A 925,326
MODERN
STORYTELLER
GRAD
820.8
M69
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!

125
PRESENTED TO
THE LIBRARY
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
By Dr. L. G. Doane,
22 Mar. 1890.
GRAD
820.8
Tri 6q
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With sincere regards
J
Luigi Salvani Donne Mk.
ny.city.
820.8
m ME
BUHR
(6
на напитки

0
NA
COLDSTREAM,
MODERN STORY-TELLER;
EMBRACING
3406
THE BEST STORIES OF THE BEST
AUTHORS.

PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES.

ават
твот
The Unlucky Present
The Sultan's Bear
The Ghost-Raiser
The Pierced Skull
Cornet Winthrop's Story .
Opposite Neighbors
•
•
•
A Midnight Adventure
The Two Isabels
•
•
•
Popping the Question
Captain Withers' Engagement
The Twin Sisters
The Judge who always Anticipated
The Satisfaction of a Gentleman
The Counter-Stroke
The Betrothal
Love Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton
Match-Making
The Tapis Vert of Versailles.
The White Lace Bonnet.
The First and Last Dinner.
The Cock-Fight .
Our Major's Story
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure on the Duke's Moor.
•
Contents.
•
PAGE
7
12
30
36
62
80
95
. 108
. 118
126
. 141
*
. 166
. 169
. 178
. 195
214
240
257
. 266
283
. 293
. 317
•
. 325
•
•
•
3989
4
Contents.
A Cock-Fight in the Havana.
Angelica Staggers .
The Fall of the Janissaries
Leaves from the Diary of a Law Clerk .
The Golden Guillotine.
Edward Drysdale.
The Story of the Unfinished Picture
Coldstream.
PAGE
346
362
. 373
.391
. 410
457
•
•
474
484


©
о
Preface.
T
HE design of this volume, the first of a series, uniform with the
most approved selections of the British Poets and Classics, is to
present to the public, in a form suitable for amusing and attractive
reading and for permanent library use, the best selections from the
standard story literature of the English language. A good story is
always acceptable to all classes of readers, and this collection, we think,
w be welcomed, as supplying a deficiency which now exists in most
libraries
Among the stories included in the present volume, some by general
acknowledgment are of the highest order of excellence-none, it is
believed, are second rate, and all are worthy of preservation.
It has been the aim of the editor to render each volume of the series
suitable and attractive to the traveller, pleasant to the home circle,
worthy of the library,-books which either at the sea-side or the fire-
side, by the river or the rail, may best serve to while away a weary
half hour, when closeness of attention is impossible, and the very idea
of a lengthened narrative is oppressive.
Each volume of the series is complete in itself.
THE EDITOR.
MODERN STORY-TELLER.
oto
The Unlucky Present.
LANARKSHIRE minister, who died within the present
century, was one of those unhappy persons, who, to
use the words of a well known Scottish adage, “can
never see green cheese but their een reels." He was ex-
tremely covetous, and that not only of nice articles of food,
but of many other things which do not generally excite the
cupidity of the human heart. The following story is in cor-
roboration of this assertion. Being on a visit one day at the
house of one of his parishioners, a poor lonely widow, living
in a moorland part of the parish, he became fascinated by
the charms of a little cast-iron pot, which happened at the
time to be lying on the hearth, full of potatoes for the poor
woman's dinner, and that of her children. He had never
in his life seen such a nice little pot-it was a perfect con-
ceit of a thing—it was a gem-no pot on earth could match
it in symmetry-it was an object altogether perfectly lovely.
"Dear sake! minister," said the widow, quite over-
powered by the reverend man's commendations of her pot,
8
to
Modern Story-Teller.
"if ye like the pot sae weel as a' that, I beg ye'll let me
send it to the manse. It's a kind o' orra [superfluous] pot
wi' us; for we've a bigger ane, that we use for ordinar,
and that's mair convenient every way for us. Sae ye'll just
tak a present o't. I'll send it o'er the morn wi' Jamie,
when he gangs to the schule.”
0
"Oh !" said the minister, "I can by no means permit you
to be at so much trouble. Since you are so good as to give
me the pot, I'll just carry it home with me in my hand.
I'm so much taken with it, indeed, that I would really pre-
fer carrying it myself."
After much altercation between the minister and the
widow on this delicate point of politeness, it was agreed
that he should carry home the pot himself.
Off, then, he trudged, bearing this curious little culinary
article alternately in his hand and under his arm, as seemed
most convenient to him. Unfortunately, the day was
warm, the way long, and the minister fat, so that he became
heartily tired of his burden before he got half way home.
Under these distressing circumstances, it struck him that, if
instead of carrying the pot awkwardly at one side of his
person, he were to carry it on his head, the burden would
be greatly lightened: the principles of natural philosophy,
which he had learned at college, informing him that when
a load presses directly and immediately upon any object, it
is far less onerous than when it hangs at a remote end of a
lever. Accordingly, doffing his hat, which he resolved to
carry home in his hand, and having applied his handker-
chief to his brow, he clapped the pot in inverted fashion
upon his head, where, as the reader may suppose, it figured
much like Mambrino's helmet upon the crazed capital of
Don Quixote, only a great deal more magnificent in shape
and dimensions. There was at first much relief and much
comfort in this new mode of carrying the pot; but mark
The Unlucky Present.
9
the result. The unfortunate minister having taken a bypath
to escape observation, found himself, when still a good way
from home, under the necessity of leaping over a ditch
which intercepted him in passing from one field to another.
He jumped; but surely no jump was ever taken so com-
pletely in, or at least into, the dark as this. The concus-
sion given to his person in descending, caused the helmet to
become a hood; the pot slipped down over his face, and rest-
ing with the rim upon his neck, stuck fast there, inclosing
his whole head as completely as ever that of a new-born
child was inclosed by the filmy bag with which nature, as
an indication of future good-fortune, sometimes invests the
noddles of her favorite offspring. What was worst of all,
the nose, which had permitted the pot to slip down over it,
withstood every desperate attempt, on the part of its pro-
prietor, to make it slip back again; the contracted part, or
neck, of the patera, being of such a peculiar formation as to
cling fast to the base of the nose, although it had found no
difficulty in gliding along its hypothenuse. Was ever
minister in a worse plight? Was there ever contretemps so
unlucky? Did ever any man-did ever any minister, so
effectually hoodwink himself, or so thoroughly shut his eyes
to the plain light of nature? What was to be done? The
place was lonely; the way difficult and dangerous; human
relief was remote, almost beyond reach. It was impossible
even to cry for help; or if a cry could be uttered, it might
reach in deafening reverberation the ear of the utterer, but
It would not travel twelve inches further in any direction.
To add to the distresses of the case, the unhappy sufferer
soon found great difficulty in breathing. What with the
heat occasioned by the beating of the sun on the metal, and
what with the frequent return of the same heated air to his
lungs, he was in the utmost danger of suffocation. Every-
thing considered, it seemed likely that, if he did not chance
10
Modern Story-Teller.
to be relieved by some accidental wayfarer, there would
soon be death in the pot.
The instinctive love of life, however, is omni-prevalent;
and even stupid people have been found, when put to the
push by strong and imminent peril, to exhibit a degree of
presence of mind and exert a degree of energy, far above
what might have been expected from them, or what
they were ever known to exhibit or exert under ordi-
nary circumstances. So it was with the pot-ensconced
minister. Pressed by the urgency of his distresses,
he fortunately recollected that there was a smith's shop
at the distance of about a mile across the fields, where,
if he could reach it before the period of suffocation, he
might possibly find relief. Deprived of his eyesight, he
acted only as a man of feeling, and went on as cautiously
as he could, with his hat in his hand. Half crawling, half
sliding over ridge and furrow, ditch and hedge, somewhat
like Satan floundering over chaos, the unhappy minister
travelled with all possible speed, as nearly as he could
guess, in the direction of the place of refuge. I leave it to
the reader to conceive the surprise, the mirth, the infinite
amusement of the smith and all the hangers-on of the
smiddy, when at length, torn and worn, faint and exhausted,
blind and breathless, the unfortunate man arrived at the
place, and let them know, rather by signs than by words,
the circumstances of his case. In the words of an old
Scottish song:
"Out cam the gudeman, and high he shouted,
Out cam the gudewife, and low she louted,
And a' the town neighbours were gathered about it,
And there was he, I trow."
The merriment of the company, however, soon gave
way to considerations of humanity. Ludicrous as was the
▼
The Unlucky Present.
11
minister, with such an object where his head should have
been, and with the feet of the pot pointing upwards, like
the horns of the Great Enemy, it was, nevertheless, neces-
sary that he should be speedily restored to his ordinary
condition, if it were for no other reason than that he might
continue to live. He was, accordingly, at his own request,
led into the smithy, multitudes flocking around to tender
him their kindest offices, or to witness the process of release;
and having laid down his head upon the anvil, the smith
lost no time in seizing and poising his goodly forehammer.
"Will I come sair on, minister ?" exclaimed the considerate
man of iron, in at the brink of the pot.
"As sair as ye like," was the minister's answer: "better
a chap i' the chafts than die for want of breath.”
Thus permitted, the man let fall a blow, which fortunately
broke the pot to pieces, without hurting the head which it
inclosed, as the cook-maid breaks the shell of the lobster,
without bruising the delicate food within. A few minutes
of the clear air, and a glass from the gudewife's bottle,
restored the unfortunate man of prayer; but assuredly, the
incident is one which will long live in the memory of the
parishioners of C.


<D•O0
E
D
•D%The Sultan's Bear.*
a
HE Sultan being one day rather out of sorts, sent for
his Jewish physician, a man very eminent for skill in
his profession, and not less distinguished by his love
of his own nation and his desperate enmity to the Chris-
tians. Finding that his patient had not really much the
matter with him, and thinking a little gossip would not only
be more agreeable, but more likely to do him good than
any medicine which could be prescribed, the doctor began
to discourse on the very familiar topic of his highness's
favorite bear, which was lying at his feet, and whose
virtues and abilities he was never tired of extolling.
"You would wonder," said the sultan, "not only at the
natural sagacity of the creature, and the tact which he
shows in a thousand different ways, but at the amount of
knowledge he has collected, and the logical correctness with
which he uses it. He is really a very knowing beast." The
Jew politely acquiesced in all this and much more; but at
length added: "It is well that such a clever animal is in
* This is in substance a tradition still current among those Eastern
Christions who are "dwellers in Mesopotamia."
The Sultan's Bear.
13
such good hands. If his extraordinary talents are not
developed to the utmost, they are at least not perverted
and made a bad use of.”
"I hope not, indeed," said the sultan. "But what do
you mean by his talents not being developed? or in what
way would they be likely to be perverted in bad hands?"
"Pardon me," said the Jew, "I have spoken rashly before
your sublime highness-such things should not be talked of;
but it is natural that, although I know very little about
them, I should consider the practice and the purpose bad,
when they belong to what I consider a bad people; at
the same time, if your sublime highness thinks fit to
tolerate them, it is not for your faithful slave to say a word
about it. I should be sorry that your sublime highness
should not extend to your Christian subjects the same tolera-
tion and paternal kindness my own people enjoy.”
"What in the world do you mean ?" said the sultan.
"What have the Christians to do with my bear?"
"Nothing at all," replied the Jew, with great earnest-
ness; and he added, with a sigh, "that is the very thing I
am thankful for. It is such a remarkable creature, that
there is no saying what might come of it."
"Come of what ?" said the sultan.
"Why," said the Jew, in a humble and very confidential
tone; "your sublime highness is of course aware, that
among the many curious secrets the Christians possess, they
have one which enables them to teach bears to read."
"How do
"You don't say so ?" exclaimed the sultan.
they contrive it ?"
"Ah," replied the Jew with an internal shudder, "that is
more than I can tell your sublime highness. I don't suppose
that half a dozen of your subjects, except themselves, are
aware of the fact; and few even among the Christians know
the secret. I only obtained the little knowledge I have by
14
Modern Story-Teller.
accidental circumstances, which put me upon the inquiry,
and I was a long while before I could feel perfectly certain
that they actually did the thing. How they did it, and why,
I have never been able to learn. It is one of their deepest,
and therefore, I suspect, one of their most pernicious mys-
teries. I do not suppose that any man among them would
confess it to save his life-not even the old patriarch, if he
were put to the rack."
"It is very strange," said the sultan, after a pause.
“It is wonderful," said the physician with much emphasis.
"What is the harm of it ?" exclaimed the sultan abrupt-
ly, after a pause.
Why should not bears read as well as
men, if they are capable of learning ?"
66
"Most true, and most wisely said,” replied the Jew. "If
they were taught to read good books, it would probably
mend their manners. But if that were all, why should there
be so much mystery about it? Why should these people
do it so secretly, and deny it so stoutly ?" and again he shook
his head, and shuddered. But being fully persuaded that
he had gained his point, he thought it safest to change the
subject; and accordingly he did so as soon as he had
emphatically and earnestly entreated the sultan not to say
a word of the secret he had been led to impart, or, at all
events, not to let it be known that he had given any informa-
tion on the subject.
When the doctor was gone, the sultan fell into a reverie
on the advantages and disadvantages of his bear learning to
read. When he went to bed, the same train of thought
kept him awake; and after a sleepless night, he sent early
in the morning for the patriarch. The venerable Mar Yusef
lost no time in obeying the summons. Taking his patri
archal staff in his hand, and followed by his two deacons
with their heads bare, and their hands crossed on their
bosoms, he silently bent his way towards the palace, ponder-
The Sultan's Bear.
15
ing in his mind on all the various things he could think
of as possible causes for his being wanted by the sultan.
The sultan dismissed all his attendants; and as soon as
he and the patriarch were alone, he beckoned him to
approach, and when the aged ecclesiastic had come quite
close, and again bowed, not only out of respect, but instinc-
tively, as one does who expects a whisper, the sultan said in
a low, earnest tone, "You know my bear?"
"I do, please your sublime highness," replied Mar Yusef,
"and a very fine bear he is.”
"I know that," answered the sultan; "but the matter is
this," and he lowered his voice, and increased the earnest-
ness of his tone; "you must teach him to read.”
"To read!" exclaimed the patriarch, thunderstruck. "To
read! the thing is impossible."
"Of course, I knew you would say that," said the sultan;
you must do it, however, or it will be the worse for you
and for all your people."
t
"Most willingly would I do that, or anything lawful, to
show my respect for your sublime highness," said the asto-
nished patriarch; "but, as I have already had the honor to
observe, the thing is impossible.”
"Don't tell me," said the sultan. "I know more about
the matter than you imagine. There is no use in trying to
conceal it. I know upon undoubted authority that you
have taught bears, and many of them, I dare say, of less
capacity than mine. I shall send him to you this evening,
and if you do not bring him back in six weeks able to read,
it will be as I have already told you—at your peril, and to
the ruin of all that belong to you. So now, do not waste
time, for I am quite in earnest about it; but go and make
preparations to receive him, for he has been used to cour
teous treatment."
This speech was accompanied by a wave of the hand,
16
Modern Story-Teller.
which precluded all reply, and the troubled patriarch silently
and slowly withdrew.
"My children," said the patriarch on his way home,
addressing the two young men who were supporting him,
"the sultan has resolved to destroy us and all the Chris-
tians in his dominions. He is seeking occasion against us.
He does not make open war upon us; but he secretly com-
mands us to do what is impossible, in order that he may
have a pretext for our destruction. He requires that in six
weeks we should teach his bear to read."
"The old brute !" exclaimed the deacon Timothy.
"My father," said the other deacon, Titus, "suffer me to
speak."
"Speak, my son," replied the aged man, in a voice
scarcely articulate, while he gently withdrew his hand,
and laid it on the deacon's head; "what wouldst thou
say ?",
"Under favor, most dear and reverend father," replied
Titus, "I would say that, whatever the sultan's design may
be, you should not be discouraged; and that if you will
only do one thing, which I earnestly entreat you to do, I
will cheerfully undertake all the rest, and I doubt not that
we may get clear through this difficulty."
"What would you have me do, my son?" said the pa-
triarch.
"Just this," replied the deacon. "If I may be permitted
to advise: go back to the sultan as quickly as possible, and
say that, on consideration, you are sorry that you hesitated
that you will be happy to receive his bear-that you will
do your best, and hope to give him satisfaction in the
matter."
"What! my son," said the patriarch, "would you have
me go to the sultan, and undertake to teach his bear to
read? You do not know how difficult it is even to teach
The Sultan's Bear.
17
1
young children." But the deacon pleaded so earnestly, that
his superior at length consented; and returning to the
palace, the patriarch signified to the sultan that he had
thought better of the subject, and was willing to do any
thing in his power to give his sublime highness satisfaction.
"No doubt you can if you will," said the sultan hastily,
but not in ill-humor; "and I expect you to do it-you might
as well have agreed to it at once.”
When the patriarch was at home seated in his arm-chair,
with his deacons standing on each side, and a little recover-
ed from the fatigue of the walk, he turned to Titus, and
said: "
"Well, my son, and what am I to do now ?”
"Nothing, my father," replied the deacon, cheerfully.
"You have done all I asked you to do, and what remains I
will readily undertake."
So he made his bow, and set off to make his arrange-
ments. He chose a little square room up one pair of stairs
in the north turret, and parted off about a third of it with
strong horizontal bars, six inches apart. The two lowest
bars were movable, and the spaces between them left open,
to admit air and light, as well as to allow the inmate to go
in and be brought out at the pleasure of his keepers; but
all above them were boarded over, except that one which
was of such a height as would be about even with the
bear's head when he should stand on his hind legs. This
space was left open along the whole length of the den, so
that, in any part of it, he could very conveniently put forth
his nose far enough to look about him.
"And now," said Titus to his comrade Timothy, when
he had completed these preparations, "I must go to seck
for a book and a desk; and if they bring the bear before I
come back, will you be so good as to see him put in, and
also to mind that the other end of the chain, which I have
padlocked to the staple in the wall, is fastened to his collar,
2
18
Modern Story-Teller.
and is long encugh to allow of his lying down comfortably
in the straw, and taking a little turn backwards and for-
wards, if he likes? and don't let them give him anything to
eat, and take care not to be out of the way-that is a good
fellow."
"You may depend upon me," said Timothy; and Titus
went off to the church, to see about a lectionary for the
bear to study, though, to say the truth, not entirely, or
even principally, with that intention; for he did not mean
that his pupil should commence that day, or the next, and
he was in no doubt which to choose among many old lec-
tionaries that had been laid aside. There was an immense
one, with great brass knobs and corners, out of which he
had himself learned to chant long before he could lift it,
and, indeed, now that he was come to man's estate, it was
as much as he could carry. This book he meant to use;
but for the present he contented himself with observing
from the window the bear coming to school in procession;
and when he was satisfied that his pupil was in safe custody,
he descended from the church-tower, and went to see after
him. When he came to the door of the apartment, he
waited a moment to listen to what seemed an interchange
of anything but civilities between Timothy and his charge.
Titus called out his colleague; and, without going in him-
self, locked the door, and put the key in his pocket.
"Won't you go in and look at him ?" said Timothy, as
they went down the staircase together.
"Time enough," said Titus; "he will be better by him-
self just at present. Had you much trouble in getting him
in? How did he behave ?"
"Rather restive," replied Timothy; "but we managed
it among us. Should not he have something to eat?"
"No," said Titus; "he has got plenty of water; he will
do very well. But, now, come and help me down with the
The Sultan's Bear.
19
old lectionary from the upper vestry, for I don't think I car
get it down that staircase myself."
Between them the lectionary was safely brought down,
and deposited not in the apartment, which we may now call
the school-room, but in the chamber of Titus, on a massy
oak desk or lectern, which turned upon its pedestal, and
which they brought out from the patriarch's library for the
purpose.
It was well that the school-room was rather remote, and
had thick walls; for, missing his supper, the bear naturally
became not only hungry but savage, growled in the most
ferocious manner, and rampaged about his cage like a fury.
But he got nothing by it; and when he had drunk up the
water, and exhausted his powers of growling and raging,
he went to sleep. In the morning, Titus brought him
merely some fresh water and a cake of barley-bread; but in
the afternoon, thinking it was now time for his pupil--who
was tolerably tame after his unwonted exercise and fasting
-to begin his studies, he brought with him the great book
he had prepared for his use, and placed it open on the desk,
which now stood before the horizontal opening between
the bars already described. All the morning had been
employed in preparing the desk and the book; and the for-
mer was so contrived that, by means of a screw, the latter
could be raised or lowered at pleasure. The book was no
sooner placed before the opening, at the distance of a few
inches, than the bear, which was on the look-out to see
what was going forward, began to snuff and poke, and
showed a most eager desire to reach it. In fact, all along
the lines of large letters, which were widely divided by the
musical staves, the tutor, well knowing the taste of his
pupil, had stuck little figs, dates, raisins, almonds, morsels
of cake, comfits, and dried fruits; in short, all such little
sweet things as bears so particularly delight in. The book
|
20
Modern Story-Teller.
was placed at such a height and distance, that the pupil
could only reach the top line; and the eager manner in
which he cleared it, gave promise that he would prove an
apt scholar in that branch of learning. One page only was
thus prepared for him; for at that period of his education it
would have been impossible, without harsher measures than
his tutor wished to adopt, to prevent him from cross-deal-
ings, which would greatly have blemished his scholarship
Some minor offences-such, for instance, as inordinate efforts
to begin upon a second line before he had regularly perused
the first-were punished by switching him on the nose,
turning the double desk round-in which case it presented
him with a mirror, that frightened him dreadfully—or even,
in case of perverseness, leaving him to himself, without giv-
ing him the substantial honey-cake, which always rewarded
a well-said lesson. In a short time the parties began to
understand one another, and as Titus had prudently taken
care to be known to his pupil only as a benefactor, he soon
gained his confidence. The bear, who, like all his race, had
an ardent love for such dainties, found that he was welcome
to eat all he could get, if he did but do it in a decent,
methodical manner. He soon learned, therefore, to take
each line as it came; and, indeed, after a short time, his
instructor not only ventured to cover the lines of the two
open pages at the same time, but by enlarging the opening
in front of his cell, he put it in his pupil's power to go on
from one line to another without the book being raised;
and after the tutor had for a week or two turned the leaf
when necessary, the pupil began to show that, if it was not
done for him, he could do it for himself.
As the time drew on, the patriarch was most anxious to
know, but did not venture to ask, how matters were going
on. At length he summoned courage, and put the question,
somewhat indirectly, to Titus; and although he received no
The Sultan's Bear.
21
particulars, yet he could not help feeling comforted by the
cheerful manner in which his affectionate deacon assured
him that everything was going on rightly, and that he need
have no fear for the result.
In the meantime, the sultan, though less anxious, was
intensely curious to see what would come of the matter,
and frequently entered into conversation on the subject
with his physician, who was, on somewhat different grounds,
still more curious than himself. His sublime highness,
however, who could not expect from a Jew much informa-
tion respecting the secrets and mysteries of the Christians,
rather confined the discourse between them to the physio
logical part of the subject, expressing his wonder, first, that
bears should be able to learn to read; and, secondly, that
such a capacity was not more frequently cultivated, asking
him, withal, whether he had ever himself heard a bear read?
The doctor, in Parliamentary fashion, blinked the question;
observing that as it was done by secret practices, and not
doubt for wicked purposes, it was best to say as little as
possible about it. His sublime highness was not altogether
satisfied, but comforted himself with thinking that time
would soon throw light on the matter.
At length the day arrived when the bear's proficiency
was to be put to the test. The sultan was seated on a
divan in his hall of audience; his ministers and officers of
state stood on either side; and behind him knelt his Jewish
physician, who assumed that position because, although he
would not have failed, even at the hazard of his life, to be
present, yet he had no strict right to be there; and, more-
over, he did not particularly wish to be seen in the business.
All were in breathless expectation when the Christian pro-
cession entered. The patriarch walked first, with his crosier
in his hand; next came Titus, the tutor, bowed down under
the huge lectionary, which he bore upon his back, secured
22
Modern Story-Teller.
by leathern straps over his shoulders; then followed
Timothy, leading by a chain the carefully muzz.ed pupil.
This precaution was quite necessary; for, having been kept.
fasting four-and-twenty hours, the animal was in no good
humor, and would not have been so quietly brought in, if
it had not been closely following the favorite book. But, in
fact, the only trouble which Timothy had, was to prevent
his eager charge from leaping at the volume while it was
yet on the tutor's back. The procession was closed by a
porter, bearing the desk, who, under the direction of Titus,
placed it before the sultan, at such a distance as would con-
veniently enable the reader to stand between it and his
sublime highness, who might thus see the book over his
favorite's shoulder. Titus himself, thus relieved of his bur-
den by its transfer to the desk, went round into the reader's
place, and opened the ample leaves of the lectionary; while
to the great amusement of the sultan, Timothy was exert-
ing his energies to the utmost to keep back the eager
pupil.
"He seems fond of his book, however," said the sultan;
"that looks well." And all the circle bowed assent.
At length, having arranged the volume to his satisfac-
tion, Titus received his pupil from the hands of his col-
league. The bear stood up manfully to his task; but it
need scarcely be said, he was sadly disappointed when he
found that, unlike itself, the beloved book contained no
sweets-not a morsel, though the often-travelled, much-
licked, and still-besmeared lines retained the well known
scent and savor. He ran his nose over one line after ano-
ther, all down the first page, then down the second, and
then somewhat impatiently turned the leaf.
"Well," cried the sultan, "he certainly seems to take a
great interest in it himself; and he may understand it per-
fectly, for aught I know; but I wish he would read aloud,
The Sultan's Beur.
23
I should like to hear him. Will you be so good as to tell
him so ?" he added, addressing the patriarch.
The venerable Mar Yusef was puzzled, he made a bow,
but could think of nothing to say. Titus, however, promptly
dropped on his knees between the bear and the sultan; and
addressing the latter, he said:
"Your sublime highness will hear him presently; be
pleased to give him a little time. Let him not be harshly
judged, if he is a little timid and shy. This is his first
attempt in public."
As he said this, the deacon saw the twinkle of the Jew's
eye over the sultan's shoulder. It was only a moment, and
nobody but Titus himself knew that he had seen it at all,
so intently did he seem to be occupied in comforting and
encouraging-perhaps we should say exciting, his pupil.
The bear, however, being disappointed line after line, and
page after page, and only stimulated and irritated by the
scent and the slight taste which he could get by thrusting
the tip of his tongue through his muzzle, began to growl
most awfully, as he still went on mechanically, line after
line, and turned the leaves with increased rapidity and
vehemence. This continued for some time, until the pupil
was evidently getting into a passion, and the tutor was
growing rather nervous, when the sultan showed a disposi-
tion to speak, which Titus most thankfully interpreted as an
intimation that the experiment had been carried far enough.
He instantly quieted his pupil, not so much by the order
which he gave, as by showing him a honey-cake, which
nobody else saw, handed the chain to Timothy, and prepared
to listen.
"As I observed before," said the sultan, "he certainly
does seem to take a vast interest in it himself; and I dare
say he understands it; but as to his elocution, I must say
it seems to me somewhat inarticulate." The patriarch was
24
Modern Story-Teller.
puzzled again, and again he bowed, lower than before
The Jew chuckled, and whispered son.ething in the sultan's
ear. But Titus was not disconcerted. Falling again on his
knees, he exclaimed: "Pardon me, your sublime highness,
we consider him a remarkably good reader, an animal of
excellent parts, and a pupil who does us great credit. It is
true, as your sublime highness's discrimination has observed,
that his enunciation, even to those who know the language,
may have some appearance of indistinctness, because he is
defective in the vowel points; but we cannot help it, for
all our books are unpointed. In this, which, indeed, we
consider a matter of little importance, we do not pretend
to compete with the Jews, who teach theirs from pointed
books. If your sublime highness ever heard a bear read
more articulately than this one, it must have been one of
theirs; and if you would have your own perfected in that
particular, you must put it into their hands."
The sultan stared at the deacon; and the Jew eyed him
over the sultan's shoulder with fierce alarm. But the hands
of Titus were folded on his breast, and his head was bowed
down on his hands.
"Well," said the sultan to the patriarch, after a pause,
during which it was obvious that some things were passing
through his mind of which he said nothing, "I thank you
for the pains you have taken; and although I cannot say that I
quite understand the matter now, yet if I had known six
weeks ago as much as I do at present, I would not have
troubled you. If you are ever in want of any help or pro-
tection, remember, as I shall, that you have obliged me."
The patriarch bowed. The sultan rose and retired,
resolved that his first business should be to come to a full
explanation with his doctor; and accordingly, a summons
for the Israelite was instantly issued. Very long it seemed
to the sultan—although, in fact, it was only half an hour-
The Sultan's Bear.
25
before the vizier came to report, that the doctor was no
where to be found.
"Well," said the sultan, "I do not much wonder at that
I always thought him a wise man, and he is certainly no
fool to get out of the way now. But, at the same time, let
strict search be made; and also bring me the chief rabbi."
In the confusion occasioned by the breaking up of the
company, the tutor and his pupil-the latter of whom had
naturally dropped into the less ostentatious posture of a
quadruped-were forgotten, or at least overlooked, by the
crowd of courtiers, who rushed to congratulate Mar Yusef,
or laid their heads together, to whisper their surprise or
their suspicions. Titus, therefore, having briefly given di-
rections to Timothy to take care that the book was re-
moved, and to see the patriarch home, and make an excuse
for his staying behind, slipped with his amiable charge
through a side-door into the garden, where he seated him-
self on a bench, while his companion stood opposite to him
on his hind legs, looking wistfully, he almost thought
reproachfully, in his face. In truth, Titus was conscious
that he had tried the temper of his pupil, and was afraid to
let him loose before company, or, indeed, to let him go into
company at all, until he should have brought him into good.
humor. He had provided himself with ample means of
doing this; and having produced more than one honey-
cake, and several other good things, and laid them on the
bench beside him, he did not hesitate to unmuzzle his
friend, and a merry meal they made together.
If the master was rendered happy by the issue of an ex-
periment which had been matter of such great and long
anxiety, the pupil was also raised to a state of the highest
possible good humor, by being at once relieved from re-
straint and hunger. He looked cheerily about him; seemed
as if for the first time he recognised his old haunts; gam.
26
Modern Story-Teller.
bolled through the now deserted hall and passages; and be
fore he had been missed by anybody, found his way, by
a short cut, to his own rug in the sultan's apartment.
For a moment, indeed, while occupied in anticipating
the explanation which he had resolved to extort from his
doctor, the sultan, like his courtiers, had forgotten his favor-
ite; but now the meeting was most cordial on both sides.
The sultan seemed determined to make up for his neglect;
and the favorite to show that neither scholarship, nor the
discipline requisite for obtaining it, had diminished his
social affections or companionable qualities.
At length the rabbi arrived. He had, indeed, been a
little longer than was necessary on the way, because he had
found some means of persuading the messenger to let him
call on two or three friends as he came along. He did not
lose much time by this, however; his only object being to
ask them, to what extent they could help him in case the loan
should be very large. Satisfied on this point, and preoccu
pied with the thoughts which had suggested the inquiry, he
stood before the sultan. Great, therefore, was his surprise,
when his sublime highness, instead of saying a word about
money matters, briefly but clearly explained to him the
nature of the business in which his services were required.
"Your sublime highness is pleased to jest with your ser-
vant,” said the rabbi, as soon as he could command breath
enough to utter the words.
"Not at all," replied the sultan; "you will find me quite
in earnest, I assure you. He reads, and, I am told, reads
as well as can be expected without the points; now you
must teach him to read with them.”
The rabbi was utterly confounded. He could only bow
down his head, wondering what the sultan could mean, and
what he would say next, and whether it would throw any
light on what he had said already. So his sublime highness
The Sultan's Bear.
27
continued, with some asperity: "Do not think to deceive
me. I know all about the matter. You can do it, and you
had better not hesitate; for I am in no humor to be trifled
with. I gave the Christians six weeks, and I'll give you the
same. Don't answer, but go, and he shall be sent to you.”
The unhappy rabbi returned home in a state of bewilder-
ment. He sent for some of his friends to consult with, most
of whom were as much surprised as he had been, when they
learned the nature of the business which had produced the
summons. Only one of them, who happened to be a friend
of the missing doctor, seemed to know anything about the
matter; and he could not throw much light upon it. He
could only tell them, for their comfort, that it was a very
serious affair, and they must mind what they were about.
It would be only tiresome, if it were possible, to parti-
cularize all the suggestions and discussions which ensued.
They were still going on when the bear arrived, and was
duly installed in an apartment which had been prepared for
him, as well as it could be on such short notice; for all
agreed, that he must be treated with great care and atten-
tion, not only in order to propitiate him, but because it
might be dangerous to let him return in worse condition
than he came. So neither trouble nor cost was spared to
make him comfortable; and very comfortable he was: sup-
plied with every luxury, crammed with dainties, and petted
in every conceivable way. But whatever progress he might
make in the study of mankind, and in other branches of
useful knowledge, it was plain that he was making none in
that particular branch of learning for which he had been
sent to school. His instructors did not know how to deal
with him. He was on easy terms with all about him, would
play with anybody, and quarrelled with nobody; but learn
he would not. When they held a book before him, he
thrust his nose into the cream-bowl; when they spoke of
28
Modern Story-Tiller.
Pathach and Segol, he shut one eye, and munched figs: and
when, "as a bird each fond endearment tries," they set up
a stave which might have made the very learned the Maso-
rites to dance for joy, in the hope that instinctively, or by
mere love of imitation, he might be led to join in the chorus,
he only threw himself on his back, and fairly roared them
down.
Sensible of all this, and of its probable consequences, the
instructors had not been idle in another direction. They
had used their utmost endeavors to learn how the pupil had
been dealt with by his former tutor. But all their inquiries
were fruitless. Titus had kept his secret so effectually, that
even Timothy knew little, if anything, more than other peo-
ple; or, in other words, more than had been transacted
before the sultan and his court. But in collecting all such
information as could be gleaned, they were indefatigable,
and were scrupulously careful to imitate everything which
had been done, not knowing what hidden virtue there might
be in things apparently trivial. They provided a great book
and a desk; and did, and were prepared to do, all that, so
far as they could learn, had been done before. And so
matters went on until the time came for them to produce
their pupil.
The sultan was led, by various considerations, to think
that it would be better to have the examination rather more
private than the former one had been; and, accordingly, at
the time appointed, the rabbi and his companions were
brought into his private apartment. They had no hope that
the book and desk-which, however, they had taken care
to provide would be wanted by their pupil; and indeed
for some time past their thoughts had been turned from any
attempts at instruction, and employed in framing an apology,
in doing which they flattered themselves that they had not
succeeded tolerably well.
The Sultan's Bear.
29
The pupil, who had grown corpulent under his late
course of treatment, did not at first raise his lazy, half-shut
eyes high enough from the ground to see the desk and open
book, which were clever imitations, if not quite facsimiles
of forms deeply impressed on his memory, and calculated to
produce very stimulating recollections. As soon as they
caught his eye, he seemed to be seized with sudden passion,
dashed at the book, and overthrew the whole concern.
Fiercely did he thrust his nose and paws between the leaves,
and turn them, and tear them, and trample them. At
length, exhausted by his exertions-to say nothing of his
having previously had more exercise than usual—he wad-
dled away to his well known rug, absolutely declined all
invitations either to work or play, and lay there watching
the company through his half-shut eyes, in a state of stupid
repose, which those who had just watched his effervescence
did not care to interrupt.
"Well," said the sultan to the rabbi and his friends,
"you are a strange set of people. When I put my bear into
your hands, he read fluently, and con amore; and all you
had to do, was to perfect his articulation. Instead of that,
you bring him back fat, stupid, and savage, and so far from
reading better, unable to read at all. It would serve you
right, if I were to hang the whole set of you, and confiscate
all your goods; but I am a merciful man, and will be con-
tent with banishment."
So an order was immediately issued for banishing the
Jews from the dominions of the sultan; and they all made
off as fast as they could, not knowing that their own coun-
trymen had been at the bottom of all, or having any idea
of the explanation which is here laid before the reader.

Cutebetet
The Ghost-Raiser.
ገብ
Y uncle Beagley, who commenced his commercial
career very early in the present century as a bag-
man, will tell stories. Among them, he tells his
Single Ghost story so often, that I am heartily tired of it.
In self-defence, therefore, I publish the tale, in order that
when next the good, kind old gentleman offers to bore us
with it, everybody may say they know it. I remember
every word of it.
One fine autumn evening, about forty years ago, I was
travelling on horseback from Shrewsbury to Chester. I felt
tolerably tired, and was beginning to look out for some
snug wayside inn, where I might pass the night, when a
sudden and violent thunder-storm came on. My horse,
terrified by the lightning, fairly took the bridle between his
teeth, and started off with me at full gallop through lanes
and cross-roads, until at length I managed to pull him up
just near the door of a neat-looking country inn.
"Well," thought I, "there was wit in your madness,
old boy, since it brought us to this comfortable refuge "
The Ghost Raiser.
31
And alighting, I gave him in charge to the stout farmer's
boy who acted as ostler. The inn-kitchen, which was also
the guest room, was large, clean, neat, and comfortable,
very like the pleasant hostelry described by Izaak Walton.
There were several travellers already in the room-proba-
bly, like myself, driven there for shelter-and they were all
warming themselves by the blazing fire while waiting for
supper. I joined the party. Presently, being summoned
by the hostess, we all sat down, twelve in number, to
a smoking repast of bacon and eggs, corned beef and carrots,
and stewed hare.
The conversation naturally turned on the mishaps.
occasioned by the storm, of which every one seemed to
have had his full share. One had been thrown off his horse;
another, driving in a gig, had been upset into a muddy
dyke; all had got a thorough wetting, and agreed unani-
mously that it was dreadful weather-a regular witches'
sabbath!
"Witches and ghosts prefer for their sabbath a fine
moonlight night to such weather as this!"
These words were uttered in a solemn tone, and with
strange emphasis, by one of the company. He was a tall,
dark-looking man, and I had set him down in my own mind
as a travelling merchant or pedlar. My next neighbor was
a gay, well looking, fashionably dressed young man, who,
bursting into a peal of laughter, said:-
"You must know the manners and customs of ghosts
very well, to be able to tell that they dislike getting wet or
muddy."
The first speaker, giving him a dark fierce look, said:
Young man, speak not so lightly of things above your
comprehension.”
“Do you mean to imply that there are such things as
ghosts ?"
32
Modern Story-Teller.
it
Perhaps there are, if you had courage to look at
them."
The young man stood up, flushed with anger. But
presently resuming his seat, he said calmly:
"That taunt should cost you dear, if it were not such a
foolish one.”
"A foolish one!" exclaimed the merchant, throwing on
the table a heavy leathern purse. "There are fifty guineas.
I am content to lose them, if, before the hour is ended, I
do not succeed in showing you, who are so obstinately pre-
judiced, the form of any one of your deceased friends; and
if, after you have recognised him, you will allow him to kiss
your lips."
We all looked at each other, but my young neighbor,
still in the same mocking manner, replied:
"You will do that, will you?"
"Yes," said the other-"I will stake these fifty guineas,
on condition that you will pay a similar sum, if you lose."
After a short silence, the young man said gaily:
"Fifty guineas, my worthy sorcerer, are more than a
poor college sizar ever possessed; but here are five, which,
if you are satisfied, I shall be most willing to wager."
The other took up his purse, saying, in a contemptuous
tone:
"Young gentleman, you wish to draw back?"
"I draw back ?" exclaimed the student. "Well! if I
had the fifty guineas, you should see whether I wish to
draw back!”
"Here," said I," are four guineas, which I will stake on
your wager."
No sooner had I made this proposition than the rest of
the company, attracted by the singularity of the affair,
came forward to lay down their money; and in a minute
or two the fifty guineas were subscribed. The merchant
The Ghost-Raiser.
83
appeared so sure of winning, that he placed all the stakes
in the student's hands, and prepared for his experiment.
We selected for the purpose a small summer-house in the
garden, perfectly isolated, and having no means of exit but
a window and a door, which we carefully fastened, after
placing the young man within. We put writing materials.
on a small table in the summer-house, and took away the
candles. We remained outside, with the pedlar amongst
us. In a low solemn voice he began to chant the following
lines:-
"What riseth slow from the ocean caves,
And the stormy surf?
The phantom pale sets his blackened foot
On the fresh green turf"
Then raising his voice solemnly, he said:
"You asked to see your friend, Francis Villiers, who
was drowned three years ago, off the coast of South
America-what do you see?"
"I see," replied the student, "a white light rising near
the window; but it has no form; it is like an uncertain
cloud."
We-the spectators-remained profoundly silent.
"Are you afraid ?" asked the merchant, in a loud voice.
"I am not," replied the student firmly.
After a moment's silence, the pedlar stamped three times.
on the ground, and sang:
"And the phantom white, whose clay-cold face
Was once so fair,
Dries with his shroud his clinging vest
And his sea-tossed hair.”
Once more the solemn question:
"You, who would see revealed the mysteries of the
tomb-what do you see now?”
3
34
Modern Story-Teller.
The student answered, in a calm voice, but like that of a
man describing things as they pass before him:
"I see the cloud taking the form of a phantom: its head
is covered with a long veil-it stands still!"
"Are you afraid ?"
"I am not!"
We looked at each other in horror-stricken silence,
while the merchant, raising his arms above his head, chanted,
in a sepulchral voice:
'And the phantom said, as he rose from the wave,
He shall know me in sooth!
I will go to my friend, gay, smiling, and fond,
As in our first youth !"
"What do you see ?" said he.
"I see the phantom advance; he lifts his veil-'tis Fran-
cis Villiers! he approaches the table-he writes!—'tis his
signature!"
"Are
'
you afraid ?"
A fearful moment of silence ensued; then the student
replied, but in an altered voice:
"I am not."
With strange and frantic gestures, the merchant then
sang:
"And the phantom said to the mocking seer,
I come from the South;
Put thy hand on my hand-thy heart on my heart-
Thy mouth on my mouth!"
"What do you see?"
"He comes-he approaches-he pursues me-be is
stretching out his arms-he will have me! Help! help!
Save me!"
"Are you afraid now?" asked the merchant, in a
mocking voice.
The Ghost-Raiser.
35
A piercing cry, and then a stifled groan, were the only
reply to this terrible question.
66
'Help that rash youth!" said the merchant bitterly. “I
have, I think, won the wager; but it is sufficient for me to
have given him a lesson. Let him keep the money, and be
wiser for the future.”
He walked rapidly away. We opened the door of the
summer-house, and found the student in convulsions. A
paper signed with the name "Francis Villiers," was on the
table. As soon as the student's senses were restored, he
asked vehemently where was the vile sorcerer who had
subjected him to such a horrible ordeal-he would kill him!
He sought him throughout the inn in vain; then, with the
speed of a madman, he dashed off across the fields in pur-
suit of him—and we never saw either of them again. That,
children, is my Ghost story!
"And how is it, uncle, that after that, you don't believe
in ghosts ?" said I, the first time I heard it.
"Because, my boy," replied my uncle, "neither the
student nor the merchant ever returned; and the forty-five
guineas, belonging to me and the other travellers, continued
equally invisible. Those two swindlers carried them off,
after having acted a farce, which we, like ninnies, believed
to be real."


The Pierced Skull.
Faust-I have laid no snare for thee; thou hast run into the net of thy own free
will. Let whoever has got hold of the devil, keep hold of him; he will not catch him a
Becond time in a hurry.-Faust. Hayward's Translation.
eat
HEN Rubini, the famous tenor, was at the summit
of his celebrity and the full maturity of his
powers, a time in which all the musical amateurs
and cognoscenti of the provinces esteemed it a point of duty
to make a pilgrimage to the metropolis, solely to hear him.
warble some of his great songs of melody and passion, three
gentlemen set out from Bath one morning in May for the
express purpose of following the mode, and procuring the
ability to say during the remainder of their lives, "We have
heard the great Rubini." They were all young, single,
and of independent property, thus favorably circumstanced
for the pleasures of easy friendship, and well able to afford
the gratification of any impulse of curiosity like the present.
It was on Tuesday night that our three dilettanti-
Charles Vivian, Henri Coleraine, and Frederic Burgess-
arrived in London. Rubini was
Rubini was to sing in Bellini's
"Pirata," on Thursday evening, so they had a clear day
before them to spend as they pleased. This interval they
The Pierced Skull.
37
employed in visiting several old friends and cronies, among
whom was one especial favorite, a personage having several
little peculiarities and eccentricities of character, who was
regarded with that interest which most of us are ready to
accord to the decidedly "original." Tom Saint-Aubyn was
a strange fellow, with talent and genius in him, buried in
the depths of a cynical, intractable, and somewhat slothful
disposition. Notwithstanding his eccentricities, his com-
pany was much sought by such acquaintances as could com-
prehend him. The three friends stormed the house of this
ancient and cherished comrade, and after many a rattling
salutation, and many a melodramatic embrace, told him the
object of their journey, and insisted upon his accompanying
them to the Opera.
"Friends and countrymen!" said Tom Saint-Aubyn
solemnly, a mirthful sneer fast gathering on his trenchant
lip. "Fired by the universal frenzy, you have travelled
upwards of a hundred miles, and incurred many pounds'
expense, each of you, for the sake of hearing a man squall.
May I inquire if you have paid your subscriptions to the
Bath hospital this year?"
"No, by Jove!" was the careless reply.
The next evening found all the four seated together in a
box on the second tier at the Opera. The house was
crowded; all the rank and fashion of London were there,
full dressed and bejewelled, and making, amidst the gorgeous
trappings and thousand lights of the theatre, a very impos
ing and brilliant show. The entrée of Rubini was the signal
for a tremendous ovation, the popular favorite being obliged
to stand bowing and pressing his breast for several minutes,
whilst handkerchiefs and hats were waved, and thousands
of bravos shouted.
It is all mere bravo-work," remarked the sarcastic
Saint-Aubyn. "The singer imposes upon society, and
38
Modern Story-Teller.
society upon the singer; they make a god of him, and he,
poor fellow, is driven to believe himself a god."
As the opera proceeded, however, our moralist became
better pleased; and as he heard the superb vocalization and
beheld the highly dramatic acting of the singer, he acknow-
ledged that "the man was a genius, and was able to prove
himself such in the midst of anomalies and monstrosities,
which nothing but superfine civilization could enable human
nature to tolerate."
-
The last act was in progress, and Rubini was singing in
his best style the beautiful Tu vedrai la sventurata; all the
house was listening with entranced attention and delight,
and here and there with tears of pallid ecstasy, when, even
in that moment of general prepossession, our friends became
aware that their box-in a very slight degree, it is true,
but still sufficiently to surprise them-seemed to divide with
the singer the observation of several individuals around
and above them. On looking about them, they immediately
perceived the cause. There was Tom Saint-Aubyn, stand-
ing up behind them, in a position which rendered him visible
to a considerable portion of the audience, with a human
skull in his hand. Holding up the ghastly object in a
quaint, careful manner, he regarded it with abstracted,
melancholy seriousness.
The incorrigible moralist was immediately "nudged,"
but without effect; his mind was too powerfully engaged
to be diverted. As the cavatina was concluded, and the
harmonies of the chorus again swept through the house, a
hurricane of applause arose, and bouquets rained upon the
stage.
"How like you this entertainment ?" asked Saint-Aubyn
of the pitcous fragment in his hand. "How do their scenas,
corales, trumpets, drums, and fiddles, their finery and per-
fumes, please your fancy, old friend? Had you not a heart
The Pierced Skull.
39
and lute once, as well as the best of them, as gay a laugh,
as sharp a wit, ruddy lips, sparkling eyes, clustering locks,
and wholesome, comely flesh? How do you like to be in
here, amidst music, beauty, silks, satins, jewels, and all the
vanities, now thou hast gotten so grave a face? Really,
but thy clenched teeth are frightful now thy lips are gone!
Oh, the horrors close beneath our pretty veils of flesh and
skin !"
"Come, Tom Saint-Aubyn, put that filthy thing away,"
whispered his friends, nudging him again, and more pe-
remptorily than before. "The people are looking at you as
if you were a-something dangerous."
66 6
'Filthy thing,' they call thee now," continued he, still
regarding the skull. "They had not dared do that at one
time-when thou hadst blood to rush, checks to glow,
eyes to flash, and tongue to threaten. 'Filthy thing!"
A jerk at the elbow, sportively administered by Charles
Vivian, sent the skull tripping from the hand of Saint-Aubyn
down towards the front of the box, where two ladies and a
gentleman occupied the foremost seats. Its trundling was
stopped by the gentleman's foot. He, supposing, perhaps,
that an opera-glass had fallen, stooped, and picked it up.
At first ho could not see what it was. As he raised it before
his face, the jaw suddenly dropped, and, being wide open,
some lingering integument only preventing its falling on the
floor. The ladies, uttering expressions of disgust and
affright, looked back at the quartette of friends in angry
surprise: but the gentleman, letting the skull fall from his
hand with a groan of horror, sank back in a state of insensi
bility. A great deal of confusion immediately ensued; and
poor Saint-Aubyn, who was much shocked at the conse-
quence of his indulgence in a caprice, assiduously exerted
himself in endeavoring to restore the gentleman, and in
assisting him out of the box. The ladies plied their fans
40
Modern Story-Teller.
and vinaigrettes, the box-opener brought water, and by the
combined influence of these and the cooler atmosphere of
the lobby the gentleman speedily revived. The frightened,
cowering expression of his features as he looked around
him when he recovered, shuddering and trembling, pro-
duced much alarm amongst the bystanders, especially to
the unintentional producer of the emotion, who feared that
a serious shock had been inflicted upon the nervous system,
perhaps to the extent of mental aberration. The ladies
were greatly distressed, and their agitation added to the
agony of Saint-Aubyn. He presently rose, however, from
the seat on which they had placed him, stamped, shook
himself, and smoothed his attire.
"Let us go home. Will some one be good enough to
call Mr. Berrill's carriage ?" exclaimed he, in a tone of great
asperity and impatience, when he seemed to have collected
his faculties to remember where he was, and the nature of
the accident which had befallen him. "Put your shawls
around you; we will go instantly," said he to the ladies, who
were his wife and only daughter.
They had left their shawls in the box. Saint-Aubyn hur-
ried in to fetch them. Miss Berrill followed and took them
from his hand; there was an expression of anxiety and
vexation upon her handsome face which smote him to the
heart, and made him repent still more deeply his thought-
less whim. Mr. Berrill's opera hat was also there; he took
that up, and, on handing it to the owner, made a profound
and regretful apology for the discomfort and even danger
which, by an inconsiderate freak, he had unintentionally
caused.
"What! was it you?" exclaimed Mr. Berrill eagerly, the
whole expression of his features changing, as if his mind had
experienced a sudden relief. "You brought that thing here
in a freak, do you say? You are a strange fellow! Well,
The Pierced Skull.
41
I did not regard the matter in that light at all; hardly to
be wondered at, though, that one's nerves were shaken a
bit. Never play such a trick again, young gentleman; it is
very dangerous, to say the least of it; such a sudden panie
as possessed me would have killed many a delicate lady. A
freak, you say; well, well, let us have no more words about
it. Where is the skull? I will purchase it, if you'll part
with it, as a memento of to-night. There's my card; let
me see you to-morrow. A freak-ah, ha!—bring a skull to
hear Rubini! A skull with a hole in the back of it, too!
Ah, ha!"
There was something not altogether pleasing in this
return to self-possession and sudden outburst of hilarity. It
required but little penetration to trace beneath the super-
ficial cheerfulness an undercurrent of flurried anxiety and
disquiet. He shook Saint-Aubyn's hand nearly all the while
he was speaking to him, with a degree of warmth and hear-
tiness which appeared unreasonable, and when he had
finished, turning to his wife and daughter said, "After all,
why should we go? It was only the fancy of the moment
that overpowered me; I am quite well again now. Let us
return and see the ballet."
Accordingly, the coach was counter-ordered, and the
whole party took their places in the box again—the skull
being now securely crammed into the tail pocket of Saint-
Aubyn's coat, by no means to the improvement of his figure
when he stood or walked. Mr. Berrill was extremely com-
panionable during the remainder of the performance, and
chatted and laughed with our friends as if he were well
pleased to be acquainted with them, and rather the more
than the less from the singular manner in which the ac-
quaintanceship was commenced. A general interchange of
cards took place. Mr. Berrill seemed to recognise, with
respect, the gentlemanly mauners and indubitable signs of
42
Modern Storp-Teller.
education and breeding in the behavior of the friends, and,
with a show of frank carelessness, as of one desiring to enter
into the feelings and fashions of young men, invited them to
accompany him home and take supper with him. Observing
an expression of cold surprise depicted upon the face of Mrs.
Berrill, however, they declined the invitation, on the score.
that the pleasure would be purchased by too much incon-
venience at so late an hour, and after an evening of so much
excitement.
"Come, come; don't tell me!" cried Mr. Berrill, with a
roguish laugh. "Inconvenience, eh?
Inconvenience, eh? Whose convenience
did you ever study, Mr. Saint-Aubyn—with your pet skull
at the opera? From that trait I judge you, young friend-
ex pede Herculem. You shall come home with me, I say.
I demand compliance, in return for the trick you have
played me."
In the end Mr. Berrill triumphed. "But where's that
skull ?" asked he, as they were leaving the opera; "you have
that, I hope; don't leave it behind on any account." Saint-
Aubyn told him he had it safely ensconced in his pocket,
and assured him so again and again in reply to his repeated
remark that "he hoped it was not left behind." The ladies
proceeded home in the carriage; the gentlemen followed on
foot, Vivian and Burgess walking together, and Mr. Berrill,
Saint-Aubyn, and Coleraine, forming the extreme rear of
the thrice divided party. Mr. Berrill talked incessantly;
joked, laughed, and appeared in the best possible spirits.
He detailed all the on dits and gossip of the political and
fashionable worlds, criticised Rubini, the music of the opera,
the dancing, recounted the people of rank he had recognised
in the house, and for awhile, by his animation and eagerness
in talking, rendered the conversation little more than a con-
tinuous monologue. While Saint-Aubyn and Coleraine
were amused, they could not resist the impression that there
The Pierced Skull.
43
was something unreasonable in this excessive gaiety, espe-
cially considering the brevity of their acquaintance. The
humor of their new companion appeared forced, his laughter
hollow and unreal. Saint-Aubyn, to whom the study of
character was naturally attractive, observed this behavior
with interest and curiosity. Though Coleraine saw nothing
very extraordinary in the rattling talk and continuous bursts
of laughter, deeming them merely such as might be affected
by one who was desirous of making himself sociable, and of
destroying any impression likely to arise from such an exhi-
bition of nervousness as that caused by the sight of the
skull, Saint-Aubyn's keener penetration and more speculative
mind invested them with deeper signification. As he replied
briefly to the remarks addressed to him, and smiled with
every fresh outbreak of merriment, he noted each look, word,
and tone, and ruminated busily over the various tokens of
agitation and secret perturbation he had remarked since the
accident of the skull first directed his attention to the indi-
vidual who walked with so cheery an air by his side. The
deep groan; the real overpowering horror of the first shock ;
the cowering and shuddering upon recovery, so excessive,
and so unlike the effects of any merely transient emotion •
the defiant manner in which he afterwards looked around
and angrily ordered his carriage; the remarkable relief ma-
nifested when the apology accounted for the affair as an
entire accident, in which there could not, by any possibility.
be a preconcerted object; the immediate change of demea-
nor, the laughter, and hearty shaking of the hand, and the
rollicking extravagant mood since displayed; the strange
questions about the skull, the desire to purchase it, the
anxiety lest it should be left behind; the fact that he had
barely caught sight of it before he swooned; and the
remark that it was fractured;-all these particulars Saint-
Aubyn turned over in his mind with the strong deep inte
A
44
Modern Story-Celler.
rest of one who imagines he has suddenly fallen upon a
mystery—and a mystery which appears to involve some of
the darker shades of human life-passion, crime, guilt, fear.
( Ah, ha! What a meeting is this! I shall remember
you young roysterers as long as I live. And who wouldn't,
I should like to know, after our introduction at the opera――
above all places-and in this time of the Rubini furore—
above all seasons-over a dead man's skull!" said Mr.
Berrill. 66
Ah, ha! it is an experience few can boast of—if
indeed such a thing ever happened before or will happen
again."
'It was reserved for you," remarked Coleraine, inno-
cently-"the very one individual who knows how properly
to appreciate it."
Saint-Aubyn himself could hardly repress a start at the
directness with which these few carelessly spoken words.
chimed in with the train of thought presented to his mind
by what he had seen and heard. Mr. Berrill looked
sharply round at Coleraine, as a man might who imagines
something of importance has been said which he has not
heard aright.
"What?" asked he, in a lower tone than that in which
he had been speaking for some time.
"It is a sort of providential thing, I say," explained
Coleraine, with a laugh, "that this completely unique and
unparalleled experience should fall to your lot, secing that
you know so well how to relish the humor of it-which 18
what few would be equal to."
"You think so, eh ?" still looking at him with rather closer
attention; then turning suddenly to Saint-Aubyn, he conti-
nued, in his former manner of hearty good-humor: "It is
quite true. Very few would relish the humor of your joke
-I did not at first, I can assure ye; but now I like the
fancy, and it will be a joke to me for the rest of my days,
The Pierced Skull.
45
and will be, no doubt, to whomsoever it is recounted.
Good things become immortal. But allons! we will cele-
brate our meeting to-night-indeed, I would not have sepa-
rated from you without doing so for a thousand pounds. I
have some passable claret, of which I must have your
opinion."
They had arrived at a house of fashionable exterior in
the vicinity of Hyde Park. Mr. Berrill ushered them in,
and in a handsomely-furnished apartment they found supper
already prepared.
"Be seated," exclaimed the host. "Make yourselves.
quite at home, pray. But about that skull. It smells ra-
ther earthy. I should prefer to have it placed in another
room, if you have no objection."
"Certainly; here it is," said Saint-Aubyn, drawing it
with some difficulty from his pocket.
"Robert," cried Mr. Berrill, << carry that into the
study, and place it carefully on the table."
The footman, with much surprise, received the unsavory
relic, and bore it off.
"Dead men make a stir in the world, now and then,"
said Saint-Aubyn rather timorously, for ere the remark was
half uttered he bethought himself that possibly it might be
dangerous.
"Ha!" said Mr. Berrill. "We are all liable to fancies,
eh, Mr. Saint-Aubyn? We make ourselves and other peo-
ple the victims of our flights. I have been your victim
to-night, ch ?"
"And now the dead man, banished from the supper.
table and from pleasant company, is yours. Who will be
his, I wonder?" returned Saint-Aubyn, with something like
a flash of his accustomed smile. "But, alas! we shall have
no more flights of fancy from him, poor fellow he is past.
all that serious and sad for ever!"
46
Modern Story-Teller.
"Sad as an empty bottle," said Vivian.
"Aye, aye; joke away!" cried Mr. Berrill, "but supper
waits, and we had best set to.”
"The ladies!" ejaculated Vivian.
"I doubt whether they will join us," said Mr. Berrill;
"but we will see. Robert, send Anne to inquire if Mrs.
Berrill is ready for supper. Mr. Saint-Aubyn, come here.
You, who have done me a mischief, shall sit at my right
hand; it is always my desire to set a good example. Ah, ha!
But hark to the silken rustle! Here come our ladies !"
At this moment Mrs. Berrill and her daughter entered
the room, bowed with easy politeness to the strangers,
and instantly took their seats at the table. The conversa-
tion now, of course, assumed a different character. The
mistress of the house had much to say respecting the per-
formances of the evening, and upon this theme there was
much pleasant and animated talking-the great musicians,
singers, actors, dancers, and theatres of the world affording
abundant material for gossip and criticism. Mrs. Berrill
was very ladylike and complaisante, Miss Berrill very beau-
tiful, and Mr. Berrill hearty and hilarious. After a plea-
sant half-hour supper was concluded, the ladies withdrew,
and the gentlemen were by themselves again. The claret
was pronounced excellent, and the host took care that it
should not be "wanting." It was some time past three
o'clock in the morning when this curiously-met party broke
up; when they did so, all were in a very merry and good-
humored condition, and Vivian and Coleraine, after shak
ing hands with their host and bidding him "Good-night"
for the sixth or seventh time, meandered solemnly into
the back parlor instead of into the street. As the foot-
man returned the skull to Saint-Aubyn, and whilst the
latter was replacing it in his much-abused pocket, Mr.
Berrill observed, "I asked if you would part with that,
The Pierced Skull.
47
just now. I felt a strong desire to possess it and keep
it as a curiosity; but my second thoughts have taken
another turn. I wouldn't have the ghastly, frightful,
horrible thing in the house. It would make a complete
hypochondriac of me. Return it to its proper resting-
place, the tomb, I entreat you; it is mere morbid wanton-
ness, an insult to the dead, and an offence to the living, to
carry it about with you and parade it where people assem-
ble for enjoyment. Whence did you get it?”
"A congenial friend forwarded it from the country, a
few days ago," said Saint-Aubyn, laughing, as if amused at
the repugnance which had just been so severely expressed.
"From the country-what part, may I ask ?" inquired
Mr. Berrill.
"He lives in Gloucestershire, but where he found the
bald pate I don't exactly know. I'll write and ask.”
"Nonsense, nonsense; send it back to him and bid him
restore it to its proper home the churchyard. Well," con-
tinued he, resuming his gaiety, which within the last minute
or two had given place to a severe and irascible manner,
which, however, appeared much more natural to him,
"good night! We shall meet again, for I don't feel in-
clined to allow an acquaintance commenced in such marvel-
lous fashion to drop. Au revoir! I shall search ye out,
and make a descent upon your tub, young Diogenes; I
have your card, and so am not promising more than I can
perform. Au revoir !"
When Vivian, Coleraine, and Burgess called upon Saint-
Aubyn the next day, some time after noon, they found him
lounging over his chocolate, apparently in a contemplative
mood. On the table by his side was the dumb, uncon-
scious "lion" of the preceding night.
"There is something about the adventure we met with
last night that I cannot comprehend," said he, after an in-
48
Modern Story-Teller.
terchange of remarks and jokes upon the unexpected man-
ner in which their evening's enjoyment had been brought
to a termination. Then, holding the skull for the inspec-
tion of his companions, he directed their attention to a
small jagged hole on the back of the head, from which
various minute cracks radiated, as if the perforation had
been effected by the crashing blow of a bullet. "Is it not
strange," said he, "that in a merely momentary view of
this piece of manes, this hole, above all the other strong
features of it, should attract a person's observation? Even
I did not know there was such a distinguishing mark upon
it, till a few random words induced me to examine it
more curiously than I had previously done."
Coleraine and Burgess both agreed that it appeared
strange, but evinced a decided distaste to entering into any
contemplation of the matter, while Vivian, with strong dis-
gust, counselled Saint-Aubyn to throw the beastly thing
away; it had caused annoyance enough already, though he
was by no means sorry, altogether, for the turn which
matters had taken under its auspices.
"There is a mystery here, depend upon it," persisted
Saint-Aubyn, with the strong relish of a romancist. "My
curiosity has never been so strangely excited as by the
adventure of last night. 'A skull with a hole in it,' said he,
immediately after he had recovered his panic, though he
seemed perturbed enough then. Mark my words: we shall
hear something more of this."
Here, without keeping the reader waiting a second, ant
interval of four years is passed over. During that period,
Burgess and Coleraine have remained at Bath, with the ex-
ception of occasional continental trips of two or three
months at a time; Vivian had taken up his residence in
London, wooed and won the beautiful Miss Berrill, and
become a happy husband and father; and Saint-Aubyn has
The Pierced Skull
48
consistently kept himself to himself, eccentric and original as
ever. The latter, however, could not forget the adventure
of the Rubini night at the Opera; suspicion haunted his
mind; and though Mr. Berrill had called upon him many
times, and appeared anxious to cultivate his acquaintance,
he never could endure the idea of reckoning him among
his friends. He was one of that class of characters who
cannot simulate. His behavior always testified how he
thought or felt. He had conceived a deep distrust and dis-
like of Mr. Berrill-believed him, in his inmost mind, to
have committed some crime, or to have had some connex-
ion with crime-as being a hypocrite haunted by qualms
and fears, and constantly assuming an air of jocoseness and
bravado to set suspicion and detection at bay; and, so be-
lieving, shunned and repelled his advances with all the force
of his odd, sarcastic nature. Mr. Berrill bore this for a
time, twitted him upon his peculiarities, his spleen, his un-
sociability-called him a rough diamond, the modern Dio-
genes, the Japanese prince; but at last, fairly tired out, hu-
miliated, and irritated, he bade him adieu as an ill-condi-
tioned fellow, unendurable, and undeserving of friendship.
The connexion which his ingenuous and light-hearted friend
Vivian had formed with the Berrills excited a sort of horror
in the mind of Saint-Aubyn. He never saw Vivian, with his
charming young wife and his promising little boy, without a
sudden sensation of fear and inquietude, and many a time.
exclaimed, with more solicitude than he would have been
deemed capable of evincing for the sake of others,
"Heaven spare them! let nothing be revealed in their
time!"
In the month of August, in this same fourth year into
which this narrative has suddenly advanced, Coleraine and
Burgess, after a summer tour in Switzerland, were making
a brief sojourn amidst the pleasures of Paris. In preference
4
50
Modern Story-Teller. -
to taking up their quarters in an hotel in the city, they hired
an appartement in a pleasantly-situated house in the Champe
Elysées, near the Barrière de l'Etoile. They had not been
many days in these quarters before they discovered that
a couple of English ladies rented the première. One day,
some time after their arrival, when a few casual meetings
had made the parties acquainted, a neat little note, addressed
to them in the pleasant freedom of Parisian etiquette,
apprised them that the Misses Barratt would be at home in
the evening to receive a few friends, and would be much
pleased if Mr. Coleraine and Mr. Burgess would join them
especially as the latter were of their own country, dear
old England. The invitation was readily accepted. In the
evening they found themselves in the elegantly-furnished
salon of the première, in company with the Misses Barratt
and some six or eight French ladies and gentlemen. A
couple of hours passed cheerfully away. Ladies sang and
played; the piano and guitar were in almost constant requi-
sition; one or two of the gentlemen sang also, and not the
least successful effort was a rattling old English ballad
chanted by Burgess; and there was, between whiles, an
abundance of animated talking and gossip. Time proceeded
very pleasantly until so very trifling a cause as the mention of
a name threw the whole party into confusion. The sisters
Barratt, let it be mentioned, appeared to be ladies of educa-
tion and attainments, and to command the sincere regard
and esteem of the acquaintances around them. The elder,
upon whose not unhandsome face there seemed to reign an
expression of anxiety and gloom, which, in thoughtful
moments, gave her an air of brooding melancholy, but when
she was cheerful and engaged in conversation, was half
dispelled, or, a Lavater might have said, intensified or
etherealized into a pleasant and warm smile, might have.
seen some five or six and thirty years; while the younger
The Pierced Skull.
51
appeared about twenty-eight or twenty-nine, was well-look-
ing and lady-like, and bore something of the same peculiar
expression as her sister when serious and thoughtful.
It happened that a young gentleman favored the com-
pany by singing, in studied imitation of Rubini, the famous
“Tu vedrai.” Naturally enough, Burgess and Coleraine
involuntarily recalled a preceding occasion on which they
had heard the same strains; and, thinking the anecdote.
worth telling, the latter preceded to recount to Miss Barratt
the freak of Saint-Aubyn in moralizing over a skull at the
opera just at the time when Rubini was singing his grand
cavatina, and the whole house was rapt in ecstasy; the
jerking it from his hand, its rolling to the feet of the gentle-
man, and the consternation of the whole party; the acquain-
tanceship which had sprung up entirely through the inci-
dent, ending in the marriage of his friend Vivian to the
daughter of the gentleman who was alarmed in such a
whimsical manner, Mr. Berrill. Miss Barratt listened to
Coleraine with great attention as he related how the gentle-
man in front unsuspectingly picked up the skull, and swooned
upon looking at it. She raised her hands, as if in sympa-
thetic horror at so cruel a surprise; but when, at the end of
his recital, he mentioned the name of Mr. Berrill, she shrank
from him with undisguised affright-uttered, indeed, a
slight shriek, and hurried, gasping and in disorder, from
the room.
Coleraine was greatly shocked at the result of his inno-
cent communicativeness, and his embarrassment was by no
means diminished as the whole company, with the exception
of Miss Louisa Barratt, who hastened after her sister,
gathered round him, and questioned him as to the cause of
the lady's agitation. All he could do was to relate the
anecdote which had excited so vivid an exhibition of emo-
tion, endeavoring to account for Miss Barratt's alarm by
52
Modern Story-Teller.
supposing she was extremely nervous and sensitive, and
expressing much regret that he should unwittingly have dis-
turbed her equanimity, and interrupted the enjoyment of the
company. It was many minutes before Miss Louisa returned
to the salon. When she did so, her face was pale, and bore
an anxious, perturbed expression, extremely painful to
Coleraine, and by no means re-assuring to the rest of
the guests. Her sister, she said, was habitually nervous,
and had been so strongly and strangely affected by an inci-
dent Mr. Coleraine had narrated to her, that she begged
her friends would excuse her for the remainder of the eve-
ning, or for some time at least, for perhaps she might soon
recover herself. Miss Louisa then, after receiving poor
Coleraine's apology and endeavoring to comfort him, tried
to rally herself and her friends; to laugh, talk, play, and
sing, as they had done during the early portion of the eve-
ning. For a time there was some show of a revival of ani-
mation, but there was something hollow about the socia
bility and enjoyment now; it had but a sort of unreal,
galvanic life; the wreath of comfort, ease, and abandon,
had been broken, and there was no mending it for the pre-
sent. Matters became duller and duller, the anxious shade
settled down upon Louisa's brow, the friends began to talk
in low tones and upon serious subjects, and one after the
other they departed. Presently, the two sisters were by
themselves in their appartement, and Burgess and Coleraine
by themselves in theirs. All this was very strange; our
friends could not tell what to make of it. For the second
time Saint-Aubyn's skull had placed a number of indivi-
duals, assembled for pleasure and enjoyment, in a most
extraordinary predicament.
A couple of days after this, they were informed by the
concierge that Monsieur Barratt had arrived early in the
morning from Calais, having come from England to see his
The Pierced Skull.
53
relatives his sisters or daughters, he did not know how the
relationship stood-and was at present in the house. He
was in the habit of coming once or twice every year. Half
an hour after this communication was made, however, they
came into collision with the gentleman described as "Mon-
sieur Barratt.” He was inquiring for letters in the conci-
ergerie, and what was the amazement of the two friends at
recognising in their newly arrived fellow-countryman, their
old acquaintance Mr. Berrill!
"Ah!" exclaimed he, without any appearance of asto-
nishment, as he advanced and shook hands with them; "I
have heard from the ladies up-stairs that a couple of English-
men were sojourning in the house, answering to your names,
and I knew at once they must be yourselves. Heartily glad
to see you!"
"We were not aware you had relatives here," said
Burgess with a laugh, their salutations and various inquiries
being concluded; "Monsieur Alexis has christened you
Barratt, and dubs you as either father or brother of the
ladies of that name here.”
"Pooh!" ejaculated Mr. Berrill quickly. "He mistakes
the name. There are a B and a couple of r's in both Barratt
and Berrill, and he is not particular-does not stick to the
text. Ah, ha! They are no relatives of mine; I am merely
their man of business, having to superintend the administra-
tion of their property-a bare three hundred a year for
each of them, poor girls-I wish it were more. Well, what
do you mean to do with yourselves? I am off to Switzer-
land to-morrow. Will you come ?”
The invitation was declined; they had already made
their tour thither-in fact, they had not long returned from
Chamouni.
'Ah, to be sure; I heard of it," said Mr. Berrill,
"Sorry I was not with you. It is possible, however, I may
54
Modern Story-Teller.
meet Vivian and my daughter at Lausanne, so I shall not be
altogether alone. How is it our crusty friend, Saint-Aubyn
is not here?—a fine place for a moralist-plenty of food-
all the vanities rampant-excellent pasture for the cynical
rascal. Ah, ha! he is the queerest character I have ever
met with."
They walked out together; after spending an hour in
the Bois de Boulogne, making a descent into the streets of
Paris, which, however, attractive as was the display of life,
bustle, and gaiety there, they speedily left, at the request of
Mr. Berrill, who did not wish to move about amongst the
multitude, but preferred to be in the open country, "where
the air was fresh and free, and one felt oneself at liberty,”
as he said. It is to be observed that Mr. Berrill received
his acquaintances with much the same boisterous good-humor
and cordiality which he had displayed on a memorable occa-
sion some years before; this gaiety, however, was soon
exhausted on the present occasion: his laughter gradually
became less hearty and less frequent, his remarks and obser-
vations fell languidly from him, and at length ceased alto-
gether; he grew abstracted and taciturn, and walked betwixt
his friends with his head bowed down upon his breast like one
absorbed in profound reverie. They had returned to the
Bois de Boulogne, and were slowly pacing down one of the
many verdant and shady allées there, when he suddenly
broke from them, and grasping Coleraine roughly by the
arm, said, in a low tone of concentrated ferocity—
"What made you tell my friend Miss Barratt, that ridi-
culous story of the skull, the other night-mixing my name
up with it and holding me forth for ridicule and suspicion?
Am I never to hear the last of that trick of the crazy Saint-
Aubyn? Let me warn you, once for all, Master Coleraine,
not to bandy that story about any more. It is most insulting
and annoying to me; and if I hear of its being further circu
The Pierced Skull.
55
lated by you, we shall quarrel in right earnest! Not one
in a thousand would have borne the scurvy business in such
good part as I did from the first; but when I come here
into France, some hundred miles from home, and find the
tale already abroad before me, and in the very place at
which I rest and where I am known, and people wondering
and pondering over it, my patience begins to give way.
Mark me:-no more of it!"
The suddenness and vehemence of this outburst amazed
his companions. The possible reasons of it, and Saint-
Aubyn's old suspicions, broke darkly on their minds as they
beheld the face of the speaker, white, even to the fiercely
compressed lips, with inexplicable anger. Coleraine's blood
rushed to his cheek at the threatening manner in which he
was addressed. He replied haughtily and defiantly: he was
quite able to regulate his conduct for himself-he saw no
harm in relating the anecdote, and he should do so again,
perhaps, if tempted by circumstances; it was quite innocent
in itself, but if people chose to entertain extraordinary and
unreasonable fancies about it, they might-he couldn't help
that.
"But I desire that you will not bandy my name about,
sir!" cried Mr. Berrill, with still increased vehemence.
"You may talk what foolery you please, but you shall not
mix my name up with it-preparing ridicule and insult for
me wherever I go! Do you hear? I can prevent that, and
I will. I will thrash you with my cane-I will thrash you
with my hand-but-Ha! ha! ha! ha!-he takes it all in
earnest! I have carried the jest too far-he is ready to
kill me! Ha! ha! ha! ha!"
The revulsion was as sudden, and almost as irritating, as
had been the outburst. Still continuing to laugh loudly, he
held out both his hands for Coleraine to take. But the
latter was not so speedily mollified; standing aloof, he
56
Modern Story-Teller.
demanded an explanation of these vagaries-to be insulted
and threatened one moment, and laughed at the next, as if
he were a wayward child, was not to be endured.
،،
Forgive me," returned Mr. Berrill. "I daresay I
have insulted you and given you just cause for offence;
but I am hardly my own master, and know not what I do
half my time. Forgive me, or quarrel with me-which you
will, I cannot help it." His tone was now serious, and even
melancholy, and he pressed his hand slowly across his brow.
"I know not what I do half my time, I say. I have fears,
indeed, now and then, that all is not right with me. I am
not the same man I was. At times I am quarrelsome with-
out knowing wherefore, at times lachrymose, at times apa-
thetic, morbid, or extravagantly gay-as if I had lost my
proper balance, and were coming to a sorry pass. I would
not quarrel with you in this mad fashion-if you can, pray,
forgive me."
Burgess interposed, and a sort of reconciliation took
place, though it was by no means cordial on Coleraine's
part. The remainder of the walk, as may be imagined, did
not afford any of them much enjoyment.
In the evening, Mr. Berrill busied himself with his lug-
gage, and despatched a commissionnaire into Paris on
various errands connected with his preparations for the
journey into Switzerland.
At about eight o'clock a couple of individuals alighted
from a cabriolet in the Champs Elysées, walked directly to
the house of M. Alexis Louiche, and inquired if Mr. Berrill
were within.
،،
Berrill," said the concierge, pondoring on the name.
"There is no Monsieur Berrill in this house; there is a
Monsieur Barratt, as also the Mademoiselles Barratt."
"Barratt-ah! that is the name!-it is Monsieur Bar-
ratt, we mean,” said the stranger, and he and his companion
The Pierced Skull.
57
were thereupor. shown to the room of Mr Berrill, who, it
appeared, had assumed the name of Barratt on leaving
England.
They were well dressed, gentlemanly looking person-
ages, and evidently Englishmen. On being introduced into
the presence of Mr. Berrill, they requested a few moments'
private conversation with him. The Misses Barratt, and
Coleraine and Burgess, happened to be in the room at the
time; they retired instantly, the two gentlemen observing,
with surprise and indefinable expectations of calamity,
that unmistakable signs of consternation were immediately
betrayed by Mr. Berrill. What passed betwixt the latter
and the strangers is not known. In half an hour, however,
they all left the house together, and neither Coleraine nor
Burgess ever saw their extraordinary acquaintance again.
For, while they were sleeping on their beds this same
night, Mr. Berrill was being conducted rapidly to England
by two emissaries of the London police. From London he
was immediately conveyed to D, in Gloucestershire,
where he was brought into the presence of the county
magistrates, for examination, under the following circum-
stances.
Some twenty-four years previously, a gentleman of pro-
perty, a widower, residing at D——, had died, leaving two
youthful daughters. The superintendence of the affairs of
the orphans was intrusted to two guardians, who had been
friends of their late father, one of whom was Thomas
Duvalt, Esq., a gentleman living in the neighborhood, and
the other, Mr. Berrill, of London, then a solicitor. A year
or two after this arrangement had been in operation, a
great improvement became manifest in the position of Mr.
Berrill. In place of the somewhat humble chambers he had
hitherto occupied, he took a handsome set of offices in the
best quarter of Lincoln's Inn, aud, for a residence, a house
58
Modern Story-Teller.
in the vicinity of Hyde Park, which he had handsomely
furnished. He pushed his practice with great assiduity,
became well known as a bustling, energetic, and shrewd
man of business, and appeared as one who had cautiously
worked his way upwards, had prepared himself to assume a
good position, had placed himself therein directly his cir-
cumstances were ripe for it, and was in a fair way of run-
ning a busy and prosperous career. He gained recognition
as a promising practitioner, moved in good society, married
well, and, by-and-by, with a lady-like wife and handsome
daughter, seemed to present a very excellent example of
worldly prosperity and felicity consequent upon the exercise
of industry and prudence.
•
Meanwhile a warm intimacy had sprung up betwixt Mr.
Duvalt and the eldest of his wards, Miss Barratt, which
appeared likely to terminate in marriage; and that gentleman
found reason for anxiety and complaint in the manner in
which he was treated by his co-trustee, Mr. Berrill, who
secmed determined to take upon himself the whole manage-
ment of the property of the young ladies. All documents
relating thereto had been placed in the custody of the
latter, and he had been intrusted with the collection of
rents and the legal management of their affairs, in conse-
quence of the advantages offered by his profession and posi
tion. For a time, all went well; the rents were duly for-
warded to Mr. Duvalt, and concise returns made to him of
the state of the property, &c., and that gentleman adminis
tered the receipts for the young ladies in the manner most
agrecable to them and to his own comprehension of his
office of guardian. By-and-by, however, he received an
intimation from Mr. Berrill that that gentleman had found
a remarkably favorable opportunity for investing a sum of
money for the young ladies, and intended so to do. Mr.
Duvalt replied, desiring to know the nature of the invest
The Pierced Skull.
59
ment, and trusting Mr. Berrill would not take any steps in
the matter without consulting him. To this no answer was
returned; and Mr. Duvalt was much surprised to find that,
at the ensuing quarter, Mr. Berrill, instead of remitting to
him as formerly, came down himself to D, paid the
money he had received at once into the hands of the Misses
Barratt, and, afterwards calling upon him, told him that the
tone of his (Mr. Duvalt's) letter had given him (Mr. Ber-
rill) much offence that he was constantly moving in the
most busy circles of the metropolis, and knew well how to
invest money in the most advantageous manner-and that
he could not endure anything like dictation, especially from
one who had never mingled in the world, and whose expe-
rience of business was of a very limited nature. Suspicions
arose in the mind of Duvalt that all was not right, espe-
cially when he heard of Berrill's sudden prosperity. IIe
cautiously set an inquiry on foot, and at length dis-
covered that his co-trustee was a double-dealer of the
most subtle and accomplished character, and that he was
trafficking with the property of his wards. He instantly
wrote to him, intimating that he knew all, demanded a
scrutiny of the affairs of the estate, and threatened, in case
this were refused, to proceed by law, and compel conces-
sion. To this Mr. Berrill made no reply; but in a few days
he came down to D, for the ostensible purpose of
superintending the furnishing of a house there, which, in the
course of his business, had come into his possession. As
soon as the house was in order, he gave an entertainment,
one evening, to several of the gentry of the neighborhood,
and invited, amongst the rest, Duvalt and the Misses Bar-
ratt. Duvalt called upon him on the morning of this day,
but what passed betwixt them is not known; for Duvalt
was never seen afterwards! The evening was one of great
enjoyment to the guests assembled. Mr. Berrill was the
60
Modern Story-Teller.
(6
heartiest, blithest, and most convivial of hosts. Severai
times he inquired of the Misses Barratt whether they had
seen Duvalt, appearing surprised and vexed at his absence.
In the midst of the festivity of the evening, Duvalt's house-
keeper came to inquire after her master, who had not been
home all day, and received from Mr. Berrill a message to
deliver to her master as soon as she should see him-that
he (Mr. Berrill) was very much hurt at Mr. Duvalt's
absence, and thought he was not treating him in a friendly
way." As the days passed by, and the missing man was
not found, much excitement ensued in the neighborhood;
but no one appeared so amazed and grieved as Mr. Berrill.
He had two or three interviews with the magistrates upon
the subject, and issued bills, with his name and city address
appended, offering a handsome reward to whomsoever
should bring tidings of the lost gentleman. On his return.
to London he closed his country-house, and was never
known to remain in it afterwards for more than a day at a
time.
About twenty years after the above period, a friend of
Saint-Aubyn's found some boys playing with a skull in a
field at D. He purchased it of them, and sent it, with
a humorous note, to the young cynic. A considerable time
after it was returned to him, with an account of the adven-
ture at the opera-no names, however, being mentioned.
He searched out the boys, and with some difficulty ascer-
tained where they had found the skull. A portion of Ber-
rill's garden-wall had fallen to ruin; the skull was found in
the darkest corner, where it had been scratched up by a
dog. The spot was delved, and an entire skeleton was
brought to light, together with a watch, chain, and seals,
which were recognised by many as those worn by the late
Mr. Duvalt. A peculiar formation or deformity of one of
the legs also proved the identity of the skeleton. Au
The Pierced Skull.
61
inquest was held upon the remains, and Berrill's arrest was
commanded by warrant. He had got tidings of the affair;
and he sent his family to Switzerland, and proceeded himself
to Paris, where, as we have seen, he was arrested. The
Misses Barratt were also brought to England, and bore
witness, at the inquest and before the magistrates, to the
disagreement which had arisen betwixt Duvalt and Berrill.
It appeared they had all along strongly suspected the latter
of foul play. A pistol was found in Berrill's house, hidden
in the recesses of a secret closet; the maker's name was on
it: he was sought, found, and was able to testify that the
weapon was purchased by Mr. Berrill some four days pre-
vious to Duvalt's disappearance. A friend of the deceased
deposed to having, at his request, made inquiries respecting
the proceedings of Berrill with the property of his wards,
and discovering that all was not right; that he knew the
deceased had threatened a scrutiny; that at first he himself
had suspicions of Berrill when his friend was missed; but
that the behavior and demeanor of the prisoner at that
time had entirely disarmed them. The scrutiny into the
affairs of the young ladies, which poor Duvalt had so long
ago contemplated, was now entered into with a view to dis-
covering whether the prisoner could have had any interest
in suppressing it. By this means it was found that he had,
by a course of misrepresentation and chicanery, defrauded
his wards of seven or eight hundred pounds annually, ever
since the term of the "advantageous investment." Day by
day, the evidence against the suspected man accumulated
and gathered strength. He never, however, underwent
more than two preliminary examinations. At these his
demeanor was tranquil and attentive. After the second, how-
ever, his hope and nerve forsook him. He contrived to swal-
low the contents of a phial which he had managed to conceal
about his prison-and the justice of this world was defeated!

cr
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
NCE on a time," said Cornet Winthrop, "the quiet
town of Higglesworth was frightened from its
propriety by a very well authenticated apparition.
It was about six feet high; had a powerful pair of whiskers,
bold, joyous-looking black eyes, and the most fashionably
made clothes that had ever been seen in the county.
Every night, just as it became dusk, it made its appearance
under the garden-wall of a fine old manor-house about
half a mile from the town, paced slowly up and down for a
considerable length of time, and on the approach of any
passenger, either glided noiselessly past him, or, as was
most commonly the case, disappeared. Various conjectures
were hazarded as to this very unusual occurrence: many
inquiries were made, and the conclusion to which the wise
people of Higglesworth came was this that the apparition,
whatever it was, was that of a very handsome fellow, about
four or five and twenty, with the pride of a bashaw and
the stiffness of a Turk, from which two circumstances they
unanimously decided that it had very much the appearance
of a military man. It was traced to the gate way of the
Cornet
linthrop's Story,
63
Piebald Horse, the principal hostel of the borough, and, in
fact, the most sceptical in such matters were convinced that
the reports on this occasion, like some of the fashionable
songs, were founded on facts; for the Boniface of the
aforesaid hostel deposed, that for the last ten days the
identical ghost had occupied his two best rooms, being No.
10 and No. 12; and, moreover, was the best judge of port
wine that had ever taken up his residence in the Piebald
Horse. In a few days after these facts were elicited, the
phantom discontinued its appearance, but not before it was
rumored, that on one or two occasions it had not 'walked'
alone, but had been accompanied by another apparition in
a bonnet and cloak. Whether this last circumstance was
true or false, the good folks of Higglesworth never dis
covered; but I have every reason to believe it was true, as
I have heard the story over and over again from the two
persons who were principally concerned in the adventuro.
My friend Harry Villiers was as fine, jovial hearted a fellow
as could be imagined. Some people might perhaps say he
was not so clever as he might have been, as I believe he
did not pretend to see much beauty in the preface to
Bellendenus, never having heard of that performance, and
altogether was inclined to consider the schoolmen, as he
himself would have expressed it, considerable humbugs.
But his judgment in horse flesh, pleasant small talk, and
excellent disposition, went a great way to supply his want
of appreciation of the classical merits of my old pedagogue,
Dr. Parr. In the manor-house, which I have told you was
about half a mile from Higglesworth, lived a gentleman of
the name of Tracy, one of those characters who are com-
moner in life than is often imagine1, who make up, by prodi-
gious suavity to strangers, and an affectation of goodness
and generosity, for the peevishness and meanness they dis-
play to their dependents. Every one was eloquent in the
64
Modern Story-Teller.
praises of Mr. Tracy,--the kind, the good, the indulgent Mr
Tracy,-except his servants, whom he nearly starved, and
his daughter, whom he tyrannized over as if she had been
his slave. I don't exactly know whether Harry Villiers
troubled his head much about the sufferings of our sable
brethren in the colonies, but I know he was most indefati-
gable in his zeal for the emancipation of the beautiful Julia
Tracy. For this purpose, he would not have grudged
twenty millions out of his pocket, if he had had them;
unfortunately, though he had a very decentish sort of for-
tune, he had neither enough to pay off the national debt,
nor even, as he feared, to satisfy the expectations of the
grasping and ambitious papa. IIowever, he had one con-
solation, and that was, that he knew the daughter was
neither grasping nor ambitious. A captaincy of dragoons,
a small estate, a few thousands in cash, the strength of a
Hercules, and expectations from an ancient aunt, left him
very little room for care or despondency-not to mention
that his fortnight's visit to the venerable borough of Hig-
glesworth left him very little room to despair in a matter
in which he was more deeply interested than even the con-
dition of his funds.
"On mounting the coach which was to convey him to
Cheltenham, his reflections were by no means unpleasant.
He had no doubt of gaining the full approval of his aunt,
and he was now proceeding to her house to lay the whole
story of his love before her. This aunt of his, Mrs. Edward
Villiers, was very well known in the gay society of the city
of pumps and vanities. Fat, fair, and fifty-two, a fortune
in her own right, and a surpassing genius for whist-what
more had she to desire? She had everything that could
conduce to happiness or comfort; and had only two impe-
diments to her felicity, and these were a heart with the
susceptibility of sixteen, and a certificate of her birth, which
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
65
was dated 1781. How she had got through the twenty
years of her widowhood without a second yoke, nobody
could imagine. It could not be from the circumstance of
no one making her an offer, as she had seldom fewer than
half a dozen, who were anxious to prove their estimation of
her beauty and accomplishments by presiding at the best.
furnished table in Cheltenham, and taking possession of one
of the prettiest estates in the county of Gloucester. Of all
these obliging and disinterested offers, my friend IIarry
was the confidant. She never gave a decided answer, but
responded to the declarations of her suitors in so very
statesmanlike a manner, that the acutest of them were puz-
zled as to her meaning. They still lived in hope; and I
suspect there were few old bachelors, who, after the first
month or two of the season, did not look with very peculiar
feelings on the pillared portals and beautiful plate glass
windows of number twenty-four. And when, in addition,
a handsome dark-brown chariot, with a knowing looking
little postilion, came flashing round the corner, and pulled
up at the door, in waiting for the lady of the mansion, it
was astonishing to see how gouty old squires and liverless.
nabobs 'swaled jauntily' along the pavement, and sum-
moned glances of intense admiration as the sweet 'cause of
all their care and all their woe' tripped into the carriage as
lightly as could be expected from thirteen stone and a half,
and deposited herself on the cushion with a ponderosity
that proved what unbounded confidence she had in the
strength of the springs.
"To this lady Harry presented himself; after a tête-à-
tête dinner, the aunt and nephew had a long and serious
conversation.
"And so you see, my dear aunt Dorothy'-
"La! Harry, why will you always call me aunt
Dorothy ?-'tis such a ridiculous old-fashioned name.'
5
66
Modern Story-Teller.
“What shall I call you-Antiquity, or Antipathy, or
what?'
"I was christened Dorothea Leonora.'
"Well, then, my dear Aunt Dorothea Leonora, I am
going to tell you a secret.'
t'
Oh, delightful—somebody else wishes to be intro-
duced to me. Well, 'tis too bad. Is he young or old?'
"Who?'
"The gentleman.'
"I haven't said a single word about a gentleman; I
was only going to tell you, in return for all the confidences
you have reposed in me, that I am most tremendously in
love.'
"You? how can you talk such nonsense? Such a
thing is contrary to law?
"What is contrary to law ?"
"Why, marrying one's uncle's widow, to be sure.'
"What the deuce do you mean? I never said a sylla-
ble about uncles or widows, or anything of the sort. Do
you remember the Tracies who lived in Chamberfield
house?'
To be sure I do,' cried Mrs. Villiers; 'what a dear,
good tempered, pleasant man they say he is.'
"Hem! do you remember his daughter?"
"Tall-very handsome-dark eyes-I remember per-
fectly rather bald, I think; with whiskers slightly
grizzled.'
"Whiskers-Julia Tracy-why, aunt, you must be
dreaming-I tell you she is the most beautiful little crea-
ture that fancy e'er conceived or poet feigned.'
t
"Takes snuff, I recollect,' continued the widow; they
told me he was very rich-certainly. Harry, you may
bring him as soon as you like.'
66 6
'Well, I see I must keep my secret for some other
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
67
time. You will go on talking about Mr. Tracy, when all I
want you to do is to listen for a few minutes, till I have
finished telling you about his daughter."
"Ah! poor thing, I recollect her very well. What
have you to tell me of her ?'
''
Simply, that I hope very shortly she will stand in as
near relationship to you as I do. Will you treat her well?'
"Gracious! how you hurry one.
Has Mr. Tracy em-
powered you to say all this?"
"Not he-but Julia has.'
“'Indeed! I should like to be a little more acquainted
with them before I decide on so important a matter.'
"She will be as dutiful to you as if you were her
mother. She has no feinale relation, and on that account
her home is of course not so happy as it would otherwise be.'
"She must be rather a sensible sort of person for
one so young. How old is she?'
"Not quite eighteen.'
"Poor child! what a time she has to wait before she
reaches the maturity of her charms.'
"As she said this, Mrs. Villiers looked with a benign
expression at the image of a robust lady, with a red face,
reflected in the opposite mirror-Did she tell you all this
herself?"
66 6
'Every word of it, and a good deal more besides. She
has a great deal of delicacy on the subject, and made a
point of gaining your consent and full acquiescence before.
any offer was formerly made.'
“I must make some more inquiries-are they coming
again to Cheltenham ?
66.6
Oh, yes-and that is the reason I am so anxious to
secure a favorable reception to her beforehand. Chamber-
field House is let, and she tells me her father is looking out
for another, if possible, in this very street.'
68
Modern Story-Teller.
“How excessively complimentary! Did you tell them
I intended to leave this house for the summer, as Dr.
Snatcher recommends the seaside ?'
666
'Oh, yes; I told her that—but I was in hopes you
would remain this summer, more especially as they are
coming here in a week or two. He is resolved not to be
very distant. When he is within a door or two of this he
will of course cultivate the acquaintance very sedulously;
and if everything is settled satisfactorily, it will prevent
the trouble of moving.'
"She laughed good-humoredly as he said this, and
Harry was delighted with the friendliness of the manner in
which she entered into his views. He had now little doubt,
since he had obtained the concurrence of his aunt, that
even Mr. Tracy would be satisñed with his proposals, and
he accordingly prepared himself to open the siege in due
form the moment that gentleman arrived.
"In the meantime, affairs at the manor-house were
getting on more uncomfortably than usual. Mr. Tracy was
forced to expend so much of his good-nature and pleasantry
among the parties he met at dinner, that he had not a
grain of any of them left for his home consumption. Hist
harshness, in fact, seemed every hour to increase, and it
was with great delight that Julia heard him announce his
intention of immediately proceeding to Cheltenham. She
was ordered to have all her preparations completed by a
certain day, and it was resolved that he should write to the
Plough, securing apartments till they could obtain a house.
Julia ventured to suggest the propriety of writing to Mrs.
Villiers, to ascertain whether she intended to let her man-
sion for the summer, and as Mr. Tracy had a particular
liking to the street where it was situated, he resolved to
act upon her suggestion. The letter was written, with a
request that the answer might be addressed to the Plough
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
69
-the preparations were all completed, and in due course
of time a handsome travelling chariot deposited the father
and daughter at the door of the hotel. Not unobserved
did they make their appearance, and a flush on the cheek
of the young lady, and perhaps a sudden start, showed that
she was not unconscious of the presence of Harry Villiers.
He was now delighted with the certainty of being within a
reasonable distance of the object of his admiration; every
day, he felt satisfied, would throw them together, and he
resolved to cultivate the friendship of the old man, in spite
of the knowledge he had of the repulsiveness of his qua
lities.
tr
Buoyed up with these pleasing anticipations, he hurried
off to the house of Mrs. Villiers, to announce to her the
arrival of the party-but for the last few days there had
been an air of mystery about that usually ingenuous lady,
which puzzled him very much. On the present occasion
she received his announcement with an affectation of such
interesting consciousness, aud made so many exclamations
of wonder, surprise, and indecision, that Harry was per-
fectly astonished at the fuss she made about the arrival of
one who was so shortly to be her niece. But his aunt's
eccentricities were well known to him, and the kind way in
which she spoke of Julia, the compliments she paid to her
good sense and delicacy, completely reconciled him to the
old lady's absurd behavior in other respects. He was par-
ticularly delighted with the interest she seemed to take in
his happiness, when she told him that in order to settle the
business as speedily as possible, she intended to invite Mr.
Tracy to call on her the next morning; and that then, what-
ever arrangement was come to, the comforts of Julia should
not be forgotten. With this intention she retired to her
writing-desk, and after an hour or two of hard labor com-
pleted a note, addressed it to Mr. Tracy, and sent it off to
个
​70
Modern Story-Teuer.
the Plough hotel. On this Harry was enraptured with the
prospect of success that his aunt's co-operation afforded him,
and resolved to make a formal offer of his heart and hand,
as it is called, on that very day. He called on Mr. Tracy
for that purpose, but found neither of them at home; he
therefore thought it best to lose no time, and though he
was no great penman, he managed to ask the father's con-
sent, and assure him of his aunt's concurrence, in a very
business-like manner, upon paper. His acquaintance with
the father was very slight; and his love for Julia had
grown up imperceptibly by their frequently meeting at the
houses of mutual friends; particularly at the house of a
distant relation of Julia, with whom, during her father's
residence in Cheltenham, she was nearly domesticated, and
who did all in her power to encourage the flirtation. Satis-
fied with himself, and pleased with all the world, he went
to bed that night and dreamed of a parson in a white surplice,
and a couple of postilions with marriage favors in their caps.
"On the following day Mrs. Villiers was all expecta-
tion. She was superbly dressed, and was all the morning
in the drawing-room practising her airs and graces.
"La! Harry,' she said, 'I wonder what can be keeping
Mr. Tracy—he seems quite a man of business.'
"How do you know ?”
"By his letter, Harry; but, la! I haven't shown you
his letter yet. He comes to the point at once, and misses
out all high-flown compliments about beauty, and all that
sort of thing. 'Tis quite a new style of making an offer.'
"I don't see, for my part,' replied Harry, 'what use
there is in so plain a matter for ridiculous compliments on
either side, between two straightforward, sensible people.'
"Why, you know, Harry, one likes a little delicate
attention; but perhaps Mr. Tracy and I had better leave
little trifles of that sort to you and Julia, after we have
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
H
$
come to some definitive arrangement. But surely Mr. Tracy
will be here immediately-hadn't you better leave me to
receive him alone? It is a delicate business to manage in
the presence of a third party.'
"Ah! my dear aunt, you can't tell how much I am
obliged to you for your kindness. Depend upon it, you
will find Julia as grateful as possible when you have given
her a happy home.'
"And so saying he left the room, and proceeded to the
house of the friend where his acquaintance with Julia had
commenced, and though it was still what is called early,
most unaccountably, and of course unexpectedly, the first
person he encountered on entering the drawing-room was
Julia herself. A few words sufficed to explain, in Harry's
most eloquent style, that his aunt entered warmly into his
design, and had appointed a meeting that very morning
with Mr. Tracy, to plead his cause as effectually as she
could; and, considering that Harry was her next of kin,
and that she was reputed to be enormously rich, the two
sanguine young people entertained but little doubt that the
sulky selfishness of the old man would be overcome, and
his consent be readily obtained to their union.
"In the meantime Mr. Tracy, with his face dressed out
in its sweetest smiles, presented himself in the drawing-
room of Mrs. Villiers. That lady looked as sentimental as
she possibly could, and the excessive politeness of the gen-
tleman's manner, and his systematic deference and respect,
added greatly to her embarrassment. After a few obser-
vations about the weather, and other matters of that kind,
the old gentleman drew his chair closer to the sofa of his
attentive listener, and said:
"And now, my dear madam, will you permit me to
say, that your answer to my letter was highly satisfactory
to me?'
72
Modern Story-Teller.
"Oh-dear-well-but you will understand from it,
Mr. Tracy, that I have said nothing definitive on the sub-
ject.'
"Certainly-but the tone of kindness in the letter-
according so well with the amiable character of the writer
-and the benignant expression of her countenance—lead
me to hope that the business will be quickly settled to our
mutual satisfaction."
“Oh—dear—you rather hurry me-one can't exactly
decide on so important a point. My nephew, Harry
Villiers'
"Pardon me, my dear madam, for interrupting you,'
said Mr. Tracy, making a strong effort to retain the suavity
of his look and manner, 'I have received a note from him;
but-the matter on which I am speaking to you just now is
far more interesting to me.'
“Oh, dear—you are very polite, I am sure.”
"Have you considered the proposal I did myself the
honor of making you?"
"Oh--I assure you I value the compliment you paid.
me very highly, but these things require deliberation. I
am not so young as I once was.'
“Madam ?'
"The first bloom of youth is past, but I am not ignorant
that many sensible men prefer a more advanced-a more
mature-perhaps a more subdued period of life.'
"Yes-precisely-a most valuable remark,' replied Mr.
Tracy, looking considerably puzzled.
6
This seems a very
comfortable house, Mrs. Villiers.'
it'
'Very-I am very much attached to it, and leave it
with regret, though only for a very short time.'
"Oh, my dear madam, I should not wish to deprive
you of it long.'
"You are very obliging.'
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
73
"I shall take particular care of this very elegant
ર
furniture.'
"Sir?"
"I say, that when I get possession of this house, I shall
take care that the furniture suffers no damage when I am
master.'
' '
Really-why, 'pon my word, Mr. Tracy, you take
one by surprise. I have not bound myself by what I said
to you in my note, and many previous arrangements'
"Oh! as for that, my dear Mrs. Villiers, the details
can easily be managed by our respective solicitors-papers
and things of that sort drawn up-formally signed, sealed,
and delivered-but I thought it was the least I could do to
make you my offer in person.'
"Nothing can be more flattering. When I have taken
a little more time to think ’.
"Why, there can't be much occasion for thought.
Nay, I am willing to make it a sort of provisional bargain
—and to dissolve the connexion whenever you shall desire
it.'
"Mr. Tracy, I am astonished!'
"Nay, more; my dear madam, it would perhaps really
be the best plan if you were to take me on trial for a
short time;—say, six weeks or two months.
“Mr. Tracy, I am shocked.'
"In short, my dear madam, I feel certain your good-
nature will excuse me, when I tell you, that my only object
in making you the offer I did, was to get possession of this
house as quickly as I could.'
t. (
Really, sir, your language is very plain.'
"I think, when people of our time of life enter into any
business at all, we can't be too plain to each other-it pre-
vents many disagreeable after-thoughts and misunderstand-
ings. You know my wishes.'
74
Modern Story-Teller.
Perfectly; after your very explicit declaration, it is
impossible to mistake your meaning.'
ctt
'Then, dear madam, answer me in one word,—will
you take me on trial or not ?'
"Mr. Tracy, are you serious? I never heard of such
a proposition.'
"The commonest thing in life--I will bind myself under
a penalty-but our attorneys can settle all the legal parti-
culars. Be kind enough to let me know, in the open
friendly manner you have shown all through this conference,
by what time your arrangements can be completed, so as to
give me possession of the house?'
"Pon my word, Mr. Tracy, if I was surprised at the
plainness and absence of compliment with which you ad-
dressed me in the first letter you sent to me from Higgles-
worth, the mode in which you prosecute your suit is still
more unusual. One would scarcely suppose that you came
here on so momentous a business as a proposal of marriage.'
That, my dear madam, can wait till you and I have
come to some settlement upon matters more nearly con-
cerning ourselves than the love of a thoughtless young man
for a silly young woman.'
(
"I understood from my nephew that your daughter's
comfort was one of your principal inducements for making
these proposals to me.'
"Certainly, a comfortable home would be a great in-
crease to her happiness, and that you have it in your power
to afford her.'
"She seems a very sensible, considerate person, and I
am highly indebted to her for the favorable opinion she
entertains of me; but one's own happiness is to be con-
sidered first-and till I know more of you, you will of
course excuse me if I hesitate before taking so very serious
a step.'
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
75
"Serious? as what?"
"As changing my situation.'
Oh! I have already told you that I wish you to do so
only for a very short time.'
"Sir ?
You quite amaze me-I never expected so
very odd a manner of making an offer.'
"An offer? my dear madam-an offer of what?'
"Of marriage, to be sure.'
"Marriage! Mrs. Villiers, an offer of marriage ?-I
have certainly received a proposal for the hand of my
daughter from Captain Villiers, your nephew—but that is
the only offer of the kind I am at present acquainted with.'
"Indeed!' said Mrs. Villiers, and pray what was your
intention in sending me a letter which I received from you,
dated from your estate at Higglesworth.'
6
'Madam, I took the liberty of offering myself as ten-
ant of this house, as I understood you were anxious to visit
the sea-side for a few months. You held out every prospect
of acceding to my wishes, in the answer you addressed to
me at the Plough Hotel. I was in hopes, as you invited
me to visit you to-day, it was to fulfil my expectations in
this respect; but I fear, madam, your thoughts are so filled
with the proposals of your nephew, which I understand
have met with your full sanction, that'—
"Proposals of my nephew! I never heard of them."
"Indeed? Then my answer to the young gentleman
shall be very succinct and intelligible. Will you allow me
in the meantime to wish you a very good morning?' And
bowing in a very stately manner to the astonished Mrs.
Villiers, he smiled benignly, and stalked out of the apart
ment.
"Well,' said the lady, when she was left alone, if
this isn't a very puzzling piece of business I don't know
what is. Here comes a gentleman, after writing me a de-
76
Modern Story-Teller.
claration, and after receiving an answer to it, leaving him
in doubt whether he is accepted or not-and tells me, after
a deal of rudeness about marrying him on trial, that his
whole object in writing me that letter was to gain posses-
sion of my house. I wish Harry Villiers would come
home.' And at her wish, her nephew appeared.
"I am come, my dear aunt, to thank you again for
your kindness, and to hear the issue of your interview with
Mr. Tracy.' Mrs. Villiers made no answer to this, but
pulled a letter out of her reticule, put it into her nephew's
hand, and said, 'read this, and tell me what you think of it.'
He did as he was commanded, and read as follows.
66 C
Higglesworth Manor-house.
"It would perhaps require an apology if I, a compa-
rative stranger, took the liberty of addressing a lady on a
subject in which I am deeply interested; but to you, my
dear Mrs. Villiers, I open myself at once-relying on your
good-nature and willingness to oblige. In what I am about
to say, I proceed on the supposition that you are as anxious
for a change as I am. We both suffer from the solitude of
our situations; and at this season of the year Cheltenham
itself must be as dull and uninteresting as the retirement
from which I write. One of my objects in making my
proposal to you, is to secure a comfortable home for my
daughter. A house so replete with the elegances which
have been procured by the taste of Mrs. Villiers must be
admirably suited for this purpose. Perhaps we might ar
range matters to our mutual satisfaction, if you would allow
me to make you mistress of Higglesworth Manor-house,
while you installed me as master of Number Twenty-four.
On this and all other matters, when we proceed to final
settlements, you will find me disposed to be liberal. I will
not conceal from you that I am anxious to come to a con-
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
77
clusion as speedily as possible; and if you will write to me
-addressed to the Plough Hotel-whether I may hope to
succeed in my suit, you will confer a great obligation on,
madam, your most devoted, humble servant,
"FREDERICK TRACY."
“There!' cried Mrs. Villiers-'what do you think of
that ?'
“Why, that it is a piece of hypocritical rigmarole ;
why did he not apply to your agent at once?'
Why should he apply to my agent?'
"To ascertain your terms, to be sure.'
66 6
"Harry, Harry, you're as bad as Mr. Tracy-you have
read the old gentleman's letter-what is it ?—what does he
want ?'
"He wants to take your house, to be sure, for the
summer months; for I told Julia you were going to the
sea-side.'
"Oh dear-well-did I ever-well-if that isn't-what
shall I do? What will he think?'
66 6
Why, what's the matter, aunt ?-what have you
done?'
"Done !-why, I've answered his letter as if it had
been an offer of marriage, and not a bargain about my
house. Dear, dear! what shall I do ?'
"Let me see what you said in your answer,' said Harry,
almost in convulsions of laughter at the perplexities of his
aunt. She gave him a copy of the epistle she had addressed
to Mr. Tracy, and he read-
'Sir,-I cannot help thanking you for the honor you
have done me in asking my assistance to make your daugh-
ter's home happy. The house is a very comfortable one;
and I will not deny that Higglesworth Manor-house, to one
،، ،
78
Modern Story-Teler.
so fond of the country as I am, has considerable attractions
but we will leave these things for after deliberations. Per-
haps a personal interview would answer our purposes better
than a correspondence; and if you will do me the honor to
call on me to-morrow at twelve or one o'clock, I shall per.
haps have it in my power to give Miss Tracy a comfortable
home, by an arrangement which will meet with the appro-
bation of all parties.—I remain, your obedient servant,
"DOROTHEA LEONORA VILLIERS."
"At the moment that Harry finished the reading of this
statesmanlike document, a servant entered the room, and
presented him with a note. It was from old Tracy, and
was in these words :-
"Sir,-In consequence of a very extraordinary inter-
view I had this day with your aunt, in which she professed
an entire ignorance of your having honored Miss Tracy with
the offer of your hand, I beg, on the part of my daughter,
to decline your further acquaintance; and I have the honor
to be, sir, &c.
"FREDERICK TRACY.'
"What the devil is this you've been doing?' cried
Harry. Did I not tell you that Julia insisted on my get-
ting a promise of a kind reception from you before she
would allow matters to go any further ?'
"Yes-but la! now only think-I really thought she
had sent me that message in consequence of knowing that
her father intended to ask me to become her stepmother.'
"The deuce you did! and so with your nonsense about
marrying old Tracy, you have destroyed my happiness and
Julia's!'
666
No-I haven't-and now that I think of it, it will get
Cornet Winthrop's Story.
79
me out of the absurd scrape I have got into, if I write to
Mr. Tracy in your behalf.'
"Will you ?—Then never mind what has happened-
you are a dear good-tempered old soul after all; and if you
think old Tracy has treated you ill in any respect, I'll call
the old rascal out-though, unfortunately, it is not the
fashion to shoot one's father-in-law.'
"Matters were soon settled to the satisfaction of all
parties. Mrs. Villiers retained her house in Cheltenham,
and the young people built a capital new mansion on her
property in the vale of Gloucester, where they live—as the
nursery stories used to end-as happy as the day is long.
And so, gentlemen, there is an end to my story."


Opposite Neighbors.
J
in a
T was on a pouring wet morning in the end of the
month of March, 1817, that I sat drowsily ensconced
"Woodburn" beside the fire in my study (!) in
a front room in Upper Brook street; for I am in easy cir-
cumstances, and rent “ a suite of apartments fit for the
immediate reception of an M.P. or bachelor of fashion," in
the house of a "professional man of celebrity, who has no
family." I had spelt through two newspapers, even to the
last resource of "Rowland's Kalydor" and "Gowland's
Lotion." I had read and dozed over every article in the
last page of my last paper, until I caught myself reading
the small printed prices of the markets-potatoes at 8s. and
6d.
I began to feel as hunting gentlemen do during a hard
frost-what is called "hard up." I had stirred my fire till
it was out; and yawned until I began to fear a locked-jaw.
In very despair I strolled to the window, hopeless as I was
of seeing anything more amusing than overflowing gutters,
half-drowned sparrows, or a drenched apothecary's boy. It
was early in the morning, at least in a London morning,
and I coull not even anticipate the relief of a close carriage,
Opposite Neighbors.
31
with an oil-skin hammer-cloth, driven by: what then was
my delight when, at one glance, as I reached the window,
I descried that the bills in a large and handsome house
opposite had been taken down! Now, do not suppose that
I love to pry into my neighbors' affairs for the sake of
gossip-far from it; but what is an honest bachelor gentle-
man to do on a rainy morning, if he may not pick up a
small matter of amusement by watching his opposite neigh-
bors now and then?
The houses opposite were worse than no houses at all;
for one was inhabited by an old and infirm lady, who had
no visitors but an M.D., an apothecary, and a man in a
shovel-hat. The other house contained only an elderly and
very quiet couple, who had not near so much variety as a
clock: they never stopped-never went too fast or too slow—
never wanted winding up-they went of themselves—their
breakfast and dinner bells rang daily to a minute at half-
past eight and at six o'clock-their fat coachman and fat
horses came to the door precisely at two o'clock to take
them out, always to the Regent's Park, and drove twice.
round the outer circle. I took care to inquire into that
fact. I ascertained, too, for certain, that they had a leg of
mutton for dinner every Tuesday and Friday, and fish three
times a week, including Sundays, on which day, too, the
butcher always brought roasting beef-always the thick
part of the sirloin. What could I do with such people as
these? I gave them up as hopeless.
Preparations for the reception of a family in my favor
ite house now went on with great spirit; a thorough inter-
nal cleaning and scouring on the first day; on the second,
all the windows were cleaned. I could stand it no longer,
and, snatch ng up my hat, I just stepped over promiscuously
to ask the maid, who was washing the steps, by whom the
house was taken. She was a stupid, ignorant, country girl,
6
82
Modern Story-Teller.
and did not scem at all alive to the interest attaching to her
examination. I, however, discovered that--the house was
taken by a baronet, and that his family consisted of his lady
and one child (a boy), and his wife's sister.
I took a few turns in the Park, and just as I rapped at
my own door, I determined I would make no further
inquiries concerning the expected family-no, it would be
infinitely more interesting to discover everything by my
own penetration and ingenuity; it would be a nice employ-
ment for me, for I was dreadfully at a loss for something to
do, and would keep me from falling asleep.
I began now to count the hours. I was afraid of stirring
from the window lest the strangers should escape my vigi-
lance, and arrive unknown to me. I even dined in my
study; and here, by the way, I must let the reader into a
little secret. I had a large wire blind fixed on one of my
windows, behind which I could stand and direct my
inquiries unseen by anybody, though few within range were
unseen by me.
A few days passed slowly on. Muslin curtains were put
up, not blinds, fortunately for me (I have a mortal antipathy
to blinds to any windows but my own), boxes of mignonette
appeared in every window. A cart from Colville's in the
King's Road, filled with Persian lilacs, moss roses, and
heliotropes, unladed its sweets at the door. They had then
a rural taste; country people, perhaps; and I sighed as I
figured to myself a bevy of plump rosy misses in pink and
green, and one or two young squires in green coats and top
boots. The arrival, whatever it might be, must be drawing
very near-nearer and nearer-for a respectable looking
housekeeper made her appearance one morning at the win-
dow, who had stolen a march on me; I never could make
that out, for I had never seen her arrive. Two or three
maids also were flitting about, and a gentleman out of
Opposite Neighbors
83
livery appeared, now at the area, and now at the hall door
superintending the unpacking of a grand pianoforte from
Broadwood's; then arrived a cart from Brecknell and Tur-
ner, wax-chandlers in the Haymarket; and one from Fort-
num and Mason's in Piccadilly, with divers other carts and
packages of minor consideration. Then came hackney
coaches, with servants and colored paper boxes-smart
looking maids in Leghorn bonnets and drab shawls, and
footmen in dark green, and very plain liveries. The family
could not be far behind. At last, about four o'clock,
the fish arrived-a turbot and two fine lobsters for sauce.
I can be on my oath it was not a brill, and fish was very
dear that morning, for I inquired; therefore, that could not
be for the servants; Sir Charles and family must be close at
hand.
I remained rooted to the window, and was soon rewarded
for my patient investigation, by hearing, at about six o'clock,
a carriage driving rapidly up the street from Park Lane.
It was them actually. A green travelling carriage, all over
imperials, stopped at the door in good earnest, most beauti-
fully splashed with mud-no arms-only a bird for the
crest; four post horses, and a maid and man servant in the
rumble. My heart beat thick, my eyes strained in my
head lest any one of the inmates of the carriage should
escape my vigilance. The hall doors were thrown open in
an instant, and the gentleman out of livery, with two of his
colleagues, flew out to assist the ladies to alight. First of
all a gentleman-Sir Charles, of course-made his appear-
ance, tall, and very distinguished looking, dressed in a
brown frock coat and dark fur travelling cap, and appa-
rently about thirty years of age. Next came a lady who
skipped out very lightly, and who seemed rather in a hurry
to see the new abode-that was the sister. She was thin,
and very graceful, and wrapped in a white cachemere, with
84
Modern Story-Teller.
rather a narrow border; her features were hidden from my
view, as she wore one of these plaguey large coarse straw
bonnets, tied down with white satin ribbons-two bows,
and the edges cut in vandykes. Another lady then de
scended, more slowly and carefully, and as she watched the
alighting of a nurse who had deposited a fine rosy boy,
about a twelvemonth old, into the arms of Sir Charles, I
observed that she was evidently about to increase her
family; therefore, I had already ascertained, beyond a
doubt, which was the wife, and which was the wife's sister.
The doors then closed, and I saw no more that evening,
excepting that the lamp was lit in the dining-room, and the
shutters closed at seven o'clock, and then in the gloom I
saw three figures descend the stairs, from which I con-
cluded they all went to dinner; besides the turbot, they had
house lamb and asparagus.
The next morning, while dressing, I espied the sister,
whom I shall call Ellen, standing on the balcony admiring
and arranging the flowers. The morning was beautiful and
very light, so that I had a perfect view of her. It was
impossible that a more lovely creature could be seen. She
appeared not more than sixteen or seventeen; indeed, from
the extreme plainness of her dress, I suspected she had not
quite left the school-room. She was rather above the
middle height, very slight and graceful, bright and beauti-
ful, with long light auburn curls, and a very patrician air
about her. Had I been young and romantic, I should
most assuredly have fallen in love on the instant, as she
stooped over the balcony with a most enchanting air, smil
ing and kissing her hand to the baby, whom his nurse, at
that moment, carried out of the hall door for an early walk
in the park.
Presently she was joined by her sister, whom I shall
call Lady Seymour, and who evidently came to summon
Opposite Neighbors.
85
her to breakfast. She appeared about twenty-five or twenty-
six years old; pale, interesting, and beautiful; had a mild
and pensive, I almost thought a melancholy look, and seemed
very quiet and gentle in all her movements.
I should have been inclined to fall in love with her too,
if she had not been a married woman, and I had not seen
Ellen first; but Ellen was by far the more beautiful of the
two fair sisters-the most striking, the most animated, and
I always admired animation, for it argues inquiry, and from
inquiry springs knowledge. The ladies lingered, and
stooped down to inhale the fragrance of their flowers, until
Sir Charles appeared to summon them, and the whole trio
descended to breakfast, Lady Seymour leaning on the arm
of her husband, and Ellen skipping down before them. Sir
Charles was very handsome, very tall, and very dignified
looking. Nothing could be more promising than the
appearance of the whole party. I was delighted with the
prospect; no more gaping over newspapers; adicu ennui,
here was food for reflection. My mind was now both
actively and usefully employed, and a transition from idle-
ness to useful occupation is indeed a blessing.
Days flew on, and I gradually gathered much important
and curious information. The Seymours had many visitors;
a vast proportion of coroneted carriages among them;
went regularly to the opera. I could not make out who
was Ellen's harp-master; but Crivelli taught her singing,
from which I argued their good taste. She went out to
evening parties; I concluded therefore that she had only
just come out, and was still pursuing her education. A
green britska and chariot were in requisition for both
ladies, as the day was fine or otherwise; a dark cab with
a green page attended Sir Charles on some days, on others
he rode a bay horse with black legs, and a star on his fore-
head. With respect to the general habits of the family.
86
Modern Story-Teller.
they were early risers, and dined at eight o'clock. The
beautiful baby was the pet of both ladies, and lived chiefly
in the drawing-room; and I observed that Ellen frequently
accompanied him and his nurse in their early walks,
attended by a footman.
The Seymours occupied the whole of my time; I gave
up all parties for the present, on the score of business, and
I assure you it was quite as much as one person could do
conveniently to look to them. From discoveries I made,
the family speedily became very interesting to me, I
may say painfully interesting. Now I am not at all given
to romance or high-flying notions, seeing that I am but
seldom known to invent anything; what I am about to
relate may safely be relied on as the result of an accurate
though painful investigation.
Before communicating these discoveries to my readers,
I pause, even on the threshold. I have endeavored to
bespeak their interest for the fair Ellen, as I felt a deep
one for her myself, but-truth must out-it is my duty.
From the first day of the arrival of the Seymours, as I
shall continue to designate them, I had been struck by the
evident dejection of Lady Seymour. I frequently observed
her, when alone, bury her face in her hands, as she leant.
upon a small table beside the couch on which she sat.
The work, or the book, or the pencil-for she drew-
was invariably thrown aside when her husband or her
young sister quitted the apartment. The fine little baby
seemed her greatest pleasure. He was a wild, struggling
little fellow, full of health and spirits, almost too much for
her delicate frame, and apparently weak state of health.
She could not herself nurse him long together, but I
observed that the nurse was very frequently in the room
with her, and that the fond mother followed and watched
zer little darling almost constantly. She was surrounded
Opposite Neighbors.
-.T
Co
by luxuries-by wealth. IIer husband, in appearance at
least, was one whom all women must admire; one of whom
a wife might feel proud; she had a beautiful child; she
was young, lovely, titled. What then could be the cause
of this dejection? What could it be? I redoubled my
attention: I was the last to retire, and the first to rise. I
determined to discover this mystery.
One morning I discovered her weeping-weeping bit-
terly. Her bedroom was in the front of the house; she
was walking backwards and forwards between the window
and the open folding doors, her handkerchief at her eyes.
At first I thought she might have the toothache-not being
given, as I before said, to romance; then I suspected her
confinement was about to take place-but no, that could
not be. No Mr. Blagden appeared-his carriage had not
been at her door for more than a week: at which I was
rather surprised. She was evidently and decidedly weeping
-I ascertained that beyond a doubt. A flash of light
beamed across my mind. I have it! thought I; perhaps
her husband's affections are estranged. Could it be pos-
sible? Husbands are wayward things-I felt glad that I
was not a husband.
A kind of disagreeable and tormenting suspicion at that
moment strengthened my belief; a suspicion that-how
shall I speak of it ?-perhaps he might love the beautiful
Ellen. I tried to banish the idea; but circumstances,
lightly passed over before, returned now in crowds to my
recollection, to confirm me in it. From that moment I
renewed my observations daily, and with still increased
vigilance, and was obliged to come to the painful conclu-
sion, that my suspicions were not only but too well founded
with regard to Sir Charles, but that Ellen returned his
passion. Yes; she was romantically in love with the hus-
band of her sister! I seldom find myself wrong in my
88
Modern Story-Teller.
opinions, yet in this case I would willingly have given five
hundred pounds to feel sure that I was in error.
Such was
the interest with which the extreme beauty, the vivacity
and grace, of the youthful Ellen had inspired me. Here
then was food for philosophy as well as reflection. Who
shall say that inquirers are impertinent, when such facts as
these can be elicited? Had it not been for me--such is
the apathy of people about what does not concern them—a
base husband, and an artful and intriguing sister, might
still have maintained a fair face to the world. But I was
determined to cut the matter short, and open the eyes of
the deluded wife as to the real extent of her injury. Honor
compelled me to it. Let not the reader think me rash-I
will explain the circumstance which influenced my convic-
tions. Oh, Ellen! how I have been deceived in thee!
How hast thou betrayed a too susceptible heart!
Sir Charles was an M.P., which my ingenuity in setting
together hours and facts enabled me to make sure of. He
frequently returned late from the debates in the House.
The weather grew warm, and the shutters were always left
open till the family retired for the night. Their lamps were
brilliant, and I could discern the fair Ellen peeping over the
balustrades of the staircase, and lingering and waiting on
the landing-place, evidently on the look-out for an anxiously
expected arrival. Then the cab of Sir Charles would stop
at the door-his well known knock would be heard, and
Ellen would fly with the lightness of a fairy to meet him as
he ascended the stairs. He would then fold her in his
arms, and they would enter the drawing-room together;
yet, before they did so, five or ten minutes' tête-à-tête fre-
quently took place on the landing, and the arm of Sir
Charles was constantly withdrawn from the waist of Ellen
before they opened the drawing-room door and appeared
in the presence of the poor neglected wife, whom he
Opposite Neighbors.
89
greeted with nɔ embrace, as he took his seat beside her on
the sofa.
For some time I set down the empressements of Ellen to
meet Sir Charles as that of a lively and affectionate girl to
greet her sister's husband, in the manner she would receive
her own brother. I was soon obliged to think differently.
When Ellen played on the harp, which she did almost
daily, Sir Charles would stand listening beside her, and
would frequently imprint a kiss on her beautiful brow,
gently lifting aside the curls which covered it; but this
never took place when Lady Seymour was in the room-
mark that—no, not in a single instance. Sir Charles some-
times sat reading in a chair near the drawing-room window,
and would, as Ellen passed him, fondly draw her towards
him and hold her hands, while he appeared to converse
with her in the most animated manner. If the door
opened, and the poor wife came in, the hands were instantly
released.
As the spring advanced, the appearance of Lady Sey-
mour, and more frequent visits of Mr. Blagden, led me to
suppose her confinement drew near; she became later in
rising in the morning, and Sir Charles and Ellen almost.
constantly took a very early tête-à-tête walk in the park,
from which they usually returned long before Lady Sey-
mour made her appearance in the drawing-room.
A very handsome man, with a viscount's coronet on his
cab, was a frequent visitor in Upper Brook street. I
doubted not but that he was an admirer of and suitor to
the fair Ellen. Yet she slighted him; he was entirely indif
ferent to her: otherwise why did she often leave the
drawing-room during his very long morning visits, and sit
reading in the window of a room up-stairs, or playing with
the baby in the nursery, leaving her sister to entertain
him? The reason was too evident. Cruel and heartless
90
Modern Story-Teller.
Ellen! My heart bled more and more for the poor wife
I absolutely began to hate Ellen.
At length closed bed-room shutters, hurry and bustle,
cartloads of straw, and the galloping chariot of Mr. Blag-
den, announced the accouchement of Lady Seymour. All
seemed happily over before the house was closed for the
night.
Sir Charles and Ellen were in the drawing-room to-
gether. The lady's maid rushed into the apartment; I
almost fancied I heard her exclaim, "My lady is safe, and a
fine boy." So well did the deceitful Ellen act her joy, she
clasped her hands together, and then, in the apparent
delight of her heart, shook hands with the maid, who left the
room directly. My heart was relenting towards her, as she
was flying to follow the woman, no doubt with the intention
of hastening to the bedside of her sister; but no-she re-
turned to tenderly embrace Sir Charles before she quitted
the drawing-room. At such a time too! Oh, faithless and
cruel Ellen!
Sir Charles and Ellen were now more frequently toge
ther-more in love than ever. They sang together, read
together, walked together, played with the little boy toge-
ther, and nursed the new little baby in turns.
In due course of time poor Lady Seymour recovered,
and resumed her station in the drawing-room, and then Sir
Charles was less frequently at home. I was furious at him
as well as Ellen. All my tender compassion and interest
centred in the unhappy and neglected wife.
One other instance in corroboration of the justness
of my suspicions I will relate. A miniature painter, whom
I knew by sight, came early every morning to the house.
Sir Charles was sitting for his picture. One morning, when
I concluded it must be nearly finished, Sir Charles and the
artist left the house together. I saw the picture lying on
Opposite. Neighbors.
91
the table near the window, in the same spot where the
artist had been working at it for nearly two hours before,
while Sir Charles was sitting to him. I had not for a mo-
ment lost sight of it, and am ready to affirm upon oath that
the miniature was the likeness of Sir Charles, and of no one
else; for you must know that I have a small pocket tele-
scope by which I can detect these nice points accurately.
Well.-Miss Ellen came into the room;-she was alone;—
she walked up to the picture, gazed on it for a long while, and
-will it be believed! pressed it several times to her lips and
then to her heart!-Yes, I am quite sure she pressed it to
her heart; no one can deceive me in that particular. She
did not indeed think or guess that any eye observed her
-but oh!-Ellen, there was an eye over you that never
slumbered, at least very seldom. Things had thus arrived
at such a pass, that concealment on my part would have
been criminal. My duty was clear,-an instant expo-
sure without regard to the feelings of any one. But how
could it be accomplished without personal danger! Sir
Charles was a shot. I had seen a case of pistols arrive
from John Martin and Son, Dover street; besides, he was
big enough to cat me, so that putting myself forward was
out of the question. I had it-I would write to the Times
and the True Sun, under the signature of "A Friend to
Morality." That very night I condensed these notes into
three columns, as I said to the editor, not to occupy too
great a space in his valuable journal: and early on the fol-
lowing morning I rose to dispatch my letters, when what
should greet my astonished senses, but, at the door of the
Seymours, their travelling carriage with four post horses!
What could it mean? I stood perfectly aghast; my eyes
were fixed intently upon the carriage.-Oh! I had it again,
my wits never fail me-the murder was out. I need not
write to the Times. Miss Ellen was discovered, and going
92
Modern Story-Celler.
to be sent off to school, or perhaps to "dull aunts and
croaking rooks" in the country! I was glad to be spared
the pain of forwarding the explanation; and yet-good
heavens! what was my surprise and profound mystification
when Sir Charles appeared, handing in, first Lady Seymour,
a beautiful flush on her countenance, radiant with smiles,
and almost as quick and light in her movements as Ellen
herself then the old nurse with the new baby: then Ellen
smiling as usual; and last of all Sir Charles got upon the
box, followed by the viscount!! and then off they drove as
fast as the horses could carry them. My eyes and mouth
continued wide open long after they had turned the corner
into Park Lane. I was at my wits' end; at sea without a
rudder. What could all this possibly portend? The little
boy was left behind too! and all the servants, with the
exception of one of the lady's maids, and Sir Charles's own
man. Could it be that Ellen was going to be palmed off
upon the poor deceived Viscount? But why then should
they go out of town to be married? Why had I not
seen the least glimpse of a lawyer, or any preparation for a
trousseau ? and why did the new baby go with them?
that could not be of much use at a wedding. No, that
could not be it. Where could they be going? I passed a
restless day, a sleepless night. The next morning I grew
desperate, and was on the point of sallying forth in my cap
and dressing-gown to knock at the door of the deserted
mansion, and demand satisfaction of the butler, when whom
should I pounce upon at the door, but my old friend Gene-
ral Crossby. It was devilish unlucky, but I was obliged to
ask him up.
"I intended to call on my friends the St. Legers, over
the way, this morning," said he, "but I find they are gone
to Portsmouth.”
"Tc Portsmouth, are they? that's very curious," said L
(ર
Opposite Neighbors.
93
interrupting him. "Do you know the family ?" asked L
with something like agitation.
"I have known Sir Charles St. Leger all his life; he
married Fanny Spenser, a daughter of Admiral Spenser."
"Good God !"
"Why are you surprised ?" asked he gravely.
Why, General, I must be candid with you; truth and
honor compel me to a disclosure, which, I am sure, will, as
a friend of the family, cause you exceeding pain." The
General was now surprised in his turn.
66
"Good heavens!" he ejaculated. "Nothing has hap-
pened to Mrs. Murray or child, I hope."
"I don't know who you mean by Mrs. Murray," I
replied, with great seriousness. "It is of Lady St. Leger
and her sister that I am about to speak." And I then told
him every circumstance of guilt, with its corroborating
proofs, to which I had been so unwilling a witness; I told
him all without disguise; to all of which he listened, as I
thought, very calmly, apathetically indeed considering he
was a friend of the family; but on the conclusion of my
recital, to my great dismay he arose, put on his hat, and
looking at me sternly, said, "Sir, the lady whom you have
thus honored by so great a share of your attention is not
the intriguante you suppose, is not the paramour of Sir
Charles St. Leger, but is no other than his wife and my
god-daughter.—I wish you, Sir, a good morning."
"Wife! God-daughter!" I repeated in a faint voice.
"But, General, for God's sake, one instant, the elder lady ?"
"Is Lady St. Leger's elder sister, the wife of the gallant
Captain Murray, whose absence on service she has been
for some time lamenting. His ship has arrived at Ports-
mouth, and they are all gone to meet him." He had
reached the door; I was in an agony; my hair stood on
end: "One word more, the Viscount ?" "Is Captain
94
Modern Story-Teller.
Murray's elder brother. And before I take my leave, per
mit me to wish you a better occupation than clandestinely
watching the actions of others, misinterpreting the actions
of an amiable and virtuous lady, and traducing the charac-
ter of an estimable man, whose refinement of feeling you
have neither mind to understand nor appreciate. Sir, I
wish you again a good morning."
What would I not have given at that moment of shame
to have been on my travels down the bottomless pit!
Anywhere rather than on the first floor at Brook street. I
was positively at my wits' end.
I hung my head, completely abashed, discomfited-I
had nothing to say, absolutely not a word-and was
thoroughly ashamed of myself and my ingenuity. Had I
possessed a tail, I should have slunk off with it hanging
down between my legs, in the manner I have seen a dis-
comfited dog do: but I had no such expressive appendage,
and I could only ejaculate to myself at intervals during the
whole of the next three days-
"God bless my soul! what a false scent I have been
on! And for a bachelor gentleman too, not at all given to
invention! Yet how was I to guess that a wife could be in
love with her husband? There is some excuse for me after
all. God bless my soul!"
P. S. The St. Legers are returned-Captain Murray
is with them-French blinds are putting up all over the
house, "Othello's occupation's gone."


A Night Adventure.
WILL tell you all about an affair-important as it
proved to me; but you must not hurry me. I have
never been in a hurry since then, and never will.
Up to that time inclusive, I was always in a hurry; my
actions always preceded my thoughts; experience was of
no use; and anybody would have supposed me destined
to carry a young head upon old shoulders to the grave.
However, I was brought up at last "with a round turn.”
I was allowed a certain space for reflection, and plenty of
materials; and if it did not do me good, it's a pity!
My father and mother both died when I was still a great
awkward boy; and I, being the only thing they had to
bequeathe, became the property of a distant relation. I do
not know how it happened, but I had no near relations. I
was a kind of waif upon the world from the beginning; and
I suppose it was owing to my having no family anchorage
that I acquired the habit of swaying to and fro, and drifting
hither and thither, at the pleasure of wind and tide. Not.
that my guardian was inattentive or unkind-quite the
reverse; but he was indolent and careless, contenting him
96
Modern Story-Teller.
self with providing abundantly for my schooling and my
pocket, and leaving everything else to chance. He would
have done the same thing to his own son if he had had one,
and he did the same thing to his own daughter. But girls
somehow cling wherever they are cast-anything is an
anchorage for them; and as Laura grew up, she gave the
care she had never found, and was the little mother of the
whole house. As for the titular mother, she had not an
atom of character of any kind. She might have been a
picture, or a vase, or anything else that is useless except to
the taste or the affections. But mamma was indispensable.
It is a vulgar error to suppose that people who have nothing
in them are nobody in a house. Our mamma was the very
centre and point of our home feelings; and it was strange to
observe the devout care we took of a personage who had
not two ideas in her head.
It is no wonder that I was always in a hurry, for I must
have had an instinctive idea that I had my fortune to look
for. The governor had nothing more than a genteel inde-
pendence, and this would be a good deal lessened after his
death by the lapse of an annuity. But sister Laura was
thus provided for well enough, while I had not a shilling in
actual money, although plenty of hypothetical thousands,
and sundry castles in the air. It was the consciousness of
the latter kind of property, no doubt, that gave me so free
and easy an air, and made me so completely the master of
my own actions. How I did worry that blessed old woman!
how Laura lectured and scolded! how the governor
stormed! and how I was forgiven the next minute, and we
were all as happy again as the day was long! But at length
the time of separation came. I had grown a great hulking
fellow, strong enough to make my bread as a porter if that
had been needed; and so a situation was found for me in
a counting-house at Barcelona, and after a lecture and a
1
i
A Night Adbenture.
97
hearty cry from sister Laura, a blessing and a kiss from
mamma, and a great sob kept down by a hurricane laugh
from the governor, I went adrift.
Four years passed rapidly away. I had attained my full
height, and more than my just share of inches. I already
enjoyed a fair modicum of whisker, and had even made
some progress in the cultivation of a pair of moustaches,
when suddenly the house I was connected with failed.
What to do? The governor insisted upon my return to
England, where his interest among the mercantile class was
considerable; Laura hinted mysteriously that my presence
in the house would soon be a matter of great importance to
her father; and mamma let out the secret, by writing to me
that Laura was going to "change her condition." I was
glad to hear this, for I knew he would be a model of a
fellow who was Laura's husband; and, gulping lown my
pride, which would fain have persuaded me that it was
unmanly to go back again like the ill sixpence, I set out on
my return home.
The family, I knew, had moved to another house; but
being well acquainted with the town, I had no difficulty in
finding the place. It was a range of handsome buildings
which had sprung up in the fashionable outskirt during my
absence; and although it was far on in the evening, my
accustomed eyes soon descried through the gloom the
governor's old-fashioned door-plate. I was just about to
knock, really agitated with delight and struggling memories,
when a temptation came in my way.
One of the area-
windows was open, gaping as if for my reception.
quantity of plate lay upon a table close by. Why should I
not euter, and appear unannounced in the drawing-room, a
sunburnt phantom of five feet eleven? Why should I not
present the precise and careful Laura with a handful of her
>wn spoons and forks, left so conveniently at the service of
A
> :
7
98
Modern Story-Teller.
any area-sneak who might chance to pass by? Why?
That is only a figure of speech. I asked no question about
the matter; the idea was hardly well across my brain when
my legs were across the rails. In another moment, I had
crept in by the window; and chuckling at my own clever-
ness, and the great moral lesson I was about to teach, I was
stuffing my pockets with the plate.
While thus engaged, the opening of a door in the hall
above alarmed me; and afraid of the failure of my plan, I
stepped lightly up the stair, which was partially lighted by
the hall-lamp. As I was about to emerge at the top, a
serving-girl was coming out of a room on the opposite side.
She instantly retreated, shut the door with a bang, and I
could hear a half-suppressed hysterical cry. I bounded on,
sprang up the drawing-room stair, and entered the first
door at a venture. All was dark, and I stopped for a
moment to listen. Lights were hurrying across the hall;
and I heard the rough voice of a man as if scolding and
taunting some person. The girl had doubtless given the
alarm, although her information must have been very
indistinct; for when she saw me I was in the shadow of the
stair, and she could have had little more than a vague
impression that she beheld a human figure. However this
may be, the man's voice appeared to descend the stair to
the area-room, and presently I heard a crashing noise, not
as if he was counting the plate, but rather thrusting it aside
en masse. Then I heard the window closed, the shutters
bolted, and an alarm-bell hung upon them, and the man
reascended the stair, half scolding, half laughing at the girl's
superstition. He took care, notwithstanding, to examine
the fastenings of the street-door, and even to lock it, and
put the key in his pocket. He then retired into a room,
and all was silence.
I began to feel pretty considerably queer. The governor
A Night Adventure.
99
kept no male servant that I knew of, and had never done
So. It was impossible he could have introduced this change
into his household without my being informed of it by sister
Laura, whose letters were an exact chronicle of everything,
down to the health of the cat. This was puzzling. And
now that I had time to think, the house was much too large
for a family requiring only three sleeping-rooms, even when
I was at home. It was what is called a double house, with
rooms on both sides of the hall; and the apartment on the
threshold of which I was still lingering appeared, from the dim
light of the windows, to be of very considerable size. I now
recollected that the quantity of plate I had seen-a portion
of which at this moment felt preternaturally heavy in my
pockets-must have been three times greater than any the
governor ever possessed, and that various pieces were of a
size and massiveness I had never before seen in the establish-
ment. In vain I bethought myself that I had seen and
recognised the well known door-plate, and that the area
from which I entered was immediately under; in vain I
argued that since Laura was about to be married, the extra
quantity of plate might be intended to form a part of her
trousseau: I could not convince myself. But the course of
my thoughts suggested an idea, and pulling hastily from my
pocket a tablespoon, I felt, for I could not see, the legend
which contained my fate. But my fingers were tremulous:
they seemed to have lost sensation-only I fancied I did
feel something more than the governor's plain initials,
There was still a light in the hall. If I could but bring
that spoon within its illumination! All was silent; and I
ventured to descend step after step-not as I had bounded
up, but with the stealthy pace of a thief, and the plate
growing heavier and heavier in my pocket. At length I
was near enough to see, in spite of a dimness that had
gathered over my eyes; and, with a sensation of absolute
10C
Modern Story-Teller.
faintness, I beheld upon the spoon an engraved crest—the
red right hand of a baronet!
I crept back again, holding by the banisters, fancying
every now and then that I had heard a door open behind
me, and yet my feet no more consenting to quicken their
motion than if I had been pursued by a murderer in the
nightmare. I at length got into the room, groped for a
chair, and sat down. No more hurry now. Oh, no! There
was plenty of time; and plenty to do in it, for I had to
wipe away the perspiration that ran down my face in
streams. What was to be done? What had I done?
Oh, a trifle, a mere trifle. I had only sneaked into a gen-
tleman's house by the area-window, and pocketed his table-
spoons; and here I was, locked and barred and belled in,
sitting very comfortably, in the dark and alone, in his
drawing-room. Very particularly comfortable. What a
capital fellow, to be sure! What an amusing personage!
Wouldn't the baronet laugh in the morning? Wouldn't
he ask me to stay to breakfast? And wouldn't I eat heartily
out of the spoons I had stolen? But what name is that?
Who calls me a housebreaker? Who gives me in charge?
Who lugs me off by the neck? I will not stand it. I am
innocent, except of breaking into a baronet's house. I am
a gentleman, with another gentleman's spoons in my
pocket. I claim the protection of the law.
police!
Police!
My brain was wandering. I pressed my hand upon my
wet forehead, to keep down the thick-coming fancies, and
determined, for the first time in my life, to hold a deliberate
consultation with myself. I was in an awkward predica-
ment-it was impossible to deny the fact; but was there.
anything really serious in the case? I had unquestionably
descended into the wrong area, the right hand one instead
of the left hand one; but was I not as unquestionably the
A Night Adventure.
101
relation- the distant relation-the very distant relation-of
the next-door neighbor? I had been four years absent from
his house, and was there anything more natural than that I
should desire to pay my next visit through a subterranean
window? I had appropriated, it is true, a quantity of silver-
plate I had found; but with what other intention could I have
done this than to present it to my very distant relation's
daughter, and reproach her with her carelessness in leaving
it next door? Finally, I was snared, caged, trapped-
door and window had been bolted upon me without any
remonstrance on my part-and I was now some consider-
able time in the house, unsuspected, yet a prisoner. The
position was serious; but come, suppose the worst, that I
was actually laid hold of as a malefactor, and commanded
to give an account of myself. Well: I was, as aforesaid, a
distant relation of the individual next door. I belonged to
nobody in the world, if not to him; I bore but an indifferent
reputation in regard to steadiness; and after four years'
absence in a foreign country, I had returned idle, penniless,
and objectless—just in time to find an area window open in
the dusk of the evening, and a heap of plate lying behind
it, within view of the street.
This self-examination was not encouraging; the case was
decidedly queer; and as I sat thus pondering in the dark,
with the spoon in my hand, I am quite sure that no male-
factor in a dungeon could have envied my reflections. In
fact, the evidence was so dead against me, that I began to
doubt my own innocence. What was I here for if my
intentions had really been honest? Why should I desire.
to come into any individual's area-window instead of the
door? And how came it that all this silver-plate had found
its way into my pockets? I was angry as well as terrified.
I was judge and criminal in one; but the instincts of nature
got the better of my sense of justice, and I rose suddenly up
102
Modern Story-Teller.
to ascertain whether it was not possible to get from the
window into the street.
As I moved, however, the horrible booty I had in my
pockets moved likewise, appearing to me to shriek, like at
score of fiends, "Police! police!" and the next instant I
heard a quick footstep ascending the stair. Now was the
fearful moment come! I was on my feet; my eyes glared
upon the door; my hands were clenched; the perspiration
had dried suddenly upon my skin; and my tongue clave to
the roof of my mouth. But the footstep, accompanied by
a gleam of light, passed-passed; and from very weakness
I sat down again, with a dreadful indifference to the
screams of the plate in my pockets. Presently there were
more footsteps along the hall; then voices; then drawing
of bolts and creaking of locks; then utter darkness, then
silence-lasting, terrible, profound. The house had gone
to bed; the house would quickly be asleep; it was time to
be up and doing. But first and foremost, I must get rid
of the plate. Without that hideous corpus delicti, I should
have some chance. I must, at all hazards, creep down into
the hall, find my way to the lower regions, and replace the
accursed thing where I found it. It required nerve to
attempt this; but I was thoroughly wound up; and after
allowing a reasonable time to elapse, to give my enemies at
fair opportunity of falling asleep, I set out upon the adven-
ture. The door creaked as I went out; the plate grated
against my very soul as I descended the steps; but slowly,
stealthily, I crept along the wall; and at length found
myself on the level floor. There was but one door on that
side of the hall, the door which led to the area-room--I
recollect the fact distinctly-and it was with inexpressible.
relief I reached it in safety, and grasped the knob in my
hand. The knob turned-but the door did not open: it
was locked; it was my fate to be a thief; and after a
A Night Adbenture.
103
moment of new dismay, I turned again doggedly, reached
the stair, and re-entered the apartment I had left.
It was like getting home. It was snug and private. I
had a chair there waiting me. I thought to myself, that
many a man would take a deal of trouble to break into such
a house. I had only sneaked. I wondered how Jack
Shepherd felt on such occasions. I had seen him at the
Adelphi in the person of Mrs. Keeley, and a daring little
dog he was. He would make nothing of getting down
into the street from the window, spoons and all. I tried
this: the shutters were not even closed, and the sash mov-
ing noiselessly, I had no difficulty in raising it. I stepped
out into the balcony, and looked over. Nothing was to be
seen but a black and yawning gulf beneath, guarded by the
imaginary spikes of an invisible railing. Jack would have
laughed at this difficulty; but then he had more experience
in the craft than I, and was provided with all necessary
appliances. As for me, I had stupidly forgotten even my
coil of rope. The governor's house, I found, had either no
balcony at all, or it was too far apart to be reached. Pre-
sently I heard a footstep on the trottoir, a little way off.
It was approaching with slow and measured pace: the
person was walking as calmly and gravely in the night as
if it had been broad day. Suppose I hailed this philosophi-
cal stranger, and confided to him, in a friendly way, the
fact that the baronet, without the slightest provocation,
had locked me up in his house, with his silver spoons in my
pocket? Perhaps he would advise me what to do in the
predicament. Perhaps he would take the trouble of knock-
ing at the door, or crying fire, and when the servants
opened, I might rush out and so make my escape. But
while I was looking wistfully down to see if I could not
discern the walking figure, which was now under the win-
dows, a sudden glare from the spot dazzled my sight. It
104
Modern Story-Teller.
was the bull's-eye of a policeman; and with the instinct of
a predatory character, I shrank back trembling, crept into
the room, and shut the window.
By this time I was sensible that there was a little confu-
sion in my thoughts, and by way of employing them on
practical and useful objects, I determined to make a tour
of the room. But first it was necessary to get rid, some-
how or other, of my plunder-to plant the property, as we
call it; and with that view I laid it carefully, piece by
piece, in the corner of a sofa, and concealed it with the
cover.
This was a great relief. I almost began to feel like the
injured party-more like a captive than a robber; and I
groped my way through the room, with a sort of vague
idea that I might perhaps stumble upon some trap-door, or
sliding-panel, which would lead into the open air, or, at
worst, into a secret chamber, where I should be safe for
any given number of years from my persecutors. But
there was nothing of the kind in this stern, prosaic place:
nothing but a few cabinets and tables, and couches, and
arm-chairs, and common-chairs, and devotional-chairs; and
footstools, and lamps, and statuettes, and glass-shades, and
knick-knacks; and one elaborate girandole hung round with
crystal prisms, which played such an interminable tune
against each other when I chanced to move them, that I
stumbled away as fast as I could, and subsided into a
fauteuil so rich, so deep, that I felt myself swallowed up,
as it were, in its billows of swan's down.
How long I had been in the house by this time, I can-
not tell. It seemed to me, when I looked back, to form a
considerable portion of a lifetime. Indeed, I did not very
well remember the more distant events of the night;
although every now and then the fact occurred to me with
startling distinctness, that all I had gone through was only.
A Night Adventure.
105
preliminary to something still to happen; that the morning
was to come, the family to be astir, and the housebreaker
to be apprehended. My reflections were not continuous.
It may be that I dozed between whiles. How else can I
account for my feeling myself grasped by the throat, to the
very brink of suffocation, by a hand without a body? How
else can I account for sister Laura standing over me where
I reclined, pointing to the stolen plate on the sofa, and
lecturing me on my horrible propensities till she grew black
in the face, and her voice rose to a wild unearthly scream
which pierced through my brain?
When this fancy occurred, I started from my recumbent
posture. A voice was actually in my ears, and a living
form before my eyes: a lady stood contemplating me, with
a half-scream on her lips, and the color fading from her
cheek; and as I moved, she would have fallen to the
ground, had I not sprung up and caught her in my arms.
I laid her softly down in the fauteuil. It was the morning
twilight. The silence was profound. The boundaries of
the room were still dim and indistinct. Is it any wonder
that I was in some considerable degree of perplexity as to
whether I was not still in the land of dreams?
t'
Madam,” said I, "if you are a vision, it is of no conse-
quence; but if not, I want particularly to get out.”
"Offer no injury," she replied, in a tremulous voice,
"and no one will molest you. Take what you have come
for, and begone.”
"That is sooner said than done. The doors and win-
dows below are locked and bolted; and beneath those of
this room the area is deep, and the spikes sharp. I assure
you, I have been in very considerable perplexity the whole
of last night;" and drawing a chair, I sat down in front of
her. Whether it was owing to this action, or to my com-
plaining voice, or to the mere fact of her finding herself in
106
Modern Story-Teller.
1
a quiet tête-à-tête with a housebreaker, I cannot tell; but
the lady broke into a low hysterical laugh.
"How did you break in ?" said she.
r
"I did not break: it is far from being my character, 1
assure you. But the area-window was open, and so I just
thought I would come in.”
“You were attracted by the plate! take it, for Heaven's
sake, desperate man, and go away!"
"I did take some of it, but with no evil intention-only
by way of amusement. Here it is ;" and going over to the
sofa, I threw off the cover, and showed her the plate.
"You have been generous," said she, her voice getting
quaverous again; "for the whole must have been in your
power. I will let you out so softly that no one will know.
Put up in your pockets what you have risked so much to
possess, and follow me.”
66
"I will follow you with pleasure," said I,
were it all
the world over;" for the increasing light showed me as
lovely a creature as the morning sun ever shone upon;
"but as for the plunder, you must excuse me there:
never stole anything before, and, please Heaven, I never
will again!"
"Surely you are a most extraordinary person," said the
young lady suddenly, for the light seemed to have made a
revelation to her likewise: "you neither look nor talk like
a robber."
"Nor am I. I am not even a robber-I am nothing:
and have not property in the world to the value of these
articles of plate.”
"Then if you are not a robber, why are you here?—why
creep in at the area-window, appropriate other people's
spoons, and get locked up all night in their house ?”
"For no other reason, than that I was in a hurry. I
had come home from Barcelona, and was going in to my
A Night Adbenture.
107
guardian's next door, when your unfortunate area-window
caught my eye, with the plate on the table inside. In an
instant, I was over the rails and in through the window
like a harlequin, with the intention of giving the family a
pleasing surprise, and my old monitress, sister Laura, a
great moral lesson on the impropriety of her leaving plate
about in so careless a way."
"Then if you are Gerald, my dear Laura's cousin, so
longingly expected-so beloved by them all-so"-Here
the young lady blushed celestial rosy red, and cast down
her eyes. What these two girls could have been saying to
each other about me, I never found out; but there was a
secret, I will go to death upon it.
She let me out so quietly, that neither her father nor
the servants ever knew a syllable about the matter. I
need not say how I was received next door. The governor
swept down another sob with another guffaw; mamma
bestowed upon me another blessing and another kiss; and
Laura was so rejoiced, that she gave me another hearty
cry, and forgot to give me another lecture. My next four
years were spent to more purpose than the last. Being
less in a hurry, I took time to build up a flourishing busi-
ness in partnership with Laura's husband. As for the
baronet's daughter-for we must get everybody into the
concluding tableau-why there she is that lady cutting
bread and butter for the children, with as matronly an air
as Werter's Charlotte: she is my wife; and we laugh to
this day at the oddity of that First Interview which led to
so happy a dénouement.


The Two Isabels.
"Oh love, love, love, love l-love is like a dizziness,
It will not let a poor man go about his business."-OLD SONG.
a
HE General put on his spectacles, and looked stead.
fastly at Isabel for at least two minutes. "Turn
your head,” he said, at last,—"there, to the left.”
Isabel Montford, although an acknowledged beauty, was
as amiable as she was admired; she had also a keen appre-
ciation of character; and, though somewhat piqued, was
amused by the oddity of her aunt's old lover. The General
was a fine example of the well preserved person and man-
ners of the past century; beauty always recognises beauty
as a distinguished relative; and Isabel turned her head, to
render it as attractive as it could be.
The General smiled, and, after gazing for another minute
with evident pleasure, he said, "Do me the favor to keep
that attitude, and walk across the room."
Isabella did so with much dignity; she certainly was
exceedingly handsome;-her step light, but firm; her figure,
admirably poised; her head, well and gracefully placed;
her features, finely formed; her eyes and smile, bright and
The Two Isabels.
109
confiding. She would have been more captivating had her
dress been less studied; her taste was evidently Parisian
rather than classic. The gentleman muttered something, in
which the words, "charming," and "to be regretted," only
met her ear; then he spoke distinctly:
"You solicited my candor, young lady,-you challenged
comparison between you and your compeers, and the pass-
ing belles whom I have seen. Now, be so kind as to walk
out of the room, re-enter, and curtsey.”
Had Isabel Montford been an uneducated young lady, she
might have flounced out of the salon, in obedience to her
displeasure, which was very decided; but as it was, she
drew herself to her full height, and swept through the fold-
ing-doors. The General took a very large pinch of snuff.
"That is so perfectly a copy of her poor aunt!" he mur-
mured;"just so would she pass onward, like a ruffled swan;
she went after that exact fashion into the ante-room, when
she refused me for the fourth time, thirty-five years ago."
The young Isabel re-entered, and curtseyed. The gen-
tleman seated himself, leaned his clasped hands upon the
head of his beautifully inlaid cane—which he carried rather
for show than use-and said,-"Young lady, you look a
divinity! Your tournure is perfection; but your curtsey is
frightful! A dip, a bob, a bend, a shuffle, a slide, a canter
-neither dignified, graceful, nor self-possessed! A curtsey
is in grace what an adagio is in music;-only masters of the
art can execute either the one or the other. Why, the
beauty of the Duchess of Devonshire could not have saved
her reputation as a graceful woman, if she had dared such a
curtsey as that.”
"I assure you, sir," remonstrated the offended Isabel,
"that Madame Micheau-
""
"What do I care for the woman ?" exclaimed the Gene
ral, indignantly. "Have I not memory ?"
110
Modern Story-Teller.
"Can you not teach me ?" said Isabel, amused and inte-
rested by his earnestness.
tr
"I teach you!-I! No; the curtseys which captivated
thousands in my youth were more an inspiration than an
art. The very queen of ballet, in the present day, cannot
curtsey."
"Could my aunt ?" inquired Isabel, a little saucily.
"Your aunt, Miss Montford, was grace itself. Ah! there
are no such women nowadays!"
And, after the not very flattering observation, the Gene-
ral moved to the piano. Isabel's brows contracted, and her
cheeks flushed; however, she glanced at the looking-glass,
was comforted, and smiled. He raised the cover, placed the
seat with the grave gallantry of an old courtier, and invited
the young lady to play. She obeyed, to do her justice, with
prompt politeness; she was not without hope that there, at
least, the old gentleman would confess she was triumphant.
Her white hands, gemmed with jewels, flew over the keys
like winged seraphs; they bewildered the eye by the rapi-
dity of their movements. The instrument thundered, but
the thunder was so continuous that there was no echo!
"The contrast will come by-and-by," thought the disciple
of the old school;-"there must be some shadow to throw
up the lights."
Thunder-crash-thunder-crash-drum-rattle--a con-
fused, though eloquent, running backwards and forwards of
sounds, the rings flashing like lightning! Another crash-
louder a great deal of crossing hands-violent strides from
one end of the instrument to the other-prodigious displays
of strength on the part of the fair performer-a terrific
shake! "What desperate exertion!" thought the General;
"and all to produce a soulless noise." Then followed a
fearful banditti of octaves-another crash, louder and more
prolonged than the rest; and she looked up with a trium-
The Two Isabels.
111
phant smile, a smile conveying the same idea as the pause
of an opera-dancer after a most wonderful pirouette.
“Do you keep a tuner in the house, my dear young lady?"
inquired the general.
If a look could have annihilated, he would have crumbled
into ashes; but he only returned it with admiration, think-
ing "How astonishingly like her aunt, when she refused me
the second time!"
"And that is fashionable music, Miss Montford? I have
lived so long out of England, only hearing the music of
Beethoven, and Mozart, and Mendelssohn, I was not aware
that noise was substituted for power, and that execution had
banished expression. Dear me !-why, the piano is vibrat-
ing at this moment! Poor thing! How long does a piano
last you, Miss Montford ?"
Isabel was losing her temper, when fortunately her aunt
-still Miss Vere-came to the rescue. The lovers of
thirty years past, would have met anywhere else as stran-
gers. The once rounded and queen-like form of the elder
Isabel was shorn of its grace and beauty; of all her attri-
butes, of all her attractions, dignity only remained; and it
was that high-bred, innate dignity which can never be-
acquired, and is never forgotten. She had not lost the
eighth of an inch of her height, and her grey hair was
braided in full folds over her fair but wrinkled brow.
Isabel Montford looked so exactly what Isabel Vere had
been, that General Gordon was sorely perplexed; Isabel
Vere, if truth must be told, had taken extra pains with her
dress; her niece had met the General the night before, and
her likeness to her aunt had so recalled the past, that his
promised visit to his old sweetheart (as he still called her)
had fluttered and agitated her more than she thought it
possible an interview with any man could do; she quar
relled with her beautiful grey hair, she cast off her black
112
Modern Story-Teller.
velvet dress disdainfully, and put on a blue Moire antique.
(She remembered how much the Captain-no, the General,
once admired blue.) She was not yet a coquette; even
grey hair at fifty-five does not cure coquetry where it has
existed in all its strength; but, for the sake of her dear
niece, she wished to look as well as possible. She wondered
why she had so often refused " poor Gordon." She had
been all her life of too delicate a mind to be a husband-hun
ter, too well satisfied with her position to calculate how it
could be improved, and yet, she did not hesitate to confess
to herself that now, in the commencement of old age, how-
ever verdant it might be, she would have been happier, of
more consequence, of more value, as a married woman.
She had too much good sense and good taste to belong to
the class of discontented females, consisting of husbandless
and childless women, who seek to establish laws at war
with the laws of the Almighty; so, if her heart did beat a
little stiffly, and sundry passages passed through her brain
in connexion with her old adorer, and what the future
might be,—she may be forgiven, and will be, by those not
strong-minded women who understand enough of the way-
wardness of human nature to know that, if young heads
and old hearts are sometimes found together, so are young
hearts and old heads. The young laugh to scorn the idea
of Cupid and a crutch, but Cupid has strange vagaries, and
at any moment can barb his crutch with the point of an
arrow.
"The old people," as Isabel Montford irreverently called
them that evening, did not get on well together; they were
in a great degree disappointed one with the other. They
stood up to dance the "minuet de la cour," and Isabel
Vere languished and swam as she had never done before;
but the General only wondered how stiff she had grown,
and hoped that he was not as ill used by time as Mistress
The Two Isabels.
113
Isabel Vere had been. At first, Isabel Montford thought
it "good fun" to see the antiquities bowing and curtseying,
but she became interested in the lingering courtliness of the
little scene, trembled lest her aunt should appear ridiculous,
and then wondered how she could have refused such a man
as General Gordon must have been.
Days and weeks flew fast; the General became a con-
stant visitor in the square, and the heart of Isabel Vere had
never beaten so loudly at twenty as it did at fifty-and-five;
nothing, she thought, could be more natural than that the
General should recall the days of his youth, and seek the
friendship and companionship of her who had never mar-
ried, while he-faithless man!--had been guilty of two
wives during his "services in India." It was impossible to
tell which of the ladies he treated with the most attention.
Isabella Montford took an especial delight in tormenting
him, and he was cynical enough towards her at times.
Although he frankly abused her pianoforte-playing, yet he
evidently preferred it to the music Miss Vere practised so
indefatigably to please him, or to the songs she sang, in a
voice which, from a high "soprano," had been crushed by
time into what might be considered a very singular “mezzo.”
He somehow forgot how to find fault with Miss Montford's
dancing, and more than once became her partner in a
quadrille. It was evident, that while the General was
growing young, Miss Vere remained-" as she was!"
Isabel Montford amused herself at his expense, but he did
not-quick-sighted and man-of-the-world though he was-
perceive it. At first he was remarkably fond of recalling
and dating events, and dwelling upon the grace, and beauty,
and interest, and advantage, of whatever was past and
gone-much to the occasional pain of Isabel Vere, who,
gentle-hearted as she was, would have consigned dates to
the bottomless pit; latterly, however, he talked a good
8
114
Modern Story-Teller.
deal more of the present than of the past, and greatly
to the annoyance of younger men, fell into the duties of
escort to both ladies-accompanying them to places of pub-
lic promenade and amusement.
On such occasions, Miss Isabel Vere looked either
earnest or bashful-yes, positively bashful; and Miss Isabel
Montford, brimful of as much mischief as a lady could
delight in. At times, the General laid aside his cynical
observations, together with his cane, which was not even
replaced by an umbrella; to confess the truth, he had
experienced several symptoms of heart disease, which,
though they made him restless and uncomfortable, brought
hopes and aspirations of life rather than fears of death.
One morning, Isabel Montford and the General were
alone in the salon where this little scene first opened:
"Our difference has never been settled yet," she
exclaimed, gaily; "you have never proved to me the supe-
riority of the Old school over the New."
66
Simply because of your superiority to both," he replied.
"I do not perceive the point of the answer," said the
young lady. "What has my superiority over both to do
with the question ?"
The General arose and shut the door. "Do you think
you could listen to me seriously for five minutes ?" he said.
Listening is always serious work," she answered. He
took her hand within his; she felt it was the hand of age;
the bones and sinews pressed on her soft palm with an
earnest pressure.
66
"Isabel Montford-could you love an old man ?”
She raised her eyes to his, and wondered at the light
which filled them:-
"Yes," