I do at my age ? I am too old for a 
 profession." 
 
 " Fortunately, as I'm told, you are rich enough to 
 dispense with professional pursuits; but, depend on it, 
 you would have been happier in a surplice, a barrister's 
 wig, a sailor's jacket, or a soldier's coat." 
 
 " It may be so ; but regret comes too late." 
 
 " Not a bit of it : there is employment for every man 
 who has intellect and a right hand. Leaving literary 
 pursuits out of the question, you can cultivate cabbages, 
 or turn ivory toys, or stick pins in insects, and arrange 
 them side by side in glass cases ; nay, men had better 
 make cabbage-nets, or do worsted work, however effe- 
 minate some may deem such employments — far better 
 than loiter and lounge about the world, simpering at the 
 follies of other people, and laying themselves open to any 
 hoax, jest, or worry, which the idle in their folly may 
 wantonly throw upon them." 
 
 " There's some truth in what you say, certainly," said 
 David ; " and to prove I think so, in future I will endea- 
 vour to find for every season an appropriate occupa- 
 tion." 
 
 There is no period in people's lives so intensely in- 
 teresting to themselves as that between the final ar- 
 rangement that they are to be married and the wedding- 
 day itself. But the principal performers of the scene 
 are so wrapped up in each other, that they become unfit 
 for general society, and to quiet lookers-on the perform- 
 ance is any thing but agreeable. We will therefore
 
 184 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 spare the reader the details of a four months' engage- 
 ment, and ushering him into the spring-time of the year, 
 we will seek our hero and heroine in the Zoological 
 Gardens, precisely one week before the day fixed for 
 their wedding. 
 
 "Are they not lively dears?" said Clara. 
 
 " What, — the monkeys ?" replied David. " Yes, suf- 
 ficiently so to make a human being never wish to be 
 lively." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! Look at that grave cogitating mon- 
 key by himself in the corner, — surely he is more laugh- 
 able than his neighbours. Since we must resemble 
 them, be as much like the merry ones as possible, I beg 
 of you." 
 
 " Come and walk with me in a more retired path." 
 pleaded the lover. 
 
 "Why so?" replied Clara; gently yielding. 
 
 " Ah !" he exclaimed, " you cannot fully enter into my 
 feelings, — you have loved before." 
 
 " You are very impertinent," said Clara, "to impute- 
 any thing of the kind to me. But I do not mean to spoil 
 you by allowing you to suppose that you are ' my first 
 iove, my only iove." You, too, cannot dciYy that you 
 have loved long before we met." 
 
 " Never," replied David. 
 
 " Never !" 
 
 " No, never, — I never professed the slightest prefer- 
 ence for any one before I saw you." 
 
 " Indeed !" said Clara, and at that moment they ap- 
 proached the elephant's play place, and among the num- 
 bers who were assembled round it was a lady who came 
 forward to David with a most insinuating smile. 
 
 " Surely I cannot be mistaken," said she in a voice of 
 sweetest tone : " Mr. Dumps, I believe ?" 
 
 David bowed. 
 
 " Oh, you really must not forget me. Do you not re- 
 member those sweet days we passed together at Mal- 
 vern, when that dear Lavinia was with me?" 
 
 "Who was dear Lavinia?" whispered Clara mali- 
 ciously. 
 
 " I know you doted on Lavinia, and I've often thought
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 185 
 
 she was very silly ; but Claverton and she are gone to 
 sweet Italy. Claverton is a dear fellow, after all." 
 
 " I hope Mr. Jones is well ?" said David, feeling it 
 necessary to say something. 
 
 " Yes, tolerable, — that is, for him. He's quite my 
 misery — gout, rheumatism, and lumbago. And such 
 lodgings as we have !" 
 
 " I shall do myself the pleasure of calling." 
 
 "Oh no, don't, — there's no Lavy now, and the stairs 
 are vile, — I'm at home to nobody. But I've heard of 
 your intended marriage," added Airs. Jones; and putting 
 up her glass at Clara, she added in a half whisper, 
 " Well, you could not expect another Lavy, young and 
 lovely, and your soul's first idol. I wish you well, Mr. 
 Dumps." And away she went. 
 
 "•Well," exclaimed Clara, laughing, "this is really 
 too good! You, who were so vehemently professing 
 never to have smiled on a young lady before, are now 
 actually convicted of a proposal, and a refusal!" 
 
 " All a misrepresentation, I assure you," said her ad- 
 mirer ; and as they walked round the garden, he told 
 Clara all his Malvern history. 
 
 " And," exclaimed Clara when he had finished, " do 
 you really suppose that I wished for such an explana- 
 tion; or that I, at my age, (rather older than yourself, 
 I believe,) pretend to say that I never had a lover till I 
 saw you V 
 
 " That I never thought likely ; but I can positively 
 say, /never loved till I saw you." 
 
 Luckily for David, they were now at the gate of the 
 gardens ; and when he had handed Clara into her father's 
 carriage, she had barely time for a shake of the head 
 and a knowing laugh ere she vanished from his sight. 
 
 But we have declared that we will not dwell upon 
 these trivial details; and however much we may wish 
 to keep our hero single, (and what is a hero when once 
 he becomes a Benedict ?) we now find ourselves hurried 
 to the evening immediately preceding the wedding-day. 
 
 David and his intended were sitting together; he 
 silently cogitating on the future — she inspecting the 
 bridal dress and veil, which had just been brought home. 
 
