THE BLANK BOOK 
 
 OF 
 
 A SMALL COLLEGER. 
 
 " If I am to meet with one of these gentry, pray heaven it 
 may be with a Small Colleger." * 
 
 Art of Punning. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 THOMAS BOYS, 7, LUDGATE HILL. 
 
 MDCCCXXIV. 
 
 t\ 
 
/ 
 
 C8*- 
 
 6^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Great St. Mary's 1 
 
 Trinity College, Cambridge, forty years ago 10 
 
 The Commercial Gentleman 23 
 
 A Life of Trials 3 1 
 
 Four and twenty hours at Emmanuel 41 
 
 Huffey White 49 
 
 A Constitution 59 
 
 English Anomalies 67 
 
 The Green Dragon at Harrogate 73 
 
 The Potts's ! 81 
 
 The Quaker's Burial 89 
 
 The Art of Spelling , 97 
 
 The Heiress in Jeopardy 107 
 
 Anastasia, the Benedictine Nun 115 
 
 Mrs. Reuben Pottle 127 
 
 The Shore Boat 135 
 
'?■ I know no refutation of cavils, against the Gospel, 
 so irresistible as the practice of its professors: nor is there 
 on earth so eloquent a sermon on Christianity, as the silent 
 lesson of a consistent and spotless example." 
 
 Maturin. 
 
 " He who lives only for himself, will soon be forgotten ; 
 but he whose labours aTe directed to the perpetual benefit 
 of the community, may well lay claim to immortality as 
 his reward." 
 
 Dr % Johnson, 
 
GREAT ST. MARY'S. 
 
 The foreigner who wishes to see oar National 
 Church under a new and interesting aspect, 
 should witness the Sunday-afternoon service, at 
 Great St. Mary's, Cambridge. The peculiar 
 beauty of the building — its rich mahogany in- 
 terior, and sombre hue — the solemn and devo- 
 tional air which breathes around the whole edifice 
 — the Undergraduates in crowded assemblage in 
 the gallery — the Fellow Commoners, in all their 
 glitter of gold and silver lace, interspersed among 
 the Fellows and University Officers in the aisle 
 — Golgotha with the Vice-chancellor and heads 
 of Colleges frowning in portentous gravity upon 
 the crowd below — with, here and there, the 
 rarity of a pretty face belonging to some lioniz- 
 ing belle, form a coup d'ceil as novel as im- 
 posing. 
 
4 GREAT ST. MARY S. 
 
 The service consists of a Psalm, a Sermon, 
 and on certain high days an Anthem. And it 
 is not the least stirring of the reflections which 
 rush upon the mind, like " so many thick-com- 
 ing fancies," on passing the threshold of St. 
 Mary's, that its hallowed walls have re-echoed 
 the arguments of Paley and Watson, Pearson 
 and Barrow ; and have enclosed for praise 
 and prayer, at the purest moments of their lives, 
 Pitt, and Erskine, and Whitbread, and Romilly, 
 and Camden, and Porteus, — names which adorn 
 the proudest pages of our annals. 
 
 The Under-graduates themselves form a study. 
 Among the group may be discovered the pale, 
 absent, hard-reading, mathematical man, who 
 comes for the sake of the argument, and the 
 easoning, — and this class predominates during 
 Bishop Marsh's turn of duty ; — the Classic, and 
 Belles lettres' reader, whose aim is to pick up a 
 fine idea, or glowing sentiment ; — the Musical 
 Amateur whose only object is the Psalm and the 
 Voluntary; — and the Lounger, who hopes to wile 
 an idle hour away, and perchance smile admira- 
 tion at some pretty face below. Even in the 
 mode of complying with the etiquette, which re- 
 quires the cap to conceal the face during the 
 prayer which precedes the Sermon, the different 
 
GREAT ST. MARY S. O 
 
 bearings of the Students are perceptible. There 
 are the strait-forward, plodding, matter of fact 
 men, who grasp their cap as a mere point of 
 academical discipline, and hold it bolt upright 
 before them without looking right or left;— the 
 Diffident, who balance it with an uncertain hold, 
 and take an anxious look at others to see if they 
 themselves are doing right: — the Satirical, who 
 are slyly, yet keenly, criticising the devotional 
 attitude of their neighbours; — the Simeonites, 
 who one and all actually bury their faces in their 
 cap ; — the Exquisite, who is striving with all his 
 energies to hold his in a graceful attitude; — 
 while the Bloods, and Yorkshire Exhibitioners, 
 stare on as usual. 
 
 The period at which I am writing, is the inter- 
 val between the last course of lectures delivered, 
 on the Sunday afternoons, at St. Mary's, by the 
 late Hulsean Lecturer Mr, Benson ; and the 
 fresh series about to be commenced by his suc- 
 cessor Mr. Franks. The former as to popularity 
 stands by himself, and indeed may be almost 
 considered as the founder of a New School. 
 Although, by the will of Mr. Hulse, the dis- 
 courses to be delivered by his Lecturer must 
 " dwell mainly on the rudiments and mysteries 
 of our faith," there never was a University 
 
6 GREAT ST. MARY S. 
 
 Preacher whose sermons were so numerously 
 and constantly attended by the Undergraduates 
 as Mr. Benson. Though both able men, the dif- 
 ference between the present and late Lecturer is 
 very striking. The former preaches as to Infidels, 
 the latter as to Christians. Mr. Franks states 
 his arguments, and relies on your reason ; Mr. 
 Benson appeals to your heart. The first may be 
 the most profound scholar : but it is reserved for 
 the last to bring all his research to bear upon his 
 subject. There is another beauty ? too, in Mr. Ben- 
 son's preaching, equally rare and remarkable, — 
 he never hunts down an idea. He seizes a strik- 
 ing thought or glowing conception ; uses, but 
 not exhausts it, — -and, having applied it to his 
 purpose, passes on, leaving it in all its originality, 
 and vigour, and freshness. His greatest external 
 advantage is his voice. It is extremely low and 
 soft, and even so weak as to convey the idea of 
 great delicacy of constitution in the possessor : 
 but at the same time it is so singularly clear, so 
 full of harmony, as to be distinctly audible in 
 every part of the building. 
 
 His delivery is slow, self-possessed, and solemn; 
 — yet strikingly free from the slightest taint of 
 pomposity, or affectation. He is totally destitute 
 of the adventitious advantages of a fine person 
 
GREAT ST. MARY S. / 
 
 or graceful action ; but there is an earnestness 
 in his manner, that convinces you " his heart is 
 in the matter," and makes a demand on your 
 attention which it is impossible to resist. His 
 persuasive and plaintive voice, and most engag- 
 ing delivery, may partly account for his extreme 
 popularity ; as well as explain why many who 
 have heard his discourses from the pulpit, have 
 felt disappointment on perusing them in private. 
 As a practical preacher he stands without a rival. 
 In the driest arguments he ever has the art of 
 introducing passages of such beauty — reflections 
 of such practical utility — and sentiments so 
 home and so touching — that they stand apart 
 like patches of verdure blooming in the midst 
 of a desart : — and he is peculiarly happy in 
 infusing the virtues of Christian meekness, hu- 
 mility, and benevolence, into the sternest and 
 most irritating of all subjects — Controversial 
 Divinity. 
 
 To his successor, Mr. Franks, hardly any 
 of these observations will apply. Mr. Franks' 
 voice is shrill, thin — from a blow, it is said, 
 from a cricket ball in early life— and so 
 highly pitched, as, at times, to appear on the 
 point of cracking. Thus he is always enjoyed in 
 
8 great st. mary's. 
 
 the closet, listened to in the pulpit. On the 
 splendour of his materials he rests his fame. 
 His delivery is plainer, and the whole style of his 
 sermons simpler, than that of his popular prede- 
 cessor. But the fruits of long and laborious 
 research meet you in every sermon — the whole 
 range of divinity seems to have come within his 
 grasp — though, occasionally, paraphrases ap- 
 pear, which, at first sight, resemble the efforts of 
 an " idle man." His chief aim appears to be the 
 exposure of the errors of the German School of 
 Divinity; and his main anxiety, to warn the 
 young Theological Student against a theory, 
 built upon nights of fancy, not upon the doc- 
 trines of Scripture. 
 
 But to return to Mr. Benson. Those, who 
 were present, will long remember his farewell 
 discourse, closed with a most touching allusion 
 to the crowded and youthful assemblage around 
 him, whom he beautifully described, as, " Stand- 
 ing upon the confines of youth and manhood, 
 with the passions of the one unsubdued, and the 
 principles of the other unconfirmed." The 
 warmest wishes for his happiness, from those 
 whom he has left behind, will accompany him 
 
great st. mary's. 9 
 
 to his retirement.* Nor will their prayers be 
 wanting, that he may long be spared to the 
 Church — long watch over her interests and 
 defend her doctrines — and that distant, far dis- 
 tant, may be the hour, when the tears of a sor- 
 rowing University will mourn him as one of her 
 departed sons, who devoted their time, their 
 acquirements, and their best energies, to promote 
 Religion in others — and consecrated their talents 
 to the service of their God. 
 
 * Mr. Benson has recently quitted Cambridge for the 
 Vicarage of Ledsham, in Yorkshire — a living given him by a 
 gentleman, to whom he was an utter stranger except by his 
 writings and reputation. 
 
 B2 
 
TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 FORTY YEARS AGO. 
 
" Bear yourselves, then, as becomes the disciples of a 
 Coilege where Newton studied, and Bentley presided.'' 
 
 Monk. 
 
TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 FORTY YEARS AGO. 
 
 It was a lovely morning; a remittance had ar~ 
 rived in the very nick of time; my two horses 
 were in excellent condition; and I resolved, with 
 a College Chum, to put in execution a long con- 
 certed scheme of driving to London, tandem. 
 We sent our horses forward, got others at Cam- 
 bridge, and tossing Algebra and Anacharsis " to 
 the dogs," started in high spirits. We ran up 
 to London in high style — went ball-pitch to the 
 play — and after a quick breakfast at the Bedford, 
 set out with our own horses upon a dashing drive 
 through the West-End. We were turning- 
 down the Haymarket, and anticipating " joys 
 yet unknown," when who, to my utter horror 
 and consternation, should I see crossing to meet 
 us, but my old warmhearted, but severe and 
 peppery uncle, Sir Thomas P - n. 
 
14 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 Escape was impossible. A cart before, and 
 two carriages behind, made us stationary, and 
 I mentally resigned all idea of ever succeeding 
 to Elmwood Hall, and three thousand per an- 
 num. Up he came. " What ! can I believe my 
 eyes ? George ! why what the d — 1 do you do 
 
 here ? Tandem too, by !" I have it, 
 
 thought I, as an idea crossed my mind. I look- 
 ed right and left, as if it were wholly impossi- 
 ble that it could be me he was addressing. — 
 " What ! you don't know me, 1 suppose ? Don't 
 know your own uncle ? Why, in the name of 
 common sense — pshaw ! you've done with that — 
 
 Why, in name, Sir,an't you at Cambridge ?" 
 
 " At Cambridge, Sir?" said I. "At Cam- 
 bridge, Sir," he repeated, mimicking my affected 
 astonishment, " why, I suppose, you never were 
 at Cambridge ? Never entered the gates at Tri- 
 nity? eh! O! you young spendthrift ; is this 
 the way you dispose of my allowance? Is this 
 the way you read hard, you young profligate? 
 you young graceless — you young — you — !" 
 Seeing he was getting energetic, I began to 
 be apprehensive of a scene, and resolved to drop 
 the curtain at once. " Really, Sir," said I, 
 with as brazen a look as I could summon upon 
 an emergency, " I have not the honor of your 
 
FORTY YEARS AGO. 15 
 
 acquaintance !" His large eyes assumed a fixed 
 stare of astonishment — " Excuse me, but, to my 
 knowledge, I never saw you before."-— He began 
 to fidget. — " Make no apologies : they are unne- 
 cessary. Your next rencontre will, I hope, be 
 more fortunate. You will find your country cou- 
 sin, no doubt, in Green Street; and so, old 
 buck, bye bye." The cart was removed, and 
 we drove off, yet not without seeing him, in a 
 paroxysm of rage, half frightful, half ludicrous, 
 toss his hat on the ground, and hearing him ex- 
 claim : — " He disowns me ! the jackanapes ! dis- 
 owns his own uncle, by ." 
 
 Phil. Chichester's look of amazement at this 
 finished stroke of impudence is present, at this 
 instant, to my memory, I think I see his face, 
 which at no time had more expression than a 
 turnip, assume that air of a pensive simpleton, 
 d'nn mouton qui rive, which he so often and so 
 successfully exhibited over a quadratic equation. 
 " Well, George, what's to be done now? We're 
 dished— dished — utterly dished." — " Not while 
 I've two such tits as these fresh, Phil," was my 
 reply. " So ad ieu to town, and hey for Cambridge." 
 — " Cambridge ?" — " Instantly — not a moment to 
 be lost. My uncle will post there with four 
 horses, immediately; and my only chance of 
 
16 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 avoiding that romantic misfortune, of being cut 
 off with a shilling", is to be there before him." 
 
 Without settling our bill at the inn, or making 
 a single arrangement, we rattled back to Cam- 
 bridge. Never shall I forget the mental anxiety 
 which I endured on my way there. Every thing 
 was against us. A heavy rain had fallen in the 
 night, and the roads were wretched. The traces 
 broke — turnpike gates were shut — droves of 
 sheep and strings of carts impeded our progress: 
 but, in spite of all these obstacles, we reached 
 the College gates in less than six hours. c< Has 
 Sir Thomas been here ?" 1 inquired of the porter, 
 with ill concealed emotion. " No, Sir." Phil 
 iC thanked God, and took courage." " If he 
 does, tell him so and so," said I, giving veracious 
 Joseph his instructions, and putting a guinea 
 into his hand to sharpen his memory. " Phil, my 
 dear fellow, don't show your face out of College 
 for this fortnight. You twig? Good. 
 " Permit te Divis coetera" — 
 
 I had barely time to change my dress, to have 
 my toga and trencher beside me, Newton and 
 Euripides before me, Optics, Mechanics, and 
 Hydrostatics strewed in learned confusion around 
 me, when my uncle drove up to the gate. " Por- 
 ter, I wish to see Mr. P n; is he in his 
 
FORTY YEARS AGO. 17 
 
 rooms V — " Yes, Sir, I took a parcel of books to 
 him there ten minutes ago !" This was not the 
 first bouncer the Essence of Truth, as Thomas 
 was known through College, had told for me ; 
 nor the last he was well paid for. 
 
 " Reads very hard, I dare say ?" observed the 
 Baronet, in his soft, winning voice. " No doubt 
 of that, I believe, Sir/' — "You audacious varlet! 
 how dare you look me in the face, and tell such 
 a falsehood ? You know he's not in Cambridge. " 
 
 — " Not in Cambridge? Sir, as I hope -." 
 
 " None of your hopes or fears to me. Show me 
 his rooms, I say, and show me himself/' — He had 
 now reached my staircase, and never shall I for- 
 get his look of astonishment, of amazement bor- 
 dering upon incredulity, when I calmly came 
 forward, took his hand, and welcomed him to 
 Cambridge. 
 
 " My dear Sir, how are you ? What lucky 
 wind has blown you here V* 
 
 " What! George! who — what — why — Ecod, 
 I must be dreaming." 
 
 " How happy 1 am to see you." I ran on. 
 u How kind of you to come ! How well you're 
 looking!" 
 
 u Eh ! what ? D — n if I know where I am ! 
 Why, it is not possible ! Good Lord, how peo- 
 
18 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 pie may be deceived! My dear George'' — speak- 
 ing rapidly — "I met two fellows, in a tandem, in 
 the Haymarket, one of them so like you in every 
 particular, that I hailed him at once. The puppy 
 disowned me — affected to make a jest of me — 
 and drove off. On my soul, my hair stood on 
 end, and my blood was in a boil! I drove 
 down directly with four horses to tell your Tutor, 
 to tell the Master, to tell the whole College that 
 I would have nothing more to do with you ; that 
 I would be responsible for your debts no longer ; 
 to enclose you fifty pounds, and disown you for 
 ever/' 
 
 " My dear Sir, how singular 1" 
 
 " Singular? I wonder at perjury no longer, 
 for my part. I would have gone into any Court 
 of justice, and have taken my oath it was you. 
 I never saw such a likeness ! Your father and 
 the fellow's mother were well acquainted, or I'm 
 mistaken. The air, the height, the voice, all 
 
 but the manner, and, d e, that was not yours. 
 
 No — no — you never would have treated your old 
 uncle so." 
 
 " How rejoiced I am that " 
 
 u Rejoiced? So am I. I would not but have 
 been undeceived for a thousand guineas. No- 
 thing but seeing you here so quiet, so studi- 
 
FORTY YEARS AGO. 19 
 
 ous, so immersed in Mathematics, would have 
 convinced me. Ecod, I can't tell you how I 
 was startled ! I had been told some queer sto- 
 ries, to be sure, about your Cambridge etiquette. 
 I heard that two Cambridge men, one of Trinity, 
 the other of St. Johns, had met on the top of 
 Vesuvius, and that though they knew each other 
 by name and reputation, yet never having been 
 formally introduced, like two simpletons they 
 looked at each other in silence, and left the 
 mountain separately, and without speaking.— 
 And it was only last week that cracked fellow- 
 commoner, Meadows, shewed me a caricature 
 taken from the life, representing a Cantab drown- 
 ing, and another Gownsman standing on the 
 brink, exclaiming : — ' Oh, that I had the honor 
 of being introduced to that man, that I might 
 
 have taken the liberty of saving him F But it, 
 
 thought I, he never would carry it so far with 
 his own uncle. — I never heard that your father 
 was a gay man." (continued he, musing) " but as 
 
 you sit in that light, the likeness is ." I 
 
 moved instantly. — "Butit's impossible, you know, 
 it's impossible. Come, my dear boy, come. — 
 People, though electrified, must dine. Who 
 could he be? Never were two people so 
 alike !" 
 
20 TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE, 
 
 We dined at the inn, spent the evening toge- 
 ther, and instead of the fifty, the " last fifty" 
 he generously gave me a draft for three times 
 the amount. He left Cambridge the next morn- 
 ing, and his last words were, as he entered his 
 carriage, " My brother was a handsome man, 
 and there was a Lady Somebody, who the world 
 said was partial to him. — She may have a son. 
 Most surprising likeness ! God bless you ! — 
 Read hard, you young dog, read hard. Like as 
 
 two brothers ! Who the d— -1 could he be ?" 
 
 I never saw him again. 
 
 His death, which happened a few months af- 
 terwards, in consequence of his being bit in a 
 bet, contracted when he was " a little elevated/' 
 left me the heir to his fine estate ; I wish I could 
 add, to his many and noble virtues. I do not 
 attempt to palliate deception. It is always cri- 
 minal. But, I am sure, no severity, no repri- 
 mand, no reproaches, would have had half the 
 effect which his kindness, his confidence, and 
 his generosity wrought on me. It reformed me 
 thoroughly, and at once. I did not see Lon- 
 don again till I had graduated : and if my de- 
 gree was unaccompanied by brilliant honors, 
 it did not disgrace my uncle's liberality, or his 
 name. Many years have elapsed since our 
 
FORTY YEARS AGO. 21 
 
 last interview, but I never reflect on it with- 
 out pain and pleasure — pain, that our last in- 
 tercourse on earth should have been marked 
 by circumstances of the grossest deception : 
 and pleasure, — that the serious reflections it 
 awakened, cured me for ever of all wish to 
 deceive, and made the open and strait forward 
 path of life, that of 
 
 The Sexagenarian. 
 
THE 
 
 COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN, 
 
" Heu ! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui 
 meminisse." 
 
THE 
 
 COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 
 
 It was during a tour in the West of England, in 
 the long vacation, that a college friend and my- 
 self put up at an Inn at Falmouth, frequented by 
 Commercial Gentlemen. Anxious to see 
 life in all its varieties, we entered the Traveller's 
 room, the only inmate of which was a fat, bustling, 
 red-faced, self-important gentleman, who was 
 devouring oysters with all his energies. My 
 waggish friend, Waters, ever on the watch for a 
 joke, at once accosted him : — " you are fond of 
 oysters, I presume, Sir ?"— " Very, Sir/' and he 
 swallowed with a smack the last of six dozen. — 
 " Far be it from me to alarm you, Sir," returned 
 the other with a countenance of the deepest con- 
 cern — "but I own I feel surprised at your par- 
 tiality for Falmouth oysters. You are of course 
 aware, that, in consequence of the vicinity to the 
 
26 THE COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 
 
 mines, they contain a portion of poisonous me- 
 tallic substance, which causes sickness and 
 swelling, and sometimes even death in the oyster 
 eater/' " Metallic substance ! poisonous vici- 
 nity !" returned the man of journeys, pettishly : — 
 " I've eaten many a barrel of oysters in my time, 
 Sir, and" — " I hope you'll eat many more," inter- 
 rupted Waters, " though, upon my soul, I doubt 
 it. However, au revoir ;" and we left him for a 
 stroll about the town. 
 
 On our return to supper after an hour's ramble, 
 we found the Commercial Gentleman pacing up 
 and down the room, — " non passibus sequis," — 
 and evidently awaiting, with some anxiety, our 
 re-appearance. " Sir," said he to Waters, in the 
 most silvery tones, " I have been considering 
 what you told me, and — and — I feel rather — 
 queer." " Now don't let me alarm you," said W. 
 with his most imperturbable face, " but we re- 
 marked to each other, as we entered the room, 
 that your countenance was perceptibly altered." 
 " Now are you serious ? Oh dear ! what shall I 
 do ? Do advise me !" — " Call in a medical man 
 directly ,"*s aid the wag, " and that no time may be 
 lost, I myself will be the messenger." 
 
 He soon found a " Country Practitioner/' 
 whom he summoned to see " a friend of his, of 
 
THE COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 27 
 
 very shattered nerves, who fancied himself poi- 
 soned by eating a few oysters !" The affair in 
 consequence took a new turn. After Mr. Gob- 
 blestone had detailed his case with the utmost 
 earnestness, " Yes, yes," says the Doctor to us 
 in a whisper, " I see very clearly how matters 
 stand. Evidently disordered in the brain. Wrong 
 here/' and he tapped in the most knowing man- 
 ner his own bald pericranium. " I'll humour him ! 
 That's my line of practice ! I'll humour him !" 
 To the patient with a smile he continued, " yes, 
 Sir, yes, Cornish oysters are most pernicious — 
 highly pernicious — fatally pernicious ; you must 
 be bled without delay ; a blister to-morrow if 
 necessary ; a cooling draught on going to-bed ; 
 and I shall send a mixture to be taken every 
 three hours." 
 
 The Commercial Gentleman was then bled, 
 and hurried off to his pillow ; while Waters deter- 
 mined to keep up the joke; while assisting him 
 to undress, secreted his waistcoat: we then had 
 the broad back taken out, and a very narrow one 
 substituted. Early the next morning I made a 
 point of seeing the invalid. " I hope you are bet- 
 ter, Mr. Gobblestone ?" — " O ! I am as well as ever 
 I was in my life. It was all a joke, wasn't it?" 
 said he, with what was meant to be an insinuating 
 
28 THE COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 
 
 smile, " I knew it was all a joke. Ha! ha! ha!" 
 " Well, I hope you'll find it such," said 1, slyly 
 depositing the waistcoat and making my exit. 
 
 We had hardly begun breakfast when the un- 
 fortunate Londoner rushed in : — his eyes staring 
 — his teeth chattering — and desperation marked 
 on every feature. " I'm a dead man — poisoned — 
 done for — gone. Look! my waistcoat, that I 
 pulled off with ease last night, won't meet any 
 where by three inches this morning. Oh ! I see 
 it plainly — my hours are numbered, and I'm to 
 be another victim to these fatal oysters. Yes — 
 from the first moment you mentioned it, I was 
 sure it was all over with me. I feel myself 
 swelling every minute. Help ! Help ! 
 send for the surgeon — but it's in vain. I'm be- 
 yond the reach of medicine! O dear! O dear! 
 how very, very hard to die in this out-o'-the-way 
 place, and all for the sake of a few oysters ! For 
 God's sake, gentlemen, take pity on a dying 
 man ! my life's invaluable to the firm. How long 
 d'ye think I shall live ? Have I time to make my 
 will? Think of the firm! what ivill they say, 
 when they think of my untimely end ? I'm going 
 — I feel it— my breath's leaving me. Help ! I 
 say, help ! " 
 
THE COMMERCIAL GENTLEMAN. 29 
 
 The joke was now become serious, for the 
 Commercial Gentleman was black in the face, 
 and we determined on telling him the truth. — 
 He listened to us with glistening eyes ; at the 
 conclusion, smiled in the most ghastly manner ; 
 and then rushed precipitately from the room. — 
 A full quarter of an hour was spent in incessant 
 roars of laughter, and when that time had elapsed, 
 we sought him with the landlady ; she told us 
 that on leaving the room he had called for his 
 bill, — ■" settled it like a lord," — ordered a chaise 
 — and quitted the town. The recollection of his 
 lovely countenance when he left us ; half a doz- 
 en empty phials ; a cooling mixture ; an empty 
 pill box ; and some saline draughts ; were all we 
 had to console us, for a surgeon's bill of three 
 guineas, the sum we had the pleasure of paying 
 for our hoax on the Commercial Gentleman. 
 
A LIFE OF TRIALS. 
 
" Human life is indeed a state in which much is to be 
 endured, and little to be enjoyed ; and I have been early 
 taught that this world is not my home, is not my Canaan ; 
 and ought I then to murmur if, in my pilgrimage through the 
 desart, the fruits and flowers of Eden are denied me ?" 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
A LIFE OF TRIALS. 
 
 I have this day completed my ninetieth year.— 
 It may fairly be supposed that vanity has nothing 
 to do with one who is faltering on the brink of 
 the grave ; and that she can have little in view, 
 save the instruction of others, in detailing two of 
 the trials of a strange and chequered existence. 
 The first may teach the younger part of my sex, 
 in this age of over-refinement, that if courage be 
 indispensable to bold, enterprising man, — self- 
 possession is no less necessary to timid, shrinking 
 woman ; and my second, that if anatomical ex- 
 posure be the nurse — and I believe it — of medical 
 science, caution should be used in the selection 
 of objects, and discrimination in the choice of 
 those who are to participate in its disclosures. 
 And thus, when my feeble voice will be heard in 
 this world no longer, I may instruct from my 
 grave. 
 
 c 2 
 
34 A LIFE OF TRIALS. 
 
 I was a girl of eighteen when my father was 
 Governor of York Castle. A murder, attended 
 with circumstances of the most inhuman barba- 
 rity, had been perpetrated in our neighbourhood, 
 and an old man with his two sons, charged with 
 the commission of the crime, were delivered into 
 is custody. By accident I witnessed their being 
 brought into the Castle. Years have passed 
 away, and other events have succeeded ; joy and 
 sorrow, affluence and poverty, like storm and 
 sunshine, have chased each other ; foreign scenes 
 and foreign faces have intervened; but I see 
 them before me now — in the deep gloom of mid- 
 night in which I am writing — as clear, aye, as if 
 they were standing in life before me ! The hard- 
 ened ruthless look of the elder murderer — his 
 venerable hoary hair frightfully contrasted by the 
 expression of his countenance — his cold gray 
 eye, which glanced incessantly around with the 
 most fearful and restless anxiety — his parched 
 lips and haggard look, sadly at variance with his 
 bent form and tottering gait : — all combined to 
 form a picture, which, once seen, could never be 
 forgotten. The two sons stood behind their fa- 
 ther. The eldest appeared stern and sullen — 
 muttered an incoherent answer when asked what 
 injury he had received from his victim — while an 
 
A LIFE OF TRIALS. 35 
 
 expression of vindictive triumph glared in his 
 eye; the youngest seemed bowed down with the 
 consciousness of guilt, and kept his eyes fixed 
 sadly on the ground. Once only he raised them. 
 They encountered the old man's penetrating 
 glance, and sunk beneath it. 
 
 Deposition, after deposition, was drawn out, 
 and such a mass of circumstantial evidence ac- 
 cumulated, that it was hardly possible to doubt 
 their guilt. The trial was to come on in the 
 course of ten days ; but in the interim a com- 
 mittee of the House of Commons required my 
 father's presence in town, and I was left in charge 
 of the castle. It was a responsibility which I 
 had incurred before, and it did not appear for- 
 midable. I was surrounded by trusty and tried 
 servants, and having always been taught to rely 
 on my own courage and resolution in exigencies, 
 I entered upon my duties without fear. The keys 
 of the different wards were brought me, every 
 night, and remained under my pillow till morn- 
 ing ; and that my father's room might be kept 
 perfectly aired, I removed to it the evening after 
 his departure. Things went on smoothly for 
 some days, till, one morning, I was told that the 
 eldest Welsford was not to be found, and was 
 
36 A LIFE OF TRIALS. \ 
 
 supposed to have made his escape. Placards 
 were posted over York without delay — large re- 
 wards offered for his apprehension — officers and 
 constables despatched in all directions — but 
 without success. Eight and forty hours elapsed 
 and no tidings were procured of him. How he 
 had escaped — and to what retreat he had fled — 
 was as much a secret as ever. 
 
 In this annoying posture of affairs, I went to 
 my own room, in the evening of the second day, 
 for some papers I wished to consult. I had 
 opened my desk, and was busily prosecuting my 
 search, when, happening to glance my eye round, 
 I distinctly saw the face of a man cautiously 
 peeping over the furniture of my bed. I felt it 
 was Welsford's ! My first impulse was to scream, 
 but recollecting that I was alone — in a distant 
 part of the house — that all assistance was beyond 
 my reach — that the faintest shriek would seal my 
 doom — I hastily smothered my emotion, and 
 continued my search as before. I confess I 
 trembled : — -and thinking my death blow might 
 be dealt from behind, I determined on having 
 what little notice I could; and facing my foe, 
 I drew my chair fronting the bed, and read a 
 letter — my voice, I know, faltered — aloud. I 
 
A LIFE OF TRIALS. 37 
 
 then sung for a few moments — very faintly I 
 believe ! — till, gradually getting nearer and near- 
 er the door, I made a grasp at the lock, and 
 rushed out- I trust I felt as grateful as I ought 
 towards a merciful Providence, when I locked 
 the door upon the Felon ! 
 
 The turnkeys were then summoned — the fu- 
 gitive was taken — secured — and, a few hours 
 afterwards, condemned. On the night preceding 
 his execution he made a full confession. After 
 admitting the justice of his sentence, he continu- 
 ed,— that having discovered by accident his cell 
 joined my apartment, and knowing the keys 
 were given me, nightly, he had climbed up one 
 chimney, and let himself down by another into 
 my room ; that his design was to have murdered 
 me— possessed himself of the keys — and escap- 
 ed ; that during the two whole days he was 
 missing, he had lain concealed in my room, 
 enduring — as he himself expressed it — -" between 
 hunger and disappointment, the torments of the 
 damned/' He added, he " thought himself in 
 heaven when he at last saw me enter : and though 
 I had not the keys with me would have then 
 despatched me, but that he was sure from my 
 manner and stay, I had no suspicion he was near 
 
38 A LIFE OF TRIALS. 
 
 me !" How closely did I hover on the confines of 
 the other world ! — A sound, nay even a look, 
 
 and I should have been in eternity ! 
 
 ******* 
 
 I pass over many years in which I was launch- 
 ed on the stormy sea of sorrow, and buffeted 
 with its waves — and hasten to my last trial. I 
 had seen the light turf strewn over my father and 
 five brothers ; — one, only one, the youngest, and 
 my favourite, survived. The death of the others 
 had only knitted us more strongly together, and 
 made us all the world to each other. After 
 having received a thoroughly medical education, 
 he was on the point of entering into partnership, 
 when my mother's death recalled him to York. 
 Her loved form had been deposited in its narrow 
 dwelling, and he was about to return to town, 
 when a friend requested him to demonstrate on a 
 subject, and three days after ..the funeral he con- 
 sented to do so. He went to the Infirmary — 
 his instruments were ready — and every prepara- 
 tion had been made — but when the cloth which 
 covered the body was removed, he recognised 
 his — own mother ! The empire of reason was at 
 an end. He rushed from the room a maniac ! 
 
 I am now an isolated being. Of a large and 
 
A LIFE OF TRIALS. 39 
 
 happy family, I remain the solitary survivor. 
 But do I complain ? do I repine ? Oh no ! Roses 
 have been scattered among the thorns which have 
 strewed my path thro' life ; and, feeling that my 
 connection with earth and its illusions will be 
 shortly closed, I look forward to the period 
 when the storms and tempests, that have de- 
 formed the evening of my days, will be succeeded 
 by the never-failing pleasures of eternal spring. 
 
 Rachel. 
 
FOUR AND TWENTY HOURS 
 
 EMMANUEL. 
 
" The stage is a more general profession than is commonly 
 supposed ; for, if the matter were fully investigated, it would 
 be found we are, all of us, more or less — actors." 
 
 Bishop Horsley. 
 
FOUR AND TWENTY HOURS 
 
 EMMANUEL. 
 
 It was in my Freshman's term that I returned 
 the visit of a Non-reading Man, the morning 
 after a wine-party in his rooms. The scene was 
 completely metamorphosed. The prints — of a 
 somewhat equivocal description — which had so 
 conspicuously adorned the walls on the preceding 
 evening, had given place to a portrait of Hunt- 
 ington, some miserable daubs from The Pilgrim's 
 Progress, and a plan of the New Jerusalem ; — 
 in his bookcase, instead of The Sporting Maga- 
 zine and The Racing Calendar, were Hervey's 
 Meditations and Mason on Self- Knowledge ; while 
 an immense Family Bible lay upon the table, — 
 " I certainly have made a mistake/' thought I — 
 I am rather near-sighted — and was retiring in 
 precipitation, when Hollis, who had been enjoy- 
 
44 FOUR AND TWENTY HOURS 
 
 ing my amazement, welcomed me with a roar of 
 laughter. " Ask no questions/' said he; " the 
 Governor is coming." — " The Governor of what?" 
 — " Why, of me : who, in Heaven's name, should 
 the Governor be but my Dad ? Hush ! here he 
 is," So saying, he put a folio on Original Sin 
 into my hands, — armed himself with The Whole 
 Duty of Man, — and pulled a face which might 
 have followed a funeral. 
 
 A stick, at measured intervals, was now heard 
 along the passage, and a little, short, thickset 
 man, in a snuff-coloured coat and pepper-and- 
 salt small-clothes, made his appearance. In de- 
 spite of a nose shaped like the ace of spades, 
 and a starch Calvinistic kind of visage, his face 
 was strongly indicative of good humour ; and his 
 whole air was that of a substantial gentleman far- 
 mer — who " was well to do in the world," — " Ah, 
 my dear Bob ! how are you, my boy ? how are 
 you ? — Just as I expected ! hard at it. Nothing 
 like learning ! Right, Bob ! right ! — Divinity, 
 eh ? Divinity ? Baxter, Bob ? or Barrow on the 
 Ten Virgins? But who is that?" said he, in a 
 whisper, perceiving me, — " That ? Oh ! that's a 
 most profound scholar — mathematical to the 
 Enth ! a man of ' Platonics versus Peripneumo- 
 nics.'" — " Eh? O! I understand — you mean 
 
AT EMMANUEL. 45 
 
 he'll wrangle — may be a Fellow, perhaps, or a 
 Head ?"— " Beyond doubt," replied Hollis with 
 the most whimsical gravity. 
 
 " Sir," said the Governor to me with a bow as 
 low as the table, " I'm proud to see you. I'm 
 not much of a scholar myself — but I worship a 
 learned man. Now our Vicar was a great man 
 here; and says I to him, last tithe-day, ' Your 
 Reverence's sermons are main good ; but per- 
 haps you would give us a little bit of Latin— or 
 Greek — or even Hebrew — now and then?'— Dr. 
 Dolittle stared, and said, ' Why, if I should, 
 Mr. Hollis, I fear you would not understand it.' 
 — ' No matter for that, your Reverence/ says I; 
 i no matter for that : we pays for the best, and 
 we ought to have it !' — But you'll dine with Bob 
 to-day ?" stopping short in his story. I bowed 
 assent — for speaking was out of the question — 
 and hurrie I off. 
 
 The dinner hour came, and shortly after we 
 were seated the old boy struck up " Bob, where's 
 your wine ?" — " Wine, Sir !" says Bob, with a 
 face of the most whimsical solemnity — " I hope 
 you didn't expect to see wine in my rooms. Oh 
 dear, no! Consider the times, Sir." — ■" Right, 
 Bob ! right. The times are fri — ghtful, mo — n- 
 strous ; but my digestion requires a glass, not- 
 
46 FOUR AND TWENTY HOURS 
 
 withstanding. I'll send for a bottle of white and 
 a bottle of red. I will. Hang it, I will. You 
 shall have a glass of wine as a treat !" — The 
 idea of a glass of wine being a treat to a man who 
 thought six dozen a Term short allowance, I 
 thought would have made my beef- steak choak 
 me ; — while Hollis was actually black in the face. 
 The wine came, and quickly disappeared. As 
 we emptied the second bottle, u Well," says the 
 Governor, " considering you are not used to 
 wine, you seem to stand it remarkably well ! But 
 you sha'nt have dry rooms, Bob, for I'll send 
 you a dozen ! And here's a bill for twenty. Take 
 care of it — it's a monst — rous sum in these days, 
 Mr. Robert Hollis ;" and he screwed up his 
 mouth as if his wine had been vinegar. " But, 
 come — I must start. Stick close to Baxter, my 
 boy, and I'll send you — Jeremy Taylor next week." 
 
 We accompanied the old gentleman to the 
 Black Bear, and saw him fairly started. " There 
 goes a slow coach," said Hollis ; " but a kinder 
 father" — and a glow of affectionate gratitude 
 lighted up his face — "never son had. Come, 
 my boy, we'll return and drink his health in cla- 
 ret; and may he keep me out of ( The Elms' 
 these thirty years !" 
 
 A question respecting lectures obliged me to 
 
AT EMMANUEL. 47 
 
 go to his rooms four and twenty hours afterwards 
 — but what a change had that interval produced ! 
 In the absence of Hollis, some son of fun, " in 
 beer," had put the whole room in confusion. 
 The chairs were piled on the tables — the carpets 
 were rolled up in a cupboard — the pictures were 
 turned with their faces to the wall — and not 
 a book of any description was to be seen. But 
 the arrangement of his busts — his choice and 
 favourite busts — was the most singular. The 
 Duke of Wellington was reading The Examiner 
 in a white surplice — Cleopatra wore a pair of 
 striped corduroy breeches — while the Venus de 
 Medicis was in bed with Sir Walter Scott ! 
 
 Laughable as was the scene, it gave rise to 
 deeper impressions. Creatures of change even 
 in trifles, what mutability surrounds us ! But is 
 not a father too dear, too hallowed, an object to 
 be dissembled with ? Are not his very foibles to 
 be held sacred ? And when the intoxication of 
 youth has subsided, and the summits of calmer 
 affections begin to appear — when the animal spi- 
 rits of the boy have given place to the cool, dis- 
 passionate suggestions of the man — will the most 
 harmless dissimulation be reflected on with plea- 
 sure ? On the contrary, shall we not remember, 
 with pain, every instance of filial deception — when 
 
48 TOUR AND TWENTY HOURS, &C. 
 
 a marble monument — a fading portrait— and the 
 oaks he planted — are all that remain of the being 
 who gave us birth? 
 
 E. 
 
HUFFEY WHITE. 
 
' kerne! uisauivimus omue*/ 
 
HUFFEY WHITE. 
 
 It was the beginning of the year 1821, that, for 
 my sins, I was travelling in the north mail to 
 Lincoln. My companion was a " scion of a 
 noble stock," and a soi-disant invalid : so tena- 
 cious of descent, that, as Boniface said of his 
 ale, he eat, drank, slept, lived, and died upon 
 his " family ;" and was withal one of those tire- 
 some, prosing, disconsolate, hearty old bachelors 
 who are afflicted with more diseases than the 
 College of Physicians is acquainted with. Our 
 only other fellow-passenger was " eloquent in 
 silence ;" for we heard his voice for the first 
 time, when we parted at Market Harborough, 
 where he wished Mr. Plantagenet better health, 
 satirically adding, that he " blessed God he 
 had a good constitution, and no nonsense 
 about him." 
 
52 HUFFEY WHITE. 
 
 An influx of strangers, arising from a county 
 election, obliged us to put up with a double- 
 bedded room. Mr. P. had taken his nightly 
 allowance — a posset, some caudle, and a basin 
 of water-gruel : — had arranged his toast and 
 water on one side, and his lemonade on the other, 
 — had applied hot bottles to his feet, and warm 
 pillows to his head — and, having exhausted every 
 waiter within his reach, was at last in a state of 
 quiescence, when a thundering rap was heard at 
 the door. H You can't come in/' said Mr. P. 
 faintly, from under the clothes, as he saw me 
 about to unbar the door, " the cold air," he 
 observed in a smothered voice — " would be 
 fatal to me at this time of night." " You 
 can't come in," he repeated in a shriller key. 
 " But we will," was reiterated outside. " You 
 will! what drunken vagabond is this? Fellow, 
 do you know?" — " Don't jabber to us, you old 
 sinner; but unbolt the door."—- " God bless me !" 
 cried the hypochondriac, " can I believe my 
 ears? An old sinner! There must be some mis- 
 take which" — " We'll burst the pannels," inter- 
 rupted the assailants. — " Oh ! this is unbearable. 
 Give me my flannel gown. I'll leave the Inn 
 
 instantly." — " Force the door, Jack, I say, d 
 
 me force the door, or the old one will get off." 
 
HUFFEY WHITE. 53 
 
 And, our assailants suiting lustily the action to 
 the word ? the staples gave way with a crash — 
 two constables entered with a warrant — desired 
 my unfortunate friend to surrender — and instantly 
 appear before a magistrate ! 
 
 " Gentlemen," said the Honourable Athelstan 
 with all the dignity he could assume in his night 
 cap, " this may be an excellent joke to you, but 
 I happen to be a man of influence, and bitterly 
 shall you repent it. It is clear you don't know 
 me," — u Oh, but we do ; and a devil of a chace 
 you've given us. So now turn out." — u If I don't 
 have you tried for assault and battery, at the 
 Old Bailey, may I never sleep again," replied 
 Athelstan. At this juncture I interposed, and 
 discovered, with amazement, that my illustriously 
 allied friend was taken to be Huffey White ; that 
 a warrant had been issued against him in that 
 character ; and that it was indispensably neces- 
 sary he should forthwith appear before Colonel 
 Clavering, the County Magistrate. I see him 
 standing before me, as I, with the utmost diffi- 
 culty, explained the circumstance. I seem again 
 to witness his astonishment, his obstinacy in 
 declaring it impossible. " I won't believe it ! A 
 man of my station in life, — of my connexions, — 
 of my appearance," — and he sat bolt-upright in 
 
54 HUFFEY WHITE. 
 
 bed — " to be taken for a Highwayman! It's 
 out of the course of nature :" — and he took a 
 draught- of lemonade. — "Hardly sweet enough 
 — so— good people" — he resumed — ic from this 
 place I won't stir. Were I not in bed, I'd soon 
 — however, I shall to-morrow avenge this insult, 
 and visit with the law my aggressors. Settle 
 it with them, E — " he observed to me — " settle it 
 with them ;" — and carefully closing the cur- 
 tains, he turned on his other side, and disap- 
 peared in the feather-bed. 
 
 " Ha! Ha! Ha! Blow me, if that's bad—" 
 said the first constable — " but it won't do, old one, 
 it won't do. This is a fifty-guinea job; and 
 d'ye think we're such flats, when we have you so 
 snug, as to let you slip tether for a bit of blar- 
 ney? No, no. Come, Jack — " and they simul- 
 taneously tore off the clothes, and placed the 
 Duke of Cardigan's cousin bolt upright on his 
 legs in the middle of the apartment. — My inter- 
 ference was again indispensable. Plantagenet 
 suffered himself to be dressed in silence ; and I, 
 having previously prepared myself with docu- 
 ments for rectifying the mistake, accompanied 
 him and his attendant constables to the magis- 
 trates. Huffey was speechless. Even con- 
 cern for his health, and his natural dread of a 
 
HUFFEY WHITE. 55 
 
 draught, were forgotten. He looked around him, 
 occasionally, with the air of a man awaking 
 from a painful dream, but not a sound escaped 
 him. On our arrival at Colonel Clavering's, a few 
 minutes' conversation, and the production of 
 some papers, soon rescued the noble Athelstan 
 from the charge of being a footpad. It appeared, 
 that after committing various robberies in the 
 neighbourhood, the County Magistrates had as- 
 certained Huffey to have quitted London by the 
 Lincoln mail — that a warrant had been issued 
 out against him in consequence — and that the 
 same description applying to both parties, my 
 hapless friend had been apprehended for the 
 hardy highwayman. Beyond doubt, our silent 
 fellow passenger, " who had no nonsense about 
 him," had been— Huffey White ! 
 
 Many and sincere apologies were made for the 
 mistake ; but Mr. P. resolutely declared he should 
 never survive it. "At my time of life I — a man of 
 my family to be taken for a common footpad ! — 
 Say no more ; my death warrant is sealed." 
 Neither argument, nor raillery, could remove the 
 impression. " You are very good," was his re- 
 ply to a hope Colonel Clavering had expressed, 
 they should meet again, and often hereafter, — 
 
56 HUFFEY WHITE. 
 
 u - but" — and his countenance assumed a most 
 dolorous expression, — " I am now bound upon 
 my last journey." Our hospitable host detained 
 us that night, and the next morning Mr. P. re- 
 sumed his route. But he was still haunted by 
 the same idea. When in his carriage, he replied, 
 with a wave of his white handkerchief, to some 
 badinage from his fair hostess, respecting a future 
 
 Mrs. Plantagenet " Many thanks, Madam ; 
 
 but earthly feelings are at rest with me. I am 
 hastening to a world— (his voice went off in a 
 quaver) — where there is neither marrying nor giv- 
 ing in marriage. Colonel Clavering, farewell ! 
 You look for the last time on Athelstan Planta- 
 genet. All is over. Drive on." 
 . The gentle reader, perhaps, will smile at hear- 
 ing, that maladie imaginaire very shortly had her 
 triumph. Whether cold, over-exertion, excited 
 feelings, or hypochondriacism, produced the 
 event, is uncertain : but a few weeks afterwards 
 the County paper announced the death, at the 
 mansion of his noble relative, of the Honorable 
 Athelstan Plantagenet, uncle to the late, and 
 cousin to the present, Duke of Cardigan ; M. A., 
 F. R. S., F. L, S.— and, thinks I to myself, A. S.S. 
 Time, however, and the cares of maturer 
 
HUFFEY WHITE. 57 
 
 life had almost effaced the circumstance 
 from my recollection, till, on passing through 
 Northampton, I was shown, in the corner of a 
 country church-yard, " Huffey White's grave.'' 
 It is on record, that this terror to nervous ladies 
 and elderly gentlemen, after his last exploit of 
 robbing the North mail, was tried, condemned, 
 and executed in this very town j and afterwards, 
 by the entreaties of his friends, — who for many 
 nights watched around his grave, — buried in the 
 church-yard of St. Giles, the parish in which the 
 gaol is situated. To the last, the same daring, 
 reckless, spirit displayed itself, which had cha- 
 racterized him through life. On his way to ex- 
 ecution, he snatched an orange from the basket 
 of a woman who stood near the foot of the gal- 
 lows ; and on the platform replied to the devo- 
 tions of his fellow-sufferer — i( Come ! look sharp 
 —let's be off." 
 
 The corner is almost concealed from public 
 gaze, and wholly appropriated to the remains of 
 malefactors. The spot is lonely and quiet — the 
 grass grows green and fresh o'er his grave — but 
 Superstition has cast her halo around it : and 
 the peasant, in the hour of twilight, will take any 
 other path than that which runs beside it — will 
 d 2 
 
58 HUFFEY WHITE. 
 
 whistle — will sing — will tix his eye on any object, 
 however distant and uninteresting — and feels 
 happy and relieved, when he leaves the spot be- 
 hind him, where, beneath the sod, moulder the 
 remains of this Prince of Footpads. 
 
 E. 
 
A CONSTITUTION. 
 
 
fc 
 
 " Democritus was a wiser man than Heraclitus. They are 
 the wisest and the happiest who can pass through life as a 
 play — who, without making a farce of it, and turning every 
 thing into ridicule, or running into the opposite extreme of 
 tragedy, consider the whole period, from the cradle to the 
 coffin, as a well-bred comedy, and maintain a cheerful smile 
 to the last." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
A CONSTITUTION. 
 
 What a blessed thing is a Constitution! Like 
 Charity, " it covers a multitude of sins/' and I 
 scarcely know how some people would balance 
 their accounts with heaven, did they not put to the 
 credit side, their Constitution. Go where we 
 will, this most potent plea meets us. My parti- 
 cular friend, Delaware, but a day or two since, 
 when the Churchwardens told his father, " that 
 the additional rates were owing to his own son, 
 for he had seduced almost every girl in the 
 parish," assured his Dad, with the most enviable 
 equanimity, that he " was a libertine from con- 
 stitution rather than from vice !" 
 
 Again. There was a Mrs. Hill of Wakefield 
 — the head of the Lying-in Charity, and a very 
 ingenious lady — who had her constitutional weak- 
 ness ; and a queer one, beyond controversy, it 
 
62 A CONSTITUTION. 
 
 was. Though a woman in very easy circumstances, 
 she could never resist, on entering her milliner's 
 shop, purloining some bit of finery which struck 
 her fancy. The milliner was sorely perplexed 
 at the regular disappearance of remnants of lace 
 — French kid gloves — and superfine silk stock- 
 ings after Mrs. Hill's visits, and had long puzzled 
 her brains to no purpose ; till accident, one 
 morning, discovered the thief. Unwilling to 
 lose her property, and equally unwilling to lose 
 a good customer, with the true sagacity of a 
 Marchande des Modes, she determined on adding 
 the lost articles to Mrs. Hill's account, and 
 silently awaiting the result. The stratagem suc- 
 ceeded. The bill was paid, and no questions 
 were asked. But in an evil hour, Mrs. Hill 
 ventured to practise her pranks in a strange 
 shop, the owner of which, unlike the com- 
 plaisant Miss Weathercock, acquainted Mr. 
 Hill with the fact, and rudely threatened to prose- 
 cute his lady. Mr. Hill listened to the story 
 with Quaker-like calmness, and with a dry hem 
 exclaimed, " It was constitutional — quite so !" 
 Others have a constitutional propensity to 
 laugh at " any thing dreadful ;" and from being 
 thus naturally blessed, Etheridge, a College 
 chum of mine, lost only ten thousand pounds ! 
 
A CONSTITUTION. 63 
 
 His uncle awoke him one morning, and told 
 him, with a face of horror, that his grand-father 
 had been found dead in his bed. The expression 
 of his uncle's phiz — the red velvet night cap which 
 adorned his brow — the shiver of his whole frame, 
 which made his teeth rattle like the keys of an 
 old harpsichord— combined with his constitutional 
 propensity, to make my unlucky friend roar 
 again. The old bachelor, thunderstruck, left the 
 room ; took out his bene decessit a few months 
 afterwards ; and by his will left his nephew — 
 five guineas for a mourning ring ! 
 
 Then there are constitutional liars — men, who, 
 without any advantage to gain, or any end to 
 answer, indulge in the most palpable falsehoods. 
 Under this description come two brothers whom 
 1 once met. The one had travelled, and had 
 seen more prodigies than any tourist before or 
 after him ; the other was a man of bonnes for tunes, 
 and had been on intimate terms with every 
 beauty in Europe. The first declared he had seen 
 water boil till it was red-hot — manfully stood to 
 his assertion before a large party — and because 
 one gentleman in company expressed his doubts 
 respecting the phenomenon — fought a duel to 
 prove it ! The other carried his constitutional 
 
64 A CONSTITUTION. 
 
 weakness still farther: for he made his last 
 action, on earth, constitutionally in keeping with 
 the rest of his life. A few hours before he died, 
 he summoned a particular friend to his bed-side, 
 and in a voice, tremulous with approaching dis- 
 solution, entreated him to be a guardian and a 
 father to a little boy whose mother was a beau- 
 tiful girl of high rank. To her he gave him a 
 letter, beautifully and pathetically worded, and 
 filled with the most familiar and endearing 
 epithets, authorizing her to surrender his child 
 to his friend. Firmly believing the dying man's 
 statement, the friend, after following him to the 
 grave, hurried to Harley Street, and with con- 
 siderable difficulty, obtained an interview with 
 the lady : — delivered the letter : — and begged to 
 be favoured with her commands. The scene may 
 be more easily supposed, than described, when I 
 add, that the Earl's daughter — for such she 
 was — amazed at its contents, summoned one of 
 her brothers to unravel the mystery ; — and that 
 a duel had very nearly been the result. It was, 
 at last, proved, beyond all question, that the 
 lady had been absent from England during the 
 whole period to which the letter referred — that 
 she could not possibly have ever known the 
 
A CONSTITUTION. 65 
 
 writer — and in all human probability, was utterly 
 ignorant that such an unprincipled being was 
 in existence. 
 
 Again. I have heard it asserted, " 'tis years 
 ago !" of an old naval officer, who was an orna- 
 ment to his noble profession, and had a heart 
 that did honor to human nature — that he lived 
 swearing, died swearing ; and it was shrewdly 
 suspected by his men, had been born swearing ! 
 A few hours before his last action, he called 
 both his eyes and his blood to witness, that he 
 could not live an hour without swearing, — could 
 not fight his ship without swearing, — and finally 
 
 ended with, " By it's constitutional with me, 
 
 it's in my blood I" 
 
 But how does it happen that the case is so 
 seldom reversed? Rarely, very rarely, does 
 Constitution get the credit of our virtues. I 
 never heard of a lady owning that she was con- 
 stitutionally chaste — a Clergyman, that he was 
 constitutionally pious — a Whig, that he was con- 
 stitutionally patriotic—or a Fellow of a College, 
 that he was constitutionally abstemious. Oh, dear, 
 no ! All that is Principle. We claim for our- 
 selves all the credit due to our virtues, while 
 we burthen our Constitution with our vices ; and 
 it seems most happily ordered, that every crea- 
 
66 A CONSTITUTION. 
 
 ture, under heaven, has some failing with which 
 he can charge his Constitution, 
 
 To be sure, here and there, one lights upon 
 an exception. For instance, my hypochondriacal 
 neighbour, who can eat, drink, sleep, and talk; — - 
 owns a face like a dairy-maid ; and a corporation 
 only second to that of Sir William Curtis ; has, 
 to my certain knowledge, been in a dying state 
 for the last five years, owing to " a complication 
 of disorders." Wretched mortal! he has de- 
 prived himself of the most availing plea for ever. 
 He told me, this morning, with a countenance 
 that would have made a mile-stone melancholy, 
 that " it was all over with him — his case was 
 decided on — Pelham Warren had only just told 
 him, he could do nothing more for him — he 
 
 HAD NO CONSTITUTION AT ALL 1 ." 
 
 E. 
 
ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 
 
"Wondrous, that our will should ever oppose itself to 
 the strong and uncontrollable tide of destiny — that we should 
 strive with the stream, when we might float with the current." 
 
 Author of Waverley. 
 
ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 
 
 With all our pretensions to steadiness of prin- 
 ciple, and consistency of conduct, we are a 
 strange inconsistent nation. Overflowing with 
 patriotism, we are for ever railing at the climate 
 and localities of our island; — stoutly protesting, 
 when at home, that despotism has so encroached 
 upon the rights of the subject, that not even a 
 shadow of liberty is left us — yet declaring, with 
 the first breath we draw on a foreign strand, that 
 England alone is free ;— perpetually satirizing 
 our ruling princes, — and yet, when any domestic 
 calamity assails their family, rally round them 
 with all the zeal, and all the devotion of af- 
 fection ; — incessantly proclaiming we are ill- 
 governed — a favourite complaint by the way in 
 all ages, of the governed against the governors — 
 and yet when abroad dwelling on the English Con- 
 
70 ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 
 
 stitution, as a model for every nation on the 
 globe; — when engaged in warfare, praying, long- 
 ing, petitioning for peace— on its arrival dis- 
 satisfied, and desiring war ; — admitting, that as a 
 Commercial Nation, a state of tranquillity is, for 
 us, a state of prosperity — yet ready on the first 
 opportunity or the most trifling pretext to engage 
 headlong in hostilities ;— pleading the utmost 
 poverty, and more than hinting our being on the 
 brink of bankruptcy — yet lending in their neces- 
 sities to all the world besides ; — for ever seeking 
 pleasure in excursions distant from our country, 
 yet never happy when separated from her bosom. 
 In our internal policy there are minute but 
 equally striking anomalies. Large parks, and 
 pleasure grounds, and chases, and ridings, meet 
 the eye, while the cry is resounding through the 
 isle, that the population of England is too great 
 for her extent, and the landed proprietor reads 
 Malthus with a shudder, in a study, that opens 
 upon acres of lawn. Let the monopolizer of 
 territory meet the subject fairly; and while he 
 contemplates with selfish satisfaction the acres, 
 that as mere matters of taste or ornament 
 surround his mansion, let him reflect for what 
 purposes they were originally intended, and to 
 what objecc they are now applied. If he be- 
 
ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 71 
 
 lieves, in sober earnestness, that the population 
 of England is on an increase fatal to her pros- 
 perity, will he leave a nook or clod uncultivated, 
 which may be converted into human life ? When 
 he considers that the belt of stunted firs or dwind- 
 ling exotics which surrounds his seat might 
 be studded with cottages, and peopled with spi- 
 rits, such as shall one day encircle the throne of 
 Heaven — will he talk of placing legal and autho- 
 ritative restraints on the increase of his fellow- 
 beings? — or think it a proof of fine taste, to 
 admire more a hot-house plant or scathed oak, 
 than the image of his Maker, in the infant face 
 or hoary age of honest and industrious cot- 
 tagers ? 
 
 But it is during an Assize week, in a County 
 town, that the anomalous state of English feel- 
 ing is distinctly perceptible. A period of agony 
 to many a parent — of anxious expectation and 
 fearful apprehension to many a bosom — has been 
 selected as a season of gaiety; and the time, 
 when death is dealing with the guiltiest of our 
 fellow-beings, and crimes and characters are 
 disclosed, which disgrace humanity, is seized 
 on as propitious to revelry and enjoyment. But 
 can not the case be applied to ourselves? Have 
 we not our " Great Assize?" And what would 
 
72 ENGLISH ANOMALIES. 
 
 be thought of the folly of those malefactors, 
 or what is likely to be their doom, who, instead 
 of preparing for their own trial, spend the inter- 
 val in amusing themselves with trifles, or coolly 
 contemplating the fate of their fellows ? 
 
 Another trait of the anomalous state of public 
 law and intellect made striking by Assize Execu- 
 tions — and I have done. The state of mind, re- 
 pentant or obdurate, in which a convict meets 
 his doom, is matter of interest to the whole 
 neighbourhood, if not the County : while hun- 
 dreds of poor creatures around us, and all sin- 
 ners ; — as who is not ? — die in their hovels disre- 
 garded. A Chaplain attends the victim of the 
 law ; other Clergymen frequently assist the Chap- 
 lain, while the zeal and energies of all are exerted 
 for this individual's salvation. But is every poor 
 cottager and parish pauper so assisted ? — If not, 
 — and such assistance insure salvation — then it 
 becomes an inestimable blessing to die at the 
 gallows ! 
 
 E. 
 
THE GREEN DRAGON 
 
 HARROGATE. 
 
" A keen perception of the ludicrous I take to be one of 
 the greatest blessings in life.'* 
 
 Home Tooke. 
 
THE GREEN DRAGON 
 
 AT 
 
 HARROGATE. 
 
 It was my good fortune in my nineteenth sum- 
 mer to spend six weeks at Harrogate. Owing to 
 our arriving late we were stationed at, what was 
 termed, the Round-Table. Among the Knights 
 of the Round-Table was a Mr. Cyrus Quincunx 
 — a gentlemanly man — who would have done 
 very well with his curricle and two fine bay 
 horses, had he not been blessed with a nose. It 
 was a nose of most unusual dimensions. It was 
 a nose — but I cannot describe what it was — 
 so I must say what it was not. It was not a 
 Roman nose — nor a Grecian nose — nor yet an 
 aquiline nose. Neither was it a turn-up nose — 
 nor a snub nose. It was not the nose of a drunk- 
 ard — nor the nose of the sensualist — nor the nose 
 
76 THE GREEN DRAGON AT HARROGATE. 
 
 of the glutton. It looked like a nose in a blaze : 
 •—and, by moonlight, cast such a shade before the 
 wearer /—in fact, it was a deuce of a nose. — " It 
 is really a great pity : for Mr. Cyrus is so very 
 polite — of such a very old family — has so much 
 to say for himself— and such a sweet pretty place 
 in the country /" said the ladies — " A devil of a 
 bore for the fellow, that nose of his !" exclaimed 
 the gentlemen. 
 
 It happened, very unfortunately, that Mr. Cy- 
 rus's seat was directly opposite a very pretty 
 girl, whom he persecuted with his pressing re- 
 commendations of the pastry and good things in 
 his neighbourhood. His attentions, though they 
 were wormwood, were evidently so kindly meant, 
 that they were accepted by all — though I observed 
 the dishes in his vicinity to be rarely tasted : — 
 and the plate of many a fair one, whom he had 
 helped, to be sent away untouched. It was cu 
 rious, too, to remark that the ladies invariably 
 took a side view of him — answered him askance., 
 or aside — and not one, that I ever saw, ventured 
 to look him full in front, or face this terrible 
 nose. 
 
 While these manoeuvres were in full play, 
 chance determined that Mr. Cyrus Quincunx 
 should be stationed close to a mould of jelly. Of 
 
THE GREEN DRAGON AT HARROGATE. 77 
 
 this he insisted, as usual, on doing the honors ; 
 but alas! while he gracefully bent, in wining 
 with a fair one opposite, a luckless piece of jelly 
 adhered to the tip of his still more luckless nose. 
 Entirely ignorant of the mischief, he continued 
 talking — and helping — and eating — and bowing 
 — and smiling — while, at every grimace and ges- 
 ticulation, the jelly shook and quivered with the 
 most responsive sympathy. The ladies at first 
 affected not to see it— -then averted their bloom- 
 ing faces — fixed their eyes on the table — all 
 wouldn't do: — at a prolonged shake of the jelly 
 a giggling boarding-school miss was unable to 
 repress her risibility, and, the example once set, 
 the whole table was in a roar. 
 
 At the dinner table, on the succeeding day, no 
 Mr. Quincunx made his appearance. It was 
 soon buzzed about, that a Mr. Chapman had ar- 
 rived at Harrogate within the last week, with a 
 nose of unusual dimensions beyond doubt — but 
 " very inferior, on the whole" to that which 
 claimed Mr. Quincunx for its owner. Mr. Q. 
 had, as usual, gone to the Well at Low-Harr6gate 
 for his morning dose, when the woman observed, 
 " You have had your glass already, sir," " Im- 
 possible/' replied Nosey Major, " for I have only 
 
78 THE GREEN DRAGON AT HARROGATE. 
 
 this moment arrived." — "Well, sir," returned 
 the Naiad of the Well, pertly, " 1 am sure I 
 have given it, for I can't be mistaken in the 
 gentleman: Mr. Chapman of the Crown?" — 
 " Oh my Heavens ! " exclaimed Mr. Cyrus, 
 setting down his glass untasted, " is it possible 
 that I could be taken for that disgusting ob- 
 ject ! " And he left Harrogate in an hour.— - 
 " How little do we know ourselves !" was the 
 original remark of the antiquated belle who 
 told the story. " Mr. Cyrus could never have 
 looked in the glass! Why, Mr. Chapman is 
 a beauty compared to him ! " — It was pretty 
 well known, afterwards, she had had her little 
 designs for months upon Nosey Minor — but 
 
 let that pass. 
 
 ******** 
 
 I had returned from Harrogate some months, 
 and had wholly forgotten both Mr. Cyrus 
 Quincunx and his nose, when I was attracted 
 by a very smart dashing couple, alighting from 
 a carriage, and entering a shop in the Hay- 
 market where I was. The gentleman seemed 
 to recognize me. His figure was familiar to 
 me, — and so were some of his features : but 
 to his general appearance, and the expression 
 
THE GREEN DRAGON AT HARROGATE. 79 
 
 of his face, I was an utter stranger. He 
 spoke — called on me for my congratulations — 
 and begged to introduce me to his bride. — 
 It was Mr. Cyrus Quincunx, with a new 
 
 NOSE. 
 
 E. 
 
THE POTTS'S 
 
 e2 
 
tremble at seventy two. 
 
 Old Song. 
 
THE POTTS'S! 
 
 I am staying for the recovery of my health at 
 the Potts's. The family — which consists of the 
 father and head of the house, a daughter, a mai- 
 den aunt, and a daughter-in-law — pique them- 
 selves on being originals. Such things are, valu- 
 able. I'll describe them ! —Mr. Sharon Potts 
 is an old gentleman who has so perplexed himself 
 with creeds, and sects, and theories, that he has 
 at last quietly settled down into a Swedenbor- 
 gian. He believes, in common with his party, 
 that we follow in heaven the same profession as 
 on earth, and that his sect is permitted to con- 
 verse, at will, with departed spirits. He told 
 me, very gravely, the first evening of my becom- 
 ing his inmate, " that he was sure his departed 
 wife — she had been cook to her late Majesty — 
 
84 the fottVs! 
 
 was at that moment engaged in culinary matters 
 above ;" and that he had rested, very ill, the 
 evening of my arrival, owing to his having " been 
 engaged in a course of chemical experiments 
 with his deceased maiden aunt." On farther 
 enquiry, I find he was once put into confinement, 
 but contrived to make his escape. On his keep- 
 ers overtaking him, he informed them, with the 
 utmost dignity, that he was " an Etruscan vase, 
 and belonged to the Marquis of Stafford's galle- 
 ry ;" — and desired them to take him there with 
 " the greatest possible care/' as he was consi- 
 dered to be, by his Lordship, the greatest curiosity 
 in his collection ! 
 
 Miss Celestina Potts — Sharon's only daughter 
 — is 0l great curiosity in her way. In early life 
 she threw herself into the Humber because her 
 father insisted on her learning "running hand :" 
 and now " certain matters" are pending between 
 her and a Mr. Penshurst Cadwallader, a Cam- 
 bridge exquisite, whom she met at a ball — where 
 his irresistible appearance in a pair of white 
 sarsnet small-clothes (fact, ladies, on my honour !) 
 decided her fate for life. The circumstances of the 
 courtship are in perfect keeping with the intel- 
 lect of the parties. Mr. P. C. — I detest your long 
 names ! — without ever having exchanged a sen- 
 
THE POTTs's ! 85 
 
 tence with the lady in question, thought proper 
 to assert, in every Coterie at Hull, that whoever 
 married Celestina Potts " might expect to breed 
 candidates for Bedlam!" — But chance having 
 shortly afterwards bestowed ten thousand pounds 
 on Miss Potts, so thoroughly convinced was Mr. 
 Penshurst of the soundness of her understanding, 
 and of her qualifications for a wife, — that he laid 
 his pretty person at her feet and offered to make 
 her — Mrs. Penshurst Cadwallader ! — Miss Celes- 
 tina Potts, on this — as she phrased it— " most in- 
 terestingly-critical moment of her life," replied : 
 — " Mr. Penshurst Cadwallader — -some girls — 
 nay, most girls — in my situation — would have 
 kept you hours — and days — and weeks — and 
 months, in suspense: but I scorn such conduct; 
 and therefore T tell you at once that — I'll have 
 you !'' 
 
 But there is always a great personage in every 
 family, and Mr. Potts's sister — Mrs. Bathsheba 
 — is lady of the ascendant in this. She is an 
 ancient maiden, of large property, and vindicates 
 her right to be " a Potts" by the eccentricity of 
 her character. Her study is Blackstone's Com- 
 mentaries, and her delight, law. She piques 
 herself on having been five and forty times in a 
 Court of Justice ; and relates, with joy, that she 
 has been Plaintiff in twenty-two actions, and De- 
 
86 THE POTTs's! 
 
 fendant in eleven. By means, best known to 
 herself, she has contrived to drag every tenant 
 on her estate, at one time or other, into court — 
 and is now going on her way rejoicing, as con- 
 ducting a suit in chancery entirely on her own 
 plan. The last time I saw Mrs. Bathsheba — she's 
 rather too legal for me, for I've not been over and 
 above fond of law ever since I was cast for dama- 
 ges in an action for breach of promise of marriage, 
 some five and thirty years ago — I accompanied 
 her to the sitting Alderman at the Guildhall, on 
 a summons for nuisance and trespass I Mrs. B. 
 Potts, as usual, chose to defend herself; but on an 
 unfortunate turn in her legal oratory, the worthy 
 magistrate was unable to preserve his gravity, 
 and Mrs. Bathsheba — regardless of my rheu- 
 matics — immediately hurried me out of court, as- 
 suring his Worship, with a most stentorian hol- 
 loa, that, " she would see her legal adviser that 
 very day, and take the law of him for l laughing 
 at her." 
 
 To me the most pleasing of the groupe are 
 Mrs. George Potts — the widow of Sharon's only 
 son — and two pretty little girls, her children. 
 She is thought to be a lady of very great re- 
 finement. I must say she carries it, at times, 
 rather too far for me — for I felt much shocked at 
 hearing her ask to day, at dinner, for " masticat- 
 
THE POTTs's ! 87 
 
 ed turnip ;" and hardly knew what reply to make 
 her yesterday, when she lamented to me, very pa- 
 thetically, — her "utter inability to teach Nerissa 
 and Antonina," chits of five years old — " little 
 
 elegancies !" 
 
 ******** 
 
 I have been interrupted by that awful woman, 
 Mrs. Bathsheba Potts. On my life, I begin to 
 fear, from her constant visits, she has some de- 
 sign upon me ! Without any previous intimation, 
 she perched herself upon a stool, and rehearsed 
 part of a speech which she intended should be 
 made in her cause in chancery. I got frightened 
 at her gesticulations — I'm rather nervous — and, to 
 get rid of her, was obliged to hint at an appoint- 
 ment. It had the desired effect. But I heard 
 her say, as she descended the stairs, — "Well! 
 it's the oddest thing in the world ! wherever I go 
 the men are hurrying to some appointment !". • . 
 ... I watched her down the street — for fifty, she 
 walks pretty briskly — and lost her all at once at 
 the side door of the last house in Whitefriar-gate. 
 It was that of a London adventurer, who has lately 
 arrived at Hull, and anounces, he " gives lec- 
 tures on Political (Economy, Modern Phrenolo- 
 gy, and Animal Magnetism. N. B. A private 
 door for elderly people." 
 
 N. 
 
THE QUAKER'S BURIAL. 
 
" If mortal charity dare claim 
 The Almighty's attributed name, 
 Inscribe above his mouldering clay — 
 ' The Widows' shield, the Orphans' stay.' " 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
THE QUAKER'S BURIAL. 
 
 It was in the twilight of an autumnal evening, that 
 a stranger, who had just returned from a long 
 sojourn, in a foreign land, found himself travers- 
 ing one of the most silent and unfrequented 
 streets of Bristol. Buried in the reflections 
 which that sober-thoughted hour is apt to pro- 
 duce — musing on past scenes and early friends, 
 the dead and the distant, the crowds we knew, 
 the one we loved ; he found himself on a sudden 
 making one in a procession, who were, apparently, 
 discharging the last office that man requires of 
 his fellow. Indifferent to the event, the stranger 
 allowed himself to be carried forward with the 
 multitude, and it was not till he had entered a 
 large unadorned building, and was seated on 
 one of the benches which were ranged along the 
 
92 the Quaker's burial. 
 
 walls, that he became conscious he was within a 
 Quaker's Meeting-, the witness of a Quaker's 
 burial. 
 
 To a mind sated with the luxury and pageantry 
 of the East, the scene was new and interesting ; 
 and it might be — the recollection of some hidden 
 gangrene of the soul made the wanderer exclaim 
 in a kind of mental soliloquy, as he gazed on the 
 placid faces of " The Friends" around him, "Oh, 
 had I my life to live over again, what a different 
 creature would I be." — He closed his reverie. — 
 The Society, two and two, slowly walked up 
 the centre, and seated themselves at the upper 
 part of the building. A plain ; unornamented, 
 deal coffin, containing the remains of their late 
 brother, was then solemnly borne up the middle 
 aisle, and placed in full view of the assembly. 
 One of the Society then rose and made a brief 
 request for silence. To the credit of the crowded 
 assemblage, it was instantly and strictly com- 
 plied with. There could hardly be a scene more 
 touching, than the profound and death-like 
 stillness which now reigned throughout the build- 
 ing, and nothing more subduing than the simple 
 yet imposing spectacle which it presented. 
 
 Ranged around the coffin of him, who had been 
 so suddenly called on to exchange the illusions 
 
the Quaker's burial. 93 
 
 of earth for the realities of eternity,* were those 
 who had been the partakers of his hopes, his 
 privileges, and his faith ; — while behind were 
 seen, in unaffected sadness, those whom his 
 bounty had relieved, his support encouraged, his 
 advice consoled, and his example guided. It 
 was true, the sublime service of our church was 
 wanting— that no notes of the swelling organ 
 came bursting on the ear — and no proclamation 
 was heard of the titles and stiles of those who 
 are then alike insensible to praise and censure : 
 — but there was something inexpressibly af- 
 fecting in the silence which pervaded the whole 
 assembly ; so deep, — so unbroken, — that the 
 ticking of the clock was distinctly audible, and 
 that the ear was startled even by a stifled sob, 
 which here and there burst from those whose 
 feelings were beyond control. 
 
 A female Friend shortly rose and addressed 
 the multitude. " She could not but suppose that 
 curiosity had attracted a considerable portion of 
 her auditors. Still even these might learn some 
 useful lessson — might derive some improvement 
 
 *The late Mr. R . Of him it may be truly said, that 
 
 " he exported his fortune before him to heaven, and we trust 
 he is gone thither to enjoy it." 
 
94 the Quaker's burial. 
 
 from the scene. The most thoughtless might 
 listen to the voice of instruction, the most incon- 
 siderate to the dictates of truth." She then 
 pointed out in energetic, yet unaffected language, 
 the beauty and nobleness of a Christian life, and 
 with a very brief eulogium on the benevolence 
 of the deceased — more indeed with the view of 
 exciting the emulation of the living, than of mak- 
 ing an ostentatious display of the virtues of the 
 dead — closed her pithy address. 
 
 The most fastidious critic might have dwelt, 
 with admiration, on the graceful, yet quiet, action 
 of the speaker, and have listened, with delight, 
 to the melody of that voice which spoke peace 
 to the soul : — while the earnestness of the 
 Quaker's manner, into which her subject oc- 
 casionally betrayed her, seemed but to give an 
 unusually animated expression to a countenance, 
 where every thing else was calm and tranquil. 
 She ceased — and the procession moved slowly 
 towards the grave. Yet, even there, while the 
 body of their Brother was lowering into his nar- 
 row dwelling, no expression of turbulent sorrow 
 disturbed the solemnity of the scene. Religion 
 had given her tranquillizing hue to all around 
 her. Chastened sadness was the prevailing fea- 
 
the Quaker's burial. 95 
 
 ture of the community, as they one by one took 
 the u last long look :" but every kind of human 
 sorrow, every expression of vain and selfish 
 regret, was excluded from those placid coun- 
 tenances, which no anxiety appeared to have 
 power to ruffle, no calamity to be able to 
 disturb. 
 
 E. 
 
THE ART OF SPELLING. 
 
" Famse damna majora sunt, quam quae sestimari possint." 
 
 Publius Syrus* 
 
THE ART OF SPELLING. 
 
 I have been from my youth that melancholy 
 thing to other people — a professed joker. From 
 the period that, as a boy, I hid the Bible belong- 
 ing to a Baptist Meeting, which stood in our 
 play-ground, — to the inexpressible consternation 
 of the congregation and the no small confusion 
 of the preacher,— up to my last freak which I am 
 now going to relate, I have literally treated " life 
 as a jest." — I was on a visit to a friend in the 
 country, a Major Holdsworth, when, to amuse me 
 — Fm an elderly gentleman and have an utter 
 abomination to cards — a whist party was made 
 up, to which were asked the Miss Pennicks : — a 
 trio of the most intolerant, immaculate, vinegar- 
 faced virgins, whom I have ever encountered in 
 my earthly pilgrimage. — It was on my return from 
 
100 THE ART OF SPELLING. 
 
 coursing, while this treat was in agitation, that I 
 spied an odd-looking, three-cornered note lying 
 unsealed on a work table. With unaccountable 
 curiosity I opened it. It ran thus. 
 
 " The Miss Pennicks feel extreamly 
 
 SORRY THEY CANNOT HAVE THE PLEASURE 
 OF WAITTING ON MRS. HoLDSWORTH AS THEY 
 
 are verry indiferent." In a close imita- 
 tion of their own hand, I added the word " spel- 
 lers" — refolded the note, and replaced it on the 
 table. " Well, this is the most singular thing 
 that ever happened to me/' said the Major as I 
 entered the dining room. " Read this incompre- 
 hensible note. The Miss Pennicks can't drink 
 tea with my wife because, ' they are very indif- 
 ferent Spellers' !" " And a very sufficient reason," 
 said I, " for not entering into society." " Well," 
 cried Mrs. Holdsworth, " I always thought there 
 was something odd about those Miss Pennicks. 
 I've expected some time something strange would 
 happen to them." Mrs. Holdsworth was one of 
 those long-headed, highly gifted women who fore- 
 see events long before they occur, — and pride 
 themselves on being surprised at nothing. Her 
 reputation for foresight was so thoroughly esta- 
 blished, that her less fortunate neighbours looked 
 up to her as an oracle. When Napoleon went 
 
THE ART OF SPELLING. 101 
 
 to St. Helena, " She had always suspected that 
 would be the end of it ;" and " the Princess 
 Elizabeth's marriage she had foreseen for years." 
 By three o'clock, in the following afternoon, 
 there were few houses in Hoddesdon, in which 
 the indefatigable Mrs. Holdsworth had not 
 mentioned — as a profound secret — that " the 
 Major" had received such a note from the 
 Miss Pennicks ! " What was it?" cried half a 
 dozen gossips with the most infecting earnestness. 
 " You must really excuse my giving the contents. 
 I never expose my sex. You know I'm not 
 squeamish : but I really cannot detail what that 
 note contained." — "How very dreadful!" was 
 repeated in various tones round the room. " Hor- 
 rid !" resumed Mrs. Holdsworth, with a most 
 diplomatic expression of countenance— " Not 
 that I would injure the Miss Pennicks for the 
 world. Poor things I" — " Ah, poor things !" was 
 re-echoed around. " Who would have suspected 
 it?" " Oh"— cried Mrs. Holdsworth, briskly, 
 for she felt this was an inroad on her reputation — 
 " I'm not the least surprized ! I've long foreseen 
 it ! Miss Abigail's misfortune has been known to 
 me for months ! Not that I would injure her — 
 poor thing !" — " Nor I, poor thing ! Nor I !" 
 cried each member of this precious coterie, as 
 
102 THE ART OF SPELLING. 
 
 she separated to disseminate this scandalous 
 morceau, in her own peculiar beat, with all her 
 energies. 
 
 Well — the story did not lose in the telling. 
 People drew their own conclusions— not, of course, 
 the most favourable to the Miss Pennicks — and 
 the consequence was, that these maiden ladies, 
 who had lived all their days in the most unspot- 
 ted innocence, found themselves, on a sudden, 
 avoided, pointed at, and rejected by society. 
 Their neighbours drew up when they passed — 
 their former gossips, who would once chat with 
 them by the hour, contented themselves with a 
 " Good Morning ! Fine Day !" and, as Miss 
 Charity Pennick observed, the days of Sodom 
 and Gomorrah were come again. 
 
 Things grew worse and worse. " Fine Day I" 
 and " Good Morning !" gave place to a bow or 
 smile, en passant — their tea-parties were declined 
 — their visits unreturned — and Patience Pennick 
 declared herself " weary of life" — when Abigail, 
 the eldest sister, goaded to desperation by a 
 fresh slight, conjured a quondam crony to ex- 
 plain the mystery. She was then given to under- 
 stand, with much circumlocution, that "She, 
 and her sisters, were suspected of courting an 
 improper intimacy with Major Holdsworth !" 
 
THE ART OF SPELLING. 103 
 
 — " On whose authority V: screamed Charity. 
 " On that of his own wife," was the reply. 
 
 After the hysterics produced by this unexpect- 
 ed communication had subsided, the three 
 injured spinsters had immediate recourse to their 
 professional adviser. They resolved, with his 
 concurrence, instantly to prosecute Mrs, Holds- 
 worth for defamation of character. When " the 
 dread note of preparation" sounded, and Mrs. 
 Ho Ids worth was informed, that her appearance in 
 open court would be requisite, she expressed her 
 amazement at u the world's wilful misconstruc- 
 tion ;" and admitted, for the first time in her life, 
 that this she had never anticipated : — while 
 Major Holds worth's broad unmeaning face as- 
 sumed a state of utter bewilderment, when he 
 was told, he certainly had received criminal 
 overtures from Miss Abigail Pennick ! 
 
 To obtain a clear insight into matters, it was 
 determined — that an interview should take place 
 between the belligerent parties, attended by their 
 legal advisers, at which the note should be forth- 
 coming. All but the last word Miss Abigail 
 admitted she had written — but that word she 
 stoutly disclaimed. " Well, Madam," said the 
 Major's brazen-faced Solicitor, — " that point is 
 immaterial. The chief object is attained — for 
 
104 THE ART OF SPELLING. 
 
 your spotless virgin character is placed beyond 
 suspicion. As a lawyer, I say, take the case into 
 court. As a friend, let it stay where it is. For, 
 whatever might be the opinion of the jury on 
 legal matters, you would certainly stand con- 
 victed as a most ' indifferent speller/ " 
 
 E. 
 
THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 
 
 f2 
 
" Is it not better to repent and marry, than to marry and 
 
 repent?" 
 
 Collar eve. 
 
THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 
 
 How much of human hostility depends on that 
 circumstance — distance. If the most bitter ene- 
 mies were to come into contact, how much their 
 ideas of each other would be chastened and 
 corrected ! They would mutually amend their 
 erroneous impressions ; see much to admire, and 
 much to imitate in each other ; and half the 
 animosity that sheds its baneful influence on 
 society would fade away, and be forgotten. 
 
 It was one day, when I was about seven years 
 old, after an unusual bustle in the family mansion, 
 and my being arrayed in a black frock, much to 
 my inconvenience, in the hot month of August, 
 that I was told, my asthmatic old uncle had gone 
 off like a lamb, and that I was the heiress to 
 ten thousand per annum. This information, 
 
180 THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 
 
 given with an air of infinite importance, made no 
 very great impression upon me, at the time, and, 
 in spite of the circumstance being regularly 
 dwelt on, by my French Governess, at Camden 
 House, after every heinous misdemeanor, I had 
 thought little or nothing on the subject, till, at 
 the age of eighteen, I was called on to bid 
 adieu to Levizac and pirouettes, and hear uncle's 
 will read by my guardian. 
 
 It furnished me, indeed, with ample materials 
 for thinking. Dr. Marrowfat's face, neither hu- 
 man nor divine — I see it before me while I am 
 writing — appeared positively frightful as he re- 
 cited its monstrous contents. It appeared, that 
 my father and uncle, though brothers, had 
 wrangled and jangled through life ; and that the 
 only subject on which they ever agreed was, sup- 
 porting the dignity of the Vavasour family. 
 That, in a moment of unprecedented unison, they 
 had determined, that, as the title fell to my 
 cousin Edgar, and the estates to me, to keep 
 both united in the family, we should marry. And 
 it seemed, whichever party violated these precious 
 conditions, was actually dependent on the other 
 for bread and butter. — When I first heard of this 
 pious arrangement I blessed myself, and Sir 
 Edgar cursed himself. A passionate, overbear- 
 
THE HEIUESS IN JEOPARDY. 109 
 
 ing, . dissolute young man, thought I, for a 
 husband,— for the husband of an orphan,— -of a 
 girl who has not a nearer relation than himself 
 in the world, — who has no father to advise her, 
 no mother to support her : — a professed rake, too 
 — who will merely view me as an incumbrance 
 on his estate, who will think no love, no confi- 
 dence, no respect due to me ; who will insult my 
 feelings, deride my sentiments, and wither with 
 unkindness the best affections of my nature. 
 No ! — I concluded, as my constitutional levity 
 returned — I have the greatest possible respect 
 for guardians, — revere their office, — and tremble 
 at their authority, — but to make myself wretched 
 merely to please them — No ! No ! I positively 
 cannot think of it. 
 
 Well — time, who is no respecter of persons, 
 went on. The gentleman was within a few 
 months of being twenty one, and, on the day of 
 his attaining age, he was to say, whether it was 
 his pleasure to fulfil the engagement. My opi- 
 nion, I found, was not to be asked. A titled 
 husband was procured for me, and I was to take 
 him, and be thankful. I was musing on my 
 singular situation, when a thought struck me. 
 Can I not see him, and judge of his character 
 unsuspected by himself? This is the season when 
 
110 THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 
 
 he pays an annual visit to my God-mother, why 
 not persuade her to let me visit her incog ? The 
 idea, strange as it was, was instantly acted on, 
 and a week saw me at Vale-royal, without car- 
 riages, without horses, without servants, to all 
 appearance a girl of no pretensions or expecta- 
 tions, and avowedly dependent on a distant 
 relation. 
 
 To this hour I remember my heart beating, 
 audibly, as I descended to the dining-room, 
 where I was to see, for the first time, the future 
 arbiter of my fate— and I never shall forget my 
 surprize, when a pale, gentlemanly, and rather 
 reserved young man, in apparent ill-health, was 
 introduced to me for the noisy, dissolute, dis- 
 tracting and distracted Baronet ! Preciously have 
 I been hoaxed, thought I, as, after a long and 
 rather interesting conversation with Sir Edgar, 
 I, with the other ladies, left the room. Days 
 rolled on in succession. Chance continually 
 brought us together, and prudence began to 
 whisper, " You had better return home." Still I 
 lingered — till, one evening, towards the close of 
 a long tete-a-tete conversation, on my saying 
 that I never considered money and happiness as 
 synonymous terms, and thought it very possible 
 to live on five hundred a year, he replied, " One 
 
THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. HI 
 
 admission more — could you live on it with me ? 
 You are doubtless acquainted/' he continued, 
 with increasing emotion, — "with my unhappy 
 situation, but not perhaps aware, that, revolting 
 from a union with Miss Vavasour, I have resolved 
 on taking orders, and accepting a living from a 
 friend. If, foregoing more brilliant prospects, 
 you would condescend to share my retirement," 
 
 His manner, the moment, the lovely scene 
 
 which surrounded us, all combined against me, 
 and heaven only knows what answer I might 
 have been hurried into, had I not got out, with a 
 gaiety foreign to my heart — " I can say nothing 
 to you till you have, in person, explained your 
 sentiments to Miss Vavasour. Nothing — posi- 
 tively nothing." — "But why? Can seeing her 
 again and again," he returned, " ever reconcile 
 me to her manners, habits, and sentiments, — or 
 any estates induce me to place, at the head 
 of my table, a hump-backed bas bleu, in green 
 spectacles ?" 
 
 "Hump-backed?" — "Yes, from her cradle m 
 But you colour, Do you know her ?" — " Inti- 
 mately. She's my most particular friend !" — "I 
 sincerely beg your pardon. What an unlucky 
 dog lam! I hope you're not offended ?" — " Of- 
 fended ? Oh no — not offended. Hump-backed ! 
 
112 THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 
 
 Good heavens ! — Not the least offended — Hump- 
 backed, of all things in the world !" and I involun- 
 tarily gave a glance at the glass. " I had no 
 conception/ 7 he resumed, as soon as he could 
 collect himself, " that there was any acquaint- 
 ance/' — " The most intimate,'* I replied, " and 
 I can assure you that you have been represented 
 to her, as the most dissolute, passionate, awk- 
 ward, ill-disposed young man breathing." — 
 " The devil!" — "Don't swear, but hear me. 
 See your cousin. You will find yourself mis- 
 taken. With her answer you shall have mine." 
 And, with a ludicrous attempt to smile, when I 
 was monstrously inclined to cry, I contrived to 
 make my escape — I heard something very like 
 " Damn Miss Vavasour," by the way — to my 
 own apartment. We did not meet again ; for, 
 the next morning, in no very enviable frame of 
 mind, I returned home. 
 
 A few weeks afterwards, Sir Edgar came of 
 age. The bells were ringing blithely in the 
 breeze — the tenants were carousing on the lawn 
 — when he drove up to the door. My cue was 
 taken. With a large pair of green spectacles on 
 my nose,— in a darkened room, — I prepared for 
 this tremendous interview. After hems and 
 hah's innumerable, and with confusion the most 
 
THE HEIRESS IN JEOPARDY. 113 
 
 distressing to himself, and the most amusing to 
 me, he gave me to understand he could not fulfil 
 the engagement made for him, and regretted it 
 had ever been contemplated. " No — No," said I, 
 in a voice that made him start, taking off my 
 green spectacles with a profound curtsey, " No ! 
 No ! it is preposterous to suppose, that Sir 
 Edgar Vavasour would ever connect himself 
 with an ill-bred, awkward, hump-backed girl." 
 — Exclamations and explanations, laughter and 
 railleries, intermixed with more serious feelings, 
 followed ; but the result of it all was — that — that 
 that — we are married. 
 
 Ellen. 
 
ANASTASIA, 
 THE BENEDICTINE NJJN. 
 
"There's no killing like that which kills the heart." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
ANASTASIA, 
 
 THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 
 
 Whoever has recently travelled through the 
 West-Riding of Yorkshire, by the main road 
 from Sheffield to Leeds, can hardly have avoided 
 noticing a beautiful edifice which greets him a 
 few miles before his entrance into Wakefield. 
 The venerable pile seated on an eminence — its 
 turrets covered with ivy — the river, which sweeps 
 nobly round it as if proud of the edifice it reflect- 
 ed — unite in forming an object to arrest and 
 charm the eye of the traveller. Nor is the situa- 
 tion of the building its only claim on attention. 
 A melancholy interest attaches to it, from its 
 being the residence of a remnant of Benedictine 
 Nuns, who, flying from France at the period of 
 the Revolution, have here found an asylum, and 
 in the consolations of religion, a refuge from mis- 
 
118 ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 
 
 fortune. They could hardly have been more 
 fortunate in their choice. The loneliness — the 
 seclusion — the objects that surround the build- 
 ing — invest it with an aspect so inexpressibly 
 calm and tranquil, that it seems to bid defiance 
 to the entrance of any earthly feeling, or unhal- 
 lowed passion, — Behind it, in silent grandeur, 
 rises the thick noble wood of Kirkthorpe, while 
 through the trees the village church raises its 
 humble head in the distance. It is not the least 
 remarkable feature of this lowly building, that, 
 in its church-yard, the Nuns from Monte Cassino 
 find their last resting place. 
 
 Amidst the high grass, which vegetates in dark 
 luxuriance,— distinguished from the more simple 
 memorials of the lowlier inhabitants of the village 
 — rise, in proud pre-eminence, the marble monu- 
 ments of the little Catholic community. The 
 number is about twenty. The cross carved at 
 the top — their strict uniformity and consan- 
 guinity to each other — the rose-mary and sweet- 
 briar which flourish thickly around them — finely 
 contrast the simplicity of surrounding objects, 
 and give a picturesque appearance to the 
 scene. 
 
 Among the inscriptions, which vary only in 
 name and date, was that of 
 
ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 119 
 
 "ANASTASIA. 
 
 ONE OF THE SOCIETY OP BENEDICTINES. 
 
 AGED 21. 
 
 A NOVICE 1813. 
 
 PROFESSED 1814. 
 
 DIED 1815/' 
 
 I was gazing on the tomb of one so young, and 
 forming conjectures as to her history and misfor- 
 tunes, when I perceived a stranger, melancholy 
 and abstracted, viewing with the most intense in- 
 terest the same objects as myself. I accosted 
 him: and to my numerous queries respecting 
 her who lay mouldering beneath us, he gave 
 me the following particulars. The actors in 
 the scene have long since passed from the stage? 
 and, without hesitation, I give the story to the 
 world. The young will never be persuaded by 
 the aged ; nor the foolish by the wise ; but 
 the living may learn from the dead, for them 
 they can neither envy nor hate. 
 
 It was in the year 18 — , when the English 
 army were encamped near Lisbon, that two 
 British Officers paid a visit to the Convent of 
 St. Clara. It enclosed within its walls, at that 
 period, two sisters, beautiful and unfortunate 
 girls, who had taken the vows, which rendered 
 them wretched for life, under circumstances 
 
120 
 
 ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 
 
 of the most unprincipled deception. Their story 
 interested the feelings, and their beauty gave 
 rise to deeper impressions in the breasts of two 
 romantic young men: and repeated interviews 
 ended in the young officers offering to carry off 
 to England these victims of deception, and there 
 to make them their own for life. The wretched 
 state of the country — the storm of conventual 
 persecution, of all others the most severe and 
 the most pitiless — induced the Nuns to give 
 their enterprizing admirers a willing assent. 
 Colonel Pierrepoint and Sir Harry Trelawney 
 were both men of family and fortune ; and 
 Constance and Inez de Castro readily believed 
 them men of honor. — It was speedily arranged 
 that Colonel Pierrepoint's brother, who com- 
 manded a man of war, then lying under sail- 
 ing orders in the bay, should receive the 
 fugitives on board, and convey them to England. 
 There, their lovers were to join them, immedi- 
 ately on obtaining leave of absence. 
 
 After almost insupportable delays, the signal 
 that the Andromache would sail on the mor- 
 row, and that their lovers would be under the 
 Western wall at twelve that night, was per- 
 ceived in the Convent. The hour, so important 
 to some beating hearts, arrived. The bay of 
 
ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 121 
 
 Lisbon lay clear and blue in the summer moon- 
 light; — the man-of-war's boat, with muffled oars, 
 was stationed at a little distance from the shore ; 
 — and the grey massy building of the Convent 
 was distinctly visible through the bending foliage 
 of the limes that surrounded it. 
 
 The hour had barely struck, when a female 
 form appeared above the Convent wall. *t She's 
 mine," cried Pierrepoint, as the high-minded 
 Constance, to inspire courage in her sister, 
 and shew her the example, first descended the 
 rope-ladder. Inez attempted to follow her : 
 but, from some accident never explained, the 
 ladder slipped — she faltered — tottered — and, at- 
 tempting to grasp one of the buttresses of the 
 wall, fell over into the grounds of the Convent. 
 The scream of agony which escaped her, and 
 the frenzied exclamations of Trelawney, alarmed 
 the sisterhood, who rushed in crowds to the 
 spot, and, after a short search, found the insensi- 
 ble Inez. Trelawney was dragged, by main 
 force, from the spot, while Constance was hur- 
 ried on board the Andromache, which conveyed 
 her to England. There, her lover soon after 
 joined her, but as a lover only. The sacred 
 name of wife he faithlessly withheld from her ; 
 and, to the agony of being betrayed by the man 
 
122 ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 
 
 she loved, were added the most fearful appre- 
 hensions for her sister, and the unceasing re- 
 proaches of her own heart. Of Inez, or of 
 Trelawney, she could obtain no tidings. Pierre- 
 point was ignorant, or pretended ignorance as 
 to what became of either $ and hardly daring to 
 reflect on the fate of her sister, yet hoping it 
 was happier than her own, she continued to live 
 on. The past only furnished her with a subject 
 of regret; the future with a source of gloomy 
 anticipation. 
 
 Three years of her life she had thus dragged 
 on, a cold, deserted, joyless being, unloving and 
 unloved, devouring her sorrows in wretched 
 solitude, with every capacity for happiness 
 turned inward on herself, and converted into so 
 many sources of the most exquisite misery — 
 when Pierrepoint, coming, unexpectedly, to a title, 
 and feeling some little compunction towards the 
 woman he had so cruelly deceived, determined 
 on offering her all the reparation in his power, 
 and made her his wife. — It was a few weeks 
 after this event that, at the Opera, blazing with 
 jewels, and adorned as a bride, her person — 
 faded indeed from its former loveliness, but 
 still sufficiently beautiful to be the attraction of 
 the evening — was recognised by Sir Harry 
 
ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 123 
 
 Trelawney. An invitation brought him to her 
 box. In a voice hardly articulate from emo- 
 tion, she asked for her sister. " Can you bear 
 to hear the truth V 1 said Trelawney, anxiously. 
 " Any thing — every thing" — she exclaimed — 
 "but suspense." He then told her, cautiously, 
 that, disregarding the agony which Inez endured 
 from a limb fractured in two places, the superior, 
 discovering she yet lived, had her instantly 
 conveyed to the Refectory, where the nuns 
 repaired in full assembly: — that thence, with- 
 out her limb being set, or any relief afforded 
 her, the hapless victim was hurried to the fatal 
 cell, where, between four walls, with her loaf 
 of bread and cruse of water, she underwent 
 the lingering death entailed on broken vows. 
 " My agony," Trelawney added, " at discovering 
 her fate, you may conceive, but I cannot de- 
 scribe. Her affection — her devotion — her reliance 
 on my honour — all, at this moment, rise before 
 me. In the last words she was heard to utter, 
 she forgave her seducer — he never can forgive 
 himself." 
 
 Constance uttered no scream— no shriek — 
 not a sound escaped her — but she was never 
 seen to smile again. With her, the season of 
 hope was at an end. After an ineffectual 
 
124 ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 
 
 struggle to stay in a world she could enjoy no 
 longer, — without the ties of children to bind 
 her to society,— without affection to console 
 her, — without friendship to advise her,— she 
 entreated Lord Pierrepoint to loosen his hold on 
 his victim, and allow her to return into a 
 Convent. This request her husband — though 
 a libertine in principle, and now without af- 
 fection for her, yet pleased with the admira- 
 tion she excited — alternately refused and derided. 
 Perceiving her entreaties were renewed with 
 increasing earnestness, and incensed at Trelaw- 
 ney's communication, in a moment of irritation 
 he penned a challenge to his former compa- 
 nion ; " sent it — fought — and fell." 
 
 She was now left alone. There was no 
 being in existence who could control her, and 
 she hastened to mature her plans. On the 
 Continent, she was aware, her life would be 
 endangered ; but, hearing that some nuns had 
 formed themselves into a society, in Yorkshire, 
 she requested — and her wealth easily obtained 
 for her — admission. A rigid noviciate, shorten- 
 ed at her own request, being terminated, 
 under the name of Anastasia she took the black 
 veil. Unexampled privations, and the most 
 severe penance, soon triumphed over a con- 
 
ANASTASIA, THE BENEDICTINE NUN. 125 
 
 stitution impaired by disappointment and cor- 
 roded by remorse — and, on the second anni- 
 versary of her entrance into the Convent, the 
 grave shed over her its tranquillizing mould. 
 
 " And Trelawney," I exclaimed, " what be- 
 came V — He — interrupted the stranger, with all 
 the calmness of despair,—" He stands beside 
 you !" 
 
 E. 
 
MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 
 
 N 
 
" Should a writer single out particular persons, or point 
 his raillery at any order of men who ought to be exempt from 
 it : should he slander the innocent, or satirize the miserable : 
 he might please a portion of his readers ; but he must be a 
 very bad man if he could please himself." 
 
 Addison. 
 
 f 
 
MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 
 
 It was my good or ill fortune — the reader may 
 word it as he pleases — to make the acquaintance, 
 while in Hampshire, of Mrs. Reuben Pottle. She 
 was a singular lady. I fear I shall hardly do 
 her justice ; but I will attempt her portrait not- 
 withstanding. A little, thin, diminutive woman — 
 with flaxen hair, dressed a la Corinne — blue eyes, 
 that never rested an instant on the same object — 
 a small round straw hat, in imitation of Reuben's 
 wife, and a broad, red morocco girdle, confining 
 a yellow silk gown : — such was Mrs. Pottle, 
 both in appearance and dress, on the morning of 
 our introduction. Her mind was as eccentric as 
 her person. Always en magnifique — calling Eng- 
 land the Island, and her husband an Emmet, 
 She was the terror of the men and the Vampire 
 of the women. 
 
 g 2 
 
130 MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 
 
 Having an utter abomination of learned ladies, 
 more particularly of one who was for ever talk- 
 ing about Athens and Sparta, the Capitol and 
 the Parthenon, the reader may imagine my inde- 
 scribable horror, on finding myself in for a tete-a- 
 t&te with this formidable woman. My sense of 
 my situation deprived me, for some moments, of 
 utterance, till, recollecting that the silence must 
 be broken, I began — " What a lovely morning !" 
 — Mrs. Reuben looked at me in silence. " The 
 first day of spring." — Not a word. Her little 
 restless blue eyes twinkled on, as before. " This 
 is really April weather." — Mute as death. — 
 Out of patience with her continuing to play the 
 dumb belle, I bowed and took my leave. I was 
 afterwards told, that on that subject, I might have 
 soliloquized for ever ; for Mrs. Reuben, by no 
 chance, ever noticed the weather. " Foul or fair, 
 we could neither alter it nor mend it. Why then 
 discuss it? It was a subject fit only to be dwelt 
 on by those who were unequal to talk on any 
 other." So said Mrs. Pottle, 
 
 Her husband, Reuben Pottle — or, as he was 
 named, from the peculiar cast of his visage, Rue 
 Pottle, was a slight, tall, conscious-looking man, 
 who appeared completely cowed — a dog, to whom 
 any urchin might say, " Where's your tail?" 
 
MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 131 
 
 Twice, and twice only, did I ever hear his voice in 
 his own house. The first time that I was amazed 
 by its sound, was at one of Mrs. Reuben's musi- 
 cal parties. " My love, Sir Thomas Pickering 
 has arrived at his seat ; and I request/' said she, 
 in the tone of a seraph, " that the first thing you 
 do in the morning may be to call on him." — " My 
 love, you take very good care/' sighed Reuben, 
 " that the first thing I do in a morning is to go 
 to bed." And as the poor hen-pecked creature 
 finished the sentence, he seemed amazed at his 
 own temerity, and hastily scudded across the 
 room. The other instance occurred with the 
 gentlemen after dinner ; when, on a furious ultra 
 liberal declaiming against the doctrine of passive 
 obedience, Reuben whimpered, in the tone of a 
 school-boy behind the back of his master, " Ah ! 
 that's just the way with my little fool I" 
 
 Of her hostility to the doctrine of non-resist- 
 ance, Mrs. Reuben gave an instance in early life. 
 She lost her mother at sixteen ; and her father, 
 a respectable farmer, finding himself unequal to 
 control her vagaries, brought home a second 
 wife, to assist him in the task. To celebrate this 
 event, a large party was invited ; and after sup- 
 per — reader, 'twas in middle life — the song, and 
 the laugh, and the toast went round. Miss Ruth 
 
132 MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 
 
 was called on for hers. " With all my heart," 
 she said. Then rising, and filling a bumper, 
 she gave, with the voice of a stentor, " Confusion 
 to all mothers-in-law." — A very few weeks 
 after this event, she played off a prank, which 
 was attended with all but fatal consequences. 
 It was the period of the murder of the William- 
 sons and the Marrs. She was walking in Ken- 
 sington Gardens, and, having taken shelter from 
 a shower, in a shed, she amused herself, by 
 inscribing, in large letters, on the wall, " I'm 
 the unfortunate man who murdered Mr. Marr's 
 family." The horror this sentence excited, in 
 several parties which successively came to the 
 shed, Miss Ruth declared to be the richest treat 
 in nature. But, unfortunately, among them, 
 came a lady and gentleman, the former of whom, 
 from her situation, was ill qualified to contend 
 with fright. She read the scrawl, and fainted. 
 Her husband's fondest hopes were blighted ; 
 and she herself nearly lost her life. 
 
 But, notwithstanding all this, Mrs. Reuben 
 would have done very well, had she not, unfor- 
 tunately, become a radical. To this political 
 twist she contrived, that every thing about her 
 should contribute. An immense dog, between 
 a wolf and a setter, was christened ie Reform ;" — 
 
MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 133 
 
 and I well remember my amazement, when she 
 said to me, one morning, " I'll shew you my 
 darling — my pet— Reform. I believe you never 
 saw him ? Quite an idol of mine. Reform ! 
 Reform !" — and she whistled like a cox-swain — 
 When in rushed an immense mastiff, carrying all 
 before him. Quite the thing for a lady's pet, to 
 be sure, thought I. What will a woman make 
 an idol of next ? 
 
 Then she had an album stored with autographs, 
 by no means of the choicest description. I 
 noticed one from Hunt, in Ilchester Gaol, written 
 in a fine large hand, and beginning, " Pen, ink, 
 and paper conspire against me ;" and she pointed 
 out, with unction, an illegible scrawl of Thistle- 
 wood's, which she said u Alderman had 
 
 most obligingly procured from him on the very 
 morning of his execution/' 
 
 But every thing in life, like a quadrille, has its 
 finale; and that of my acquaintance with Mrs. 
 Reuben was approaching. At each of the morn- 
 ing calls I had unwillingly made her, I found her 
 engaged on an Italian author ; and, invariably, 
 at a page plentifully besprinkled with pencilled 
 notes in the margin. My curiosity was piqued, 
 and I inquired " the name of the favourite ?" — 
 
/ 
 
 134 MRS. REUBEN POTTLE. 
 
 " Ariosto."— " And the numerous pencil marks 
 are proofs of your diligence ?" — " Oh dear, no ! 
 those are the improper passages. I had them 
 all marked out for me before I began." — I laughed 
 immoderately, and she — never spoke to me 
 again. 
 
 E. 
 
THE SHORE BOAT. 
 
"The consolations of Religion are boundless as the 
 ocean/' 
 
 TillotsGn. 
 
THE SHORE BOAT. 
 
 I have been long accustomed to hope— »even 
 when events have appeared to make desponden- 
 cy prudent, and hope presumptuous. There was 
 a time, — when experience had shown the tho- 
 rough hollowness of its specious promises, and 
 amidst the wreck of fair prospects, and in the 
 anguish of lacerated feelings, I almost resolved 
 to be duped by its delusions no longer. 
 
 Absorbed in gloomy reflections, I had, uncon- 
 sciously, reached the ferry. — Boat, sir ! from se- 
 veral voices, broke my reverie. The ferry boat 
 had not arrived, and having little inclination to 
 wait for its lumbering approach, the advantage 
 of rowing me to the opposite shore was eagerly 
 contested by the watermen. As reason could 
 not decide this important matter, its determina- 
 
138 THE SHORE BOAT. 
 
 tion was left to chance, and the fortunate 
 winner of a prospective sixpence bore me off in 
 his wherry. 
 
 The impressions of early life are seldom for- 
 gotten. In one of my first school-books, I was 
 struck with a description of two opposite charac- 
 ters. One could see nothing in his walks to 
 awaken attention, or to give pleasure, while the 
 other found sources of amusement and instruc- 
 tion at every step. From that time, I determined 
 to imitate the latter; and this determination 
 was confirmed by Sterne's contempt for the man 
 who could " travel from Dan to Beersheba and 
 cry, Tis all barren." I have, therefore, constantly 
 sought information and amusement from those 
 against whom circumstances have jostled me, 
 and have often found both under the most 
 unpromising exterior. According to custom, 
 I commenced a conversation with the boat- 
 man. 
 
 " At what hour does the moon rise to-night?" 
 " 'Tis high water, sir, about half past seven," 
 — and, after a pause— " the moon gets up about 
 the same time. It gives a good light now/' con- 
 tinued he, half addressing me, and half solilo- 
 quising, " and I like to walk home by it, better 
 than by day, or any other time." 
 
THE SHORE BOAT. 139 
 
 I looked at him more narrowly than before, 
 expecting to find a youth, whom love had given 
 a predilection for the light of Endymion's mis- 
 tress, and whose absence, some fair Naiad was, 
 at that moment, deploring. One glance at his 
 furrowed and sunburnt face, which was now 
 turned full towards me, destroyed this hypothesis. 
 I became, therefore, more curious to know the 
 cause of this unusual sentimentalism, in a form 
 so uncongenial ; and asked him his reason for 
 this preference. 
 
 " Because, sir, 'tis the time when I'm apt to 
 forget the troubles of this world, in hope of the 
 next." 
 
 " Is your home distant?" 
 
 u I live at Crabstone, three miles off, at the 
 bottom of the bay." 
 
 " You recollect then the effect of the tremen- 
 dous storm of January, 1817. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, that's a sort of thing one never 
 forgets. Such havoc among the craft in the 
 bay, and the houses and cellars ashore; and, 
 worse than all, one poor fellow killed by the fall 
 of a house that the tide washed away. 'Twas 
 an awful time : — there was a solid w 7 all six feet 
 thick, and many yards long, heaved out of its 
 place, upon the beach, as easy as I can turn the 
 paddle." 
 
140 THE SHORE BOAT. 
 
 I was infected by the waterman's mournful 
 soliloquy. — " And is this," said I, mentally, "the 
 same element, whose polished surface is now so 
 calm and unruffled? Are the waves which now 
 roll to the shore in such tranquillity, the terrific 
 agents of this mighty destruction ? You scarcely 
 expect to witness another storm so violent V 9 
 said I, resuming the conversation, 
 
 " 'Tisn't likely, sir, in these parts ; but the same 
 hand that sent that may, for our wickedness, 
 send another. Ah 5 sir ! the sea is a dreadful 
 and a deceitful master, to say the best of it. I 
 have got my bread upon it all my life-time, and 
 three times narrowly escaped drowning. Once, 
 and more to my shame I speak it, I was drunk 
 when I fell overboard. What, if I had gone to 
 another world in that condition ! but a ship-mate 
 caught me by the hair of the head and saved me. 
 The second time, when quite sober, I was 
 knocked overboard by the jibing of the sail ; 
 'tis a long, long time ago, but the frightful feel- 
 ings of the time make me shiver whenever I call 
 them to mind. I have been in action, and have 
 heard the terrible thunder claps in the West 
 Indies ; but they were nothing to the stunning 
 sounds of the water in my ears. — But I was 
 spared, and left to grieve for the loss of two fine 
 boys, in the same devouring deep. 
 
THE SHORE BOAT. 141 
 
 " Your sons, I suppose V* 
 
 " Yes ; the eldest was one-and- twenty, he was 
 lost at sea. The youngest was drowned in the 
 harbour here, before he was sixteen. That very 
 time, I was employed in assisting the ferry boat, 
 which had upset in the gale, little thinking that 
 my own poor child was then drowning so near 
 me. 
 
 " Was the storm particularly violent ? " 
 
 " The squall was so heavy for the time, sir, 
 that I daredn't keep the head of my boat to the 
 wind, for fear she should be taken on the broad- 
 side and upset. Bad news flies apace : I soon 
 heard that my boy was drowned ; — 'twas a sad 
 stroke, for he was a good son, and had never 
 left me and his mother for fifteen years from the 
 day he was breeched, till within seven months 
 before I went aboard the ship ; — officers and men 
 knew how much I had lost, for the dear lad had 
 behaved so well that they all liked him. The 
 lieutenant's wife cried like a baby — and 'twas 
 some comfort to me to hear that he never swore 
 an oath all the time he had been aboard. My 
 eldest was rather wild, and I sometimes have 
 heavy thoughts about him, but the Lord can work 
 his own will, and that gives me hope." 
 
 " Have you no other children?" 
 
142 THE SHORE BOAT. 
 
 " Yes, sir, thank God, I have ; but 'tis a me- 
 lancholy thought, when the young ones, that we 
 reckoned would be our succour and support, are 
 taken away before us old weather-beaten hulks. 
 But there 'tis as God pleases ; we have all our 
 troubles, more or less, and 'tis a short voyage to 
 eternity, where I hope to meet my children 
 again." 
 
 I felt reproved by the patient resignation of 
 this son of toil and sorrow, and welcomed hope 
 once more to my bosom. The boat had reached 
 its destination. I landed, and trebled the water- 
 man's fare, in token of my sympathy in his griefs, 
 and of the beneficial influence of his simple nar- 
 rative upon my own feelings. 
 
 R. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by D. S. Maurice, Fenchurch Street. 
 
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