 16* '
 
 ISO DAVID DC MPS. 
 
 " A letter from our friends at Cockle Hall," said he 
 after reading a despatch which had been delivered to 
 him, "to remind us of our promised visit." 
 
 "Well," replied Clara, "it is all settled. We are to 
 be with them the day after to-morrow, to take an early 
 dinner, on our way to Bath." 
 
 " Yes, Cockle and Kilkenny will not return home un- 
 til that day : they are gone to some party in the neigh- 
 bourhood." 
 
 " Well, I leave all the arrangements to you," replied 
 Clara : " to-morrow is Friday." 
 
 " Yes, by-the-by, we ought not to have been married 
 on a Friday !" 
 
 " Nonsense! — on Saturday we shall reach our friends 
 early." 
 
 "■ Yes," replied David ; " we sleep within twenty miles 
 of Cockle Hall." 
 
 " Another packet for you, I protest !" 
 
 "For me!" exclaimed David : " gloves — white gloves, 
 of course; I wonder who sent them!" And he delibe- 
 rately unfolded the paper. They were, as he supposed, 
 a wedding present of gloves : and no doubt the donor 
 had intended to send a dozen pair of white kid ; but by 
 some mischance, only eleven pair of white had been 
 packed up, and the twelfth pair was one of black hid 
 for mourning! Clara leant back in her chair, laughing, 
 when she saw them ; but David threw them down, pale 
 and trembling, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Oh, Clara, we ought not to marry on a Friday !" 
 
 But notwithstanding David's misgivings, at an early 
 hour on Friday morning Baker-street was in a state of 
 unusual excitement. The habitation of Miss Mildmay, 
 generally the most tranquil house in the street, was be- 
 sieged by various artisans at a period when the gentle 
 spinster was on ordinary occasions slumbering in her 
 own apartment. 
 
 She had liberally offered to give Clara a breakfast 
 after the ceremony ; and Guntcr's men, with baskets, 
 trays, and ice-pails, gave the note of preparation soon 
 after daylight. 
 
 Then appeared maid-servants at the area gate dressed 
 in their very best, eager to talk to the milk-woman, and
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 187 
 
 the muffin-man, and the baker who brought the three 
 dozen extra rolls for the dejeuni d, la fourchette ; and 
 
 Mr. Mildmay's man and Mr. Titterton's man having 
 new liveries on the occasion, came and lounged at the 
 door, apparently only to talk to one another, but in 
 reality to show themselves to the maids at the two op- 
 posite houses, who were busy dusting their respective 
 drawing-rooms. 
 
 Ten o'clock came, and the bridal party having some 
 distance to go to church, (for David, faithful to old asso- 
 ciations, would be married at that nearest to Burying- 
 ground Buildings, Paddington Road,) Mr. Titterton's 
 carriage came to the door, and was soon followed by 
 Mr. O'FIaney's and Mr. Mildmay's. There were very 
 few people to witness the departure of the little party to 
 the church: it was too early for an assemblage of im- 
 portance; but the maids had said enough to excite the 
 curiosity of the muffin-man, and a Jew who sold old 
 clothes stood by his side to see Clara in white satin and 
 orange blossoms step into the carriage, followed by two 
 lovely bridemaids, and accompanied by her father, her 
 uncle, and Mr. and Lady Betty O'Flaney. 
 
 But what was wanting to give effect and importance to 
 the departure, was amply compensated for when the party 
 about mid-day returned from the church. There was 
 David's new chariot, and three more private carriages 
 in addition to those we have already mentioned ; and 
 there were two or three cabs belonging to smart-look- 
 ing men, who left their tigers in charge of the horses. 
 Then there were six or eight hackney-coaches, nice 
 clean yellow ones, evidently not taken at random, but 
 judiciously selected from several stands. And there 
 were at least six flies ; but they ought to have been men- 
 tioned before the hackney-coaches, because, though they 
 are drawn only by one horse, there is a sort of privacy 
 and gentility about them with which jarvies cannot pre- 
 tend to compete. In the rear of all, a few hack cabs 
 were indistinctly seen : but perhaps we are injudicious 
 in alluding to them. 
 
 The street, too, began now to assume an air of bustle, 
 and curiosity adequate to the occasion. The muffin- 
 man having gone his rounds in unusual haste, had re-
 
 1>S DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 sunied his post; and by ids side was the old clothesman, 
 whose bag was much swelled since we last saw him. 
 The man widi Punch and Judy lingered before the house; 
 but. with singular good taste and delicacy of feeling, he 
 refrained from exhibiting his hero and heroine, not wish- 
 ing to throw into shade the bride and bridegroom. A 
 band with drum and panspipes, and an organ, began 
 a charming and appropriate melody ; only the organ 
 played in one key and the panspipes in another, and the 
 drum was banged indiscriminately in no key at all. Im- 
 mediately opposite to the windows, the Italian boy with 
 images on a tray took his station ; and another sallow 
 dark-eyed urchin, who had a monkey tied to the end of 
 a long string, allowed the beast to climb up to the bal- 
 conv, and enter the drawing-room where the guests were 
 eating the bridal breakfast. 
 
 Suddenly the monkey retreated from the drawing- 
 room: there was evidently a movement among the 
 guests ; the hall-door opened, and David led forth Mrs. 
 Dumps, handed her into the carriage, and seated himself 
 by her side. Hands and handkerchiefs were waved 
 from the balcony ; the postilions in the red jackets and 
 the white favours had their orders, and the four horses 
 dashed off towards the Bath road, bearing behind them 
 our happy couple. Surely at that auspicious moment 
 even David Dumps forgot that his wedding-day was a 
 Fridav ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 When Becky Tatum " breathed her last adieu" to 
 gentle George Arden near Napoleon's pillar on the hills 
 by Boulogne-sur-Mer, it may be supposed that she really 
 deeply felt her humiliation, and that she was not exag- 
 gerating when she said that she had received a lesson 
 which would never be obliterated from her mind. 
 
 We fear that her unfortunate, though innocent, inti- 
 macy with a young man of whose birth, parentage, and 
 education she knew nothing, may have very seriously 
 prejudiced our readers against her : but let it be remem-
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 189 
 
 bered that there were some allowances to be made for 
 her. 
 
 Low-born and low-bred, she was sent to a high-polish- 
 ing establishment, where she associated with girls de- 
 stined to move in a sphere very different to her own, 
 and where, unfortunately, she also acquired habits and 
 notions utterly unfit for the pawnbroker's daughter. We 
 do not mean to say that the wives of courtiers and right 
 honourables have not started forth from pickle-jars, 
 blacking-bottles, and very possibly from the sanctorum 
 of " my uncle" decorated with three brass balls over 
 the door: it would be well if courtiers and right honour- 
 ables never descended hirer than to the virtuous daugh- 
 ters of respectable retired tradesmen. But admitting 
 that tradesmen's daughters may make what are called 
 great marriages, and not stopping to inquire whether 
 such marriages are really satisfactory in their results, 
 we merely mean to state, that it often happens that the 
 highly-educated and refined daughter does not attract 
 the attention of some impoverished lordling or needy 
 scion of a noble house; and then, when she leaves 
 school, what is to be her fate? 
 
 We have seen that Rebecca Tatum's residence at 
 Miss Perfect's academy was prolonged beyond the usual 
 period ; home was hateful to her, and she continued as 
 a sort of parlour-boarder long after her companions of 
 her own age had joyously returned home. 
 
 Now, if~Becky Tatum, thought her father an exceed- 
 ingly vulgar, ungentlemanlike person, and felt his society 
 absolutely unbearable, it was not her own fault. All the 
 young ladies brought up at Miss Perfect's school would 
 have voted him intolerable ; and Becky merely evinced 
 that aversion for bad manners which it was one of the 
 main objects of Miss Perfect to inculcate. Let us, then, 
 so far do justice to the pawnbroker's daughter as to ex- 
 onerate her from at least a portion of the blame, and 
 acknowledge that had she been sent to Mrs. Snooks's 
 school, (where Tatum's neighbours Bubb the grocer and 
 Wallop the hosier sent their daughters,) she would have 
 thought home, as it really was, a 'much finer place than 
 Mrs. Snooks's house; would have looked forward to 
 her holidays with delight; and would not only have
 
 11HI 
 
 DAVID Dl'Ml'S. 
 
 sworn eternal friendship for the Miss Bubbs and the 
 Miss Wallops, but would also in due course of time very 
 probably have become a member of one or other of 
 those families. The great error lay, then, in the unpo- 
 lished father and mother sending their only child to an 
 instructress whose professed business it was to teach her 
 to be as unlike them as possible, and to render her so 
 refined and fastidious as to be miserable in their society. 
 If such a girl marries, she is so far removed from them 
 as to be little incommoded by their vulgarity ; and if 
 they can receive her aggrandisement as a recompense 
 for the filial aflection which they might have received 
 from a girl differently brought up, the parents have no- 
 thing to complain of. But should she not marry, how 
 wretched is the refined lady in the parlour of the un- 
 refined parents! 
 
 Such was Miss Tatum's case, and she remained at 
 school until the death of her mother. That she was 
 anxious to marry is certain: she thought of a prolonged 
 residence at Blackheath with horror. When Mr. George 
 Arden uttered many things very flattering to her vanity, 
 seeing that he looked like a gentleman, she began to 
 hope that he was the being destined to snatch her from 
 a home she hated, and from the morning and evening 
 visitations of the Miss Wallops and the Miss Bubbs, 
 and, above all, the very pointed attentions of Mr. An- 
 thony Wallop and Mr. Nathaniel Bubb— those gentle- 
 men having latterly stepped forward as rival suitors for 
 the honour of her hand and fortune. 
 
 We do not vindicate her clandestine encouragement 
 of Mr. Arden ; but we blame her parents more than 
 herself. For her unguarded conduct, and for her con- 
 nivance at the trick played oft* by her lover on poor 
 unsuspecting Mr. Dumps, she was, as we have seen, 
 most amply punished, and she returned to her father's 
 lodgings full of shame and repentance. 
 
 81 ie had met no one that morning in her walk but 
 Captain Kilkenny. She afterwards passed him as if 
 she was unconscious that she had ever seen him before; 
 and she very soon prevailed on her father to leave Bou- 
 logne and return to Blackheath. 
 
 She there did every thing in her power to atone for
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 191 
 
 the past; and though her father, good unsuspecting 
 man, never heard one word of the sanguinary meeting, 
 (so influential to poor David's fate, and so distressing to 
 poor Rebecca,) she felt that it was her duty by future 
 attention to make amends for past neglect and duplicity. 
 She therefore assured him that Mr. Arden was dis- 
 carded, and would never be again received by her; and 
 he having turned Mr. Dumps out of the house as the 
 detected go-between, felt perfectly satisfied, gave his 
 daughter a kiss, and asked no more questions. 
 
 Old Tatum was overjoyed at Rebecca's change of 
 manner. She did not avoid him : she always came 
 down to receive him when he returned from the city; 
 she would listen to him when he talked for half an hour 
 together about things utterly uninteresting to her ; and 
 she would sit down and sing and play to him without 
 reluctance whenever he asked her, even though his 
 favourite tune was " Merrily danced the quaker's wife," 
 and his chosen song " Billy Taylor was a brisk young 
 fellow." 
 
 When the neighbours came to see her, she would sit 
 in silent smiling endurance, and look at them, and listen, 
 to them, and do her very best, until they all w T ent away; 
 and then she would cry half the night in her own room. 
 But on Anthony Bubb she could not smile, to Nathaniel 
 Wallop she could not listen; and when the more mus- 
 cular and richer Nat drove from the field the weak but 
 less offensive Tony, nearly driven to distraction by his 
 perseverance, and by her father's urging her to "give 
 oyer snubbing him, and to make up her mind to Take 
 him for better or worse, as he was a werry nice young 
 man and not to be sneezed at," she became seriously 
 ill; and having, when her father was frightened at her 
 paleness, prevailed on him finally to send the nice young 
 man about his business, she readily seconded the advice 
 of the physician, and they went to Cheltenham for 
 change of air and scene. 
 
 The accomplishments which she had acquired at Miss 
 Perfect's academy were now her greatest comforts; and 
 during her father's frequent absences, (for he never was 
 long happy without going to see what was doing at
 
 192 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 what he was pleased to call " his counting house,") her 
 harp and pianoforte were her only companions. 
 
 It so happened, however, that she one day met in the 
 Well-walk one of her old school-fellows with whom she 
 had been very intimate. She was now married, and 
 at her house Miss Tatum spent many most delightful 
 evenings; and there she first met Mr. Lorimer Lomax. 
 
 No one will wonder that he should admire the pretty 
 and interesting heiress: her admirable playing and the 
 melody of her voice were alone sulficient to captivate 
 him. That he should in time seek her, engage her 
 attention, woo her, and win her, notwithstanding a cer- 
 tain disparity of years, will perhaps appear less sur- 
 prising, when it is remembered the life that she had 
 lately led, and that the hateful persecutions of a Bubb 
 and a Wallop threw into most favourable contrast the 
 delicate and respectful attentions of one who united 
 with polished and gentlemanlike manners, an amiable 
 disposition, and no small taste for the science in which 
 she so eminently excelled. 
 
 Miss Tatum resided in Cambray Place, within a few 
 doors of Miss Titterton; and when Mr. Lomax on 
 moonlight nights paraded that street with his light gui- 
 tar, many supposed that the deserted Clara was the fair 
 object that attracted him. 
 
 After meeting that young lady at the house of Mr. 
 O'Flaney, he became on terms of intimacy; and she, 
 knowing his former acquaintance with David, encou- 
 raged his visits, being all the time well aware of his 
 attachment, and, indeed, engagement, to her fair neigh- 
 In air. All this occurred after David's abrupt departure 
 from Cheltenham; and gentlemen of a certain age having 
 no time to lose, every thing was arranged during the 
 two months which our hero passed so miserably in 
 Arundel-street, Strand : Lomax, having heard from Re- 
 becca the particulars of her former acquaintance with 
 David, (for she was too thoroughly reformed and had 
 too much good sense to conceal such events from the 
 man who was to be her husband,) he, in a letter to Kil- 
 kenny, written the day before his marriage, briefly 
 stated that his future wife had been " a former flame" 
 of David's ; and thus was he led to suppose that he was
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 193 
 
 cleared from the charge of murder and robbery, at the 
 verv moment when she for whose sake he had so ear- 
 nestly prayed that his innocence would be established 
 was lost to him for ever. After their marriage, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Lorimer Lomax spent a few days at Malvern, 
 and then returned to Cheltenham and established them- 
 selves in a house on the Promenade, where David found 
 them in the manner we have already described. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 If it be indiscreet to accompany lovers in the confi- 
 dential rambles which immediately precede the wed- 
 ding-day, ought we not, when we shut them up in their 
 travelling-carriage, and see the lady's maid safely seated 
 bv the gentleman's man in the rumble behind, to wish 
 them every possible happiness, and making our best 
 bow, leave them to themselves? 
 
 Let us then turn our attention to Mr. Cockle and his 
 friend Kilkenny, who having been absent from Cockle 
 Hall for some days, were, as we have already stated, 
 to arrive there early on Saturday, for the purpose of 
 receiving Mr. and Mrs. Dumps at dinner. In order to 
 facilitate this arrangement, they were to leave the house 
 of their present host on the evening of the eventful Fri- 
 day, to sleep at an hotel twenty miles from Cockle Hall, 
 and to ride home immediately after an early breakfast 
 the next morning. 
 
 It was a clear moonlight evening towards the end of 
 May, when the friends left the hospitable roof of their 
 host, and proceeded towards the hotel where they had 
 agreed to pass the night, and from whence in the morn- 
 ing they would only have an easy ride of about twenty 
 miles. 
 
 "What a glorious night!" said Cockle; "and what 
 a day for a wedding ! Would you ever have supposed 
 that poor David Dumps would be so fortunate?" 
 
 " No, certainly not," replied Kilkenny. " Poor fel- 
 low ! I alwavs really felt that, though we laughed at his 
 
 17
 
 194 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 distresses, a really tragic end awaited him. Where do 
 they sleep to night?" 
 
 " Indeed I don't know ; — somewhere near town I 
 suppose." 
 
 " Well, strange as it may seem," said Kilkenny, " for 
 no one has laughed at poor David's foibles more than 
 myself, I shall be right glad to see him to-morrow." 
 
 "Nonsense! what can you suppose will happen to 
 him ?" 
 
 "Why, I hardly know: nothing beyond a damp bed 
 you'd suppose possible ; and even that, on such an occa- 
 sion, would not be a probable mischance." 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Cockle ; " and here we are 
 at the hotel." 
 
 They rode into the inn yard, and pulled lustily at 
 the bell. The hostler appeared to take care of their 
 horses, and a waiter well known to both of them came 
 forth to usher them into the house. 
 
 " Give me my old room," said Cockle, " and my 
 friend can have one near me." 
 
 " Dear, dear !" cried the waiter, " how unlucky !" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Why, if we had but known you were coming ! we 
 should never have put them there new-married folks 
 into that there room !" 
 
 " What folks — and what room ?" 
 
 " Why, the room you always has, sir. A new- 
 married couple arrived from London, and we put 'em 
 in it; and we guv 1 the gentleman the room as your 
 friend would have had, next to it, for a dressing-room." 
 
 " Well," said Cockle, " it can't be helped : give me 
 and my friend some other well-aired rooms, which will 
 answer our purpose as well." 
 
 John retired to give the necessary orders; and Cockle 
 and Kilkenny awaited the arrival of supper in a very 
 comfortable apartment before a blazing fire. 
 
 The host himself, a personage well to do in the world, 
 and well known in the county, condescended to place 
 before Mr. Cockle the principal feature of his repast. 
 This led, of course, to a recognition ; and while Cockle 
 was cutting off the wing of his roast fowl, he asked
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 195 
 
 Mr. -Noakes, as a matter of course, what news was 
 stirring in the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Have you been full lately ?" inquired Kilkenny. 
 
 " Far from it, sir," replied Noakes. 
 
 " But," said Cockle, " we are not your only inmates 
 to-night, I presume?" 
 
 " Oh no, not. quite that," replied Noakes. 
 
 " Have you many in the house?" 
 
 " Only two — a lady and gentleman, a man and a 
 maid-servant, — a bridal party, in fact." 
 
 " Ay, so I remember your waiter told us : whence do 
 they come?" 
 
 " From London." 
 
 " Do you know the name ?" „ 
 
 " Oh yes, — a very odd name, — Dumps !" 
 
 Cockle and Kilkenny looked at each other, but said 
 nothing; and after a short delay the host retired. 
 
 " Well," said Kilkenny after he and his friend had 
 been left quietly to the enjoyment of a good fire and a 
 bottle of wine ; * this is the oddest coincidence !" 
 
 " Say nothing about it," replied Cockle, " and they 
 will never know we have accidentally been inmates of 
 the same hotel : they have retired to rest long ago, — it 
 it is now very late." 
 
 " Well," replied Kilkenny, " I have no inclination to 
 leave this fire; let us for once in a way have a comfort- 
 able chat." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied Cockle ; " but we will 
 ring for the waiter, order chamber candles and slippers, 
 and allow no one to sit up for us." 
 
 About one o'clock Mr. Cockle took his chamber can- 
 dle, and still talking and still laughing, loitered with it 
 in his hand. 
 
 " What noise is that?" said he suddenly. 
 
 " Noise ? I heard none," replied Kilkenny. 
 
 " Hush !" said Cockle. 
 
 " What can you mean ?" 
 
 " Why, I heard a door open and shut." 
 
 " Singular event, in an hotel of this magnitude !" 
 
 " Do be quiet," said Cockle : " I hear somebody 
 pacing along the gallery." 
 
 " Well, and if you do," replied Kilkenny, " you do
 
 196 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 not mean to pretend that you expect a captain of 
 banditti ?" 
 
 " No, no, — but listen." 
 
 A voice was heard on the stairs, calling " Chamber- 
 maid !" and after several repetitions of the cry, the un- 
 fortunate damsel roused herself, and wrapping around 
 her something proper, descended and inquired what 
 was wanted. 
 
 " There's a strong smell of fire," said the wanderer. 
 
 "Fire, sir! — no, sir! — Where, sir? — Don't smell it, 
 sir !" 
 
 " I smell it very strong, — a smell of burnt wood," 
 cried the stranger. 
 
 " Burnt wood," whispered Cockle, pointing to their 
 wood fire; " we are tlie delinquents — hush !" 
 
 " Don't smell it at all," said the housemaid. " Every 
 soul's gone to bed, and every fire has been out several 
 hours." 
 
 " Indeed !" replied the fire-seeker ; " then it is more 
 serious than I had supposed : it must be some massive 
 beam smouldering." 
 
 " Lord, sir ! how can you have them fancies !" 
 
 " I smell it strong," replied David (for there was no 
 mistaking his voice); "and Miss Titterton smells it 
 worse than I do !" 
 
 " Miss who VI exclaimed the chambermaid with an 
 air of offended dignity. 
 
 " Mrs. Dumps, I mean," said David in confusion, cor- 
 recting himself; " Mrs. Dumps is very much alarmed." 
 
 " Lau ! what noses you must have !" cried Betty. 
 " If I'd been you, I wouldn't have smelt nothing if the 
 town had been in tinder !" 
 
 " Do you hear?" said Kilkenny. 
 
 "Hush!" replied Cockle: " it would be cruel to let 
 him know we are here." 
 
 " I'll tell you what," exclaimed Mr. Dumps, " I must 
 and will speak to the master of the house — call him 
 directly, for I do smell it shocking strong." 
 
 Betty went aWay to call the host ; and David, with 
 his chamber candle in his hand, and clad very much as 
 people are who ought to be in bed, paced wearily up 
 and down the long gallery.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 197 
 
 At length the host made his appearance, wrapped up 
 in a dressing-gown, and looking by no means pleased 
 with his untimely tormentor. Still his urbanity of man- 
 ner did not forsake him, and with the utmost politeness 
 he inquired what the gentleman and lady could possibly 
 want. 
 
 " We smell fire, sir," replied David. 
 
 " Fire !" 
 
 "Yes, — wood, — a beam, something out of sight: it 
 will break out by-and-by." 
 
 The host sniffed, as in duty bound, all over the house, 
 and then returned to assure him that there was no cause 
 for alarm. 
 
 " I certainly do smell fire," persisted David. 
 
 " Well," said the host, " a party accustomed to burn 
 wood at home have had a wood fire here to-night." 
 
 " Now that accounts for it," replied David : " why 
 did you not tell me so before?" 
 
 " There was no cause for alarm, I assure you," said 
 he; " it did not occur to me before to mention the wood 
 fire ; but fire is what I dread least in this house." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Nothing so horrible !" said David. 
 
 " But I have a reservoir at the top of the house, which 
 holds sufficient to put out the worst fire that we are 
 ever likely to see." 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Mr. Dumps, taking up his candle, 
 which had been placed on a table, " that is a very great 
 comfort. I'll go and tell Mrs. Dumps that; and it will 
 make her easier in her mind : for certainly we did both 
 smell fire." 
 
 " Go and quiet the lady's mind, I beg," said the host. 
 
 " I will endeavour," replied David; and in a few mo- 
 ments the host had gone back to the place from whence 
 he came, and David had again retired to the bridal 
 chamber to argue Mrs. Dumps out of her apprehension 
 of fire, and to assure her that, had such a calamity 
 existed, there was water enough immediately over their 
 heads effectually to stop its progress. 
 
 As soon as the house was again quiet, Cockle opened 
 
 17*
 
 198 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 the door of his sitting-room, and softly treading on tip- 
 toe, he and Kilkenny proceeded to the apartments pro- 
 vided for them. 
 
 There is something peculiarly striking in the deep 
 repose and silence of a large and much-frequented hotel. 
 How many people from different parts of the globe may 
 be collected under that roof who never, by the most 
 strange and unforeseen combination of circumstances, 
 can all meet together again ! People of the most oppo- 
 site pursuits and habits, — the young, the old, the rich, 
 the poor; the luxuriously rich, cavilling at accommoda- 
 tions so inferior to those that await them at home; and 
 the abjectly poor, who have no home to go to, and who 
 leave the hotel to go forth and bullet with the world ! — 
 all pausing on some long or, to them, eventful journey ; 
 all sleeping, or trying to sleep, ere they go forward to 
 struggle in a career which may end in disappointment, 
 or to mingle with friends who may flatter and betray. As 
 we pass along the passage of a crowded hotel, we peep 
 into every pair of boots placed like sentinels at the dif- 
 ferent doors, and we think to ourselves what tales could 
 be unravelled were each pair to step forth and tell the 
 history of its owner. 
 
 The inn where we now find ourselves was, however, 
 but thinly peopled, and the repose which for a time pre- 
 vailed was the more natural. Cockle and Kilkenny 
 having exchanged a whispered "good night," each closed 
 his door, and very speedily sought his pillow; and after 
 a ride in the keen air by moonlight, both were soon 
 buried in profound slumber. 
 
 But, hark ! what a shrill scream rings through the 
 hotel where we have lingered for the last few hours! 
 So earnest, so piercing was the cry, that in one moment 
 it roused every inmate of the large mansion, and it con- 
 tained not one sleeper. 
 
 What could it be ! All was dark, and for some few 
 moments no sound was heard ; but then again the same 
 shrill voice rang through every chamber. The host, 
 who had already been once roused, turned round and 
 listened, and tried to go to sleep again, persuading him- 
 self it was all fancy. But Cockle and Kilkenny, and 
 every waiter, boots, and chambermaid, huddled on what-
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 199 
 
 ever came to hand, (and in some instances that was very 
 little,) and met at the top of the principal staircase. 
 
 " I hear nothing !" said Cockle. 
 
 " Oh !" cried the chambermaid, " but there has been 
 such cries !" 
 
 "It is all nonsense; — the peacock in the yard, — 
 or—" 
 
 '• Hush !" interrupted Kilkenny ; and the same cry 
 was repeated, and actually rang through the vast man- 
 sion ! 
 
 " This way," cried Cockle; and, led by the sound, he 
 proceeded along a corridor, followed by Kilkenny and 
 the rest. 
 
 " Good heavens!" exclaimed he at length, pausing in 
 dismay, " the sound proceeds from the room I have 
 been accustomed to occupy. And listen, — it has sub- 
 sided into low murmurs of pain, or bursts of hysteric 
 laughter !" 
 
 "The bridal chamber!" whispered the chambermaid, 
 as white as a sheet, and trembling from head to foot. 
 
 " Look !" cried Kilkenny, pointing to the floor : and 
 from the crevice of the door trickled a dark liquid, 
 which ran along the oak boards to the opposite side of 
 the passage. 
 
 " Blood !" cried the chambermaid, fainting away. 
 
 " Blood !" gasped the waiter, trying to catch her. 
 
 " Blood!" shouted the boots in an agony of fear. 
 
 " Blood!" ejaculated Kilkenny, in an accent of painful 
 surprise. 
 
 "Blood?" said Cockle, in a tone of inquiry; "then 
 we must force the door, for it is fastened within ;" and, 
 stepping back some paces, he raised his foot and applied 
 it so vehemently against the woodwork, that it at length 
 yielded. 
 
 A fresh stream gushed forth as the portal opened. 
 
 " More blood !" cried the waiter; and he dropped the 
 chambermaid. 
 
 " More blood !" groaned the boots. 
 
 All rushed eagerly forward into the bridal chamber, 
 which was dimly lighted, and there was a mysterious 
 gurgling sound which bewildered them. At first nothing 
 was distinct ; but they soon perceived Clara, attired just
 
 200 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 as she had left her bed, crouching down in the distant 
 corner of the room, while the bridegroom, equally in 
 dishabille, stood over her holding a large umbrella! 
 
 At this moment the host in a breathless state joined 
 the party, exclaiming, 
 
 " I can explain the cause of alarm. The reservoir at 
 the top of the house, containing hundreds of hogsheads 
 of water, lias burst immediately over these apartments." 
 
 " Shut them out !" cried David, peering from under 
 his umbrella, and shocked at this untimely intrusion, 
 though the water poured in torrents through the ceiling. 
 
 " Let them in," exclaimed Clara, laughing and scream- 
 ing by turns: " I'm half drowned." 
 
 " You would not, surely," whispered David, pointing 
 to the half-clad figures grouped around the chamber door. 
 
 " Indeed I would," replied Clara. " Here, chamber- 
 maid, fetch me a dry blanket, and let us have a good 
 fire immediately in another room." 
 
 The gentlemen, of course, retired as soon as the real 
 cause of disturbance had been ascertained, and the 
 chambermaid very soon prepared more comfortable 
 quarters for the bride and bridegroom. 
 
 " Well !" said Clara, as she sat with her feet on the 
 fender, prudentially sipping something warm after her 
 unexpected shower-bath, " I am glad to see you can 
 laugh at our adventure." 
 
 " I can laugh with you," replied David, stirring up 
 his tumbler of brandy and water; "but had such an 
 event befallen me alone, I'm certain I should have died." 
 
 " More shame for you ! But 1 hope to make you al- 
 ways laugh at the lighter ills of life; and as to weightier 
 troubles, if it be our lot to encounter them, for my sake 
 you must meet them bravely, — conquer them if you 
 
 can — " 
 
 " Ay, but there are some which we cannot conquer." 
 
 " Endure them with resignation, then." 
 
 " For vour sake, Clara, I will try and be all you 
 wish." 
 
 " " Then we will always date the dawn of our happi- 
 ness from the Flood." 
 
 " Do you think we can keep this ridiculous accident 
 secret?" said David.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 201 
 
 " Not a chance of it," replied Clara, laughing ; " for 
 among those who peeped into our chamber I distinctly 
 saw Mr. Cockle and his friend." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then 1 can never face the party to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " Indeed we will," replied Clara ; " and I will show 
 you how to blunt the edge of ridicule. We will laugh 
 so heartily at the absurdity of our own dilemma, that we 
 will defy them to outlaugh us." 
 
 " An excellent plan; and had I always followed it, I 
 should have made light of many events which seemed to 
 me miseries, and joined in many a laugh which almost 
 made me cry." 
 
 " Well, there is no occasion to cry to-night, for I trust 
 we shall neither of us feel the worse to-morrow." 
 
 " I hope not," replied David, laughing; " but you know 
 all this comes of being married on a Friday !" 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 And now to conclude. We all meet at Cockle Hall 
 to offer congratulations to the bride and bridegroom, and 
 possibly to laugh over their untimely adventure. Had 
 we been writing a serious story, we should now be 
 obliged to gather together all the various little threads 
 of our discourse, enter into most embarrassing explana- 
 tions, and point our moral. 
 
 Our story has, however, been a mere extravaganza — 
 a comic farce, after a more serious drama ; and though 
 indeed in our memoirs of the early life of Mr. David 
 Dumps a little moral may be just hinted and implied, 
 none will be insisted on. 
 
 Cockle Hall being twenty miles on the Cheltenham 
 side of Bath, a summons had been sent to the Lomaxes 
 and O'Flaneys; and they having availed themselves of 
 Mr. Cockle's invitation to dine and sleep, considerably 
 added to Mr. Dumps's annoyance when he arrived with 
 his bride. 
 
 " Now, remember," said Clara, ere she quitted' their 
 travelling carriage and led the way into the house, " I'll
 
 202 DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 have no melancholy looks, no creeping into corners be- 
 cause you are laughed at, thereby giving people a new 
 cause for ridicule." 
 
 "I won't, if 1 can help it, my dear." 
 
 " Help it ! — do as I do — follow me — laugh when I 
 laugh — and anticipate all they intended to say." 
 
 " If 1 laugh when you laugh, my love," replied David, 
 offering his arm, " I shall be always laughing." 
 
 " So much the better." 
 
 "Then I'm sure nobody will know me.' 1 
 
 "Then they'll give me credit for having effected a 
 happy transformation." 
 
 They were in a moment surrounded by their friends, 
 whose hearty congratulations Clara speedily interrupted 
 by a detail of their recent trouble, telling her story with 
 a comic effect which completely threw into shade the 
 ridicule of other people, and laughing with an unaffected 
 joyousness peculiar to herself. 
 
 And there must have been a spell in that laugh, for it 
 found an echo even in David ! His consternation, how- 
 ever, mav be imagined when Clara thus addressed Lady 
 Betty O'Flaney : 
 
 H I need not introduce my husband to your ladyship, 
 I know; you have met before." 
 
 "Never mind, Mr. Dumps," said the lady good-hu- 
 mouredly : " let them laugh at our little adventure if it 
 amuses them ; — I was sorry you suffered so much an- 
 noyance on account of your mistake." 
 
 " He always seems to get into trouble at hotels," re- 
 plied Clara. 
 
 " Then," said Mrs. Lomax, "never go to one again: 
 when you are tired of Bath, pay us a visit." 
 
 The cUjefine, or rather the early dinner, passed plea- 
 santly away, and the equipage of Mr. and Mrs. Dumps 
 appeared to carry them on to Bath, where lodgings had 
 been secured for them in Gay Street. There was a 
 time when David would have preferred the abbey 
 churchyard ; but " from grave to Gay'" was a transition 
 which had been accomplished by Clara. 
 
 The sun shone brightly; and Cockle Hall appeared 
 in David's eyes a very different place to that in which 
 he had spent a long dreary day a few months before.
 
 DAVID DUMPS. 203 
 
 He bade a cheerful adieu to the friends who collected 
 round the door, handed his wife gaily into the carriage, 
 stepped lightly in after her, and, as it drove off, leant 
 back and joined Clara in her laughter. 
 
 " You may well laugh," said he ; " I'm sure you can 
 hardly know me." 
 
 "You have acted your part admirably! — now you 
 must never relapse into gloom." 
 
 " Nay," replied David, looking serious ; " in this 
 world, Clara — " 
 
 " I know what you are going to say ; but you mis- 
 conceive my meaning. Never impute want of feeling 
 to those who are most merry. No one could feel a 
 serious misfortune more acutely than myself: but do, 
 pray, in future, keep serious grief for serious griev- 
 ances." 
 
 " But sometimes it is difficult not to be seriously an- 
 noyed at what others may deem trifles." 
 
 " I don't see that," replied Clara. 
 
 " Why, for instance : — a hoax — a practical joke — " 
 
 "Oh, if an intimate friend injudiciously annoys you, 
 try and forget the annoyance, remembering that he could 
 have no bad motive. If a hoax is attempted by one un- 
 authorised to take such a liberty — " 
 
 " Ay,— what then ?" 
 
 " Oh, then, were I a man, I'd find a way to correct 
 impertinence, without a diminution of my own cheerful- 
 ness." 
 
 "You are right," said David. " Well, then, there are 
 anonymous letters?" 
 
 " Surely you would not suffer an anonymous letter, 
 that last and lowest weapon of cowardly blackguardism, 
 to annoy you !" 
 
 " Why," replied David, " not one addressed to myself; 
 but they are sometimes addressed to our associates, to 
 lower us in their estimation." 
 
 " Well, then, contemptible as I consider the writer of 
 an anonymous letter, I think that the person who could 
 for one moment be influenced by one is quite as bad !" 
 
 " I see you make light of all my little grievances." 
 
 " And so shall you in future," replied Clara. 
 
 And so he did !
 
 20 I DAVID DUMPS. 
 
 But, instead of spending the honeymoon with Mr. and 
 Mrs. Dumps at Bath, \vc must now take a parting glance 
 at the elders we have so long neglected. 
 
 Old Tatum was delighted when his daughter married 
 a gentleman, and entered a society which by education 
 she was fitted to adorn. He thought he should miss 
 her, hut he did not : on the contrary, though he never 
 allowed it even to himself, lie felt it a relief when he 
 could sit alone at dinner, eat peas with his knife, and be 
 as vulgar as he pleased. 
 
 Mr. Tittcrton did miss Clara sadly: her birdlike song 
 and merry laugh were heard no more ; and when ab- 
 sent from the new-married couple, his chief solace and 
 amusement was forming little plans for future meetings. 
 Mr. Mildmay was almost as fond of Clara as her father, 
 and at his death he left her husband the whole of his 
 property, on condition that he changed his name to 
 Mildmay. 
 
 And now, three years after their marriage, we find 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mildmay sitting in their nursery. Two 
 girls are calmly reposing; and David is nursing on his 
 knee his son and heir, Master Johnny, now two months 
 old. 
 
 " What a nice good little boy it is !" exclaimed the 
 fond father. 
 
 "Like his papa," replied Clara, laughing. 
 
 "Not a bit of it: his dimples are yours. It is early 
 to think of it, perhaps, but I'll tell you what I have been 
 thinking of: I don't quite know what profession to 
 choose for him." 
 
 Clara's laughter interrupted him. 
 
 " Well, Clara, I knew you would laugh; but the boy 
 must be something. If he have health and intellect, his 
 independent fortune may preserve him from many of 
 the real ills of life; and it must be our care that occupa- 
 tion shall preserve him from imaginary evils." 
 
 THE END.
 
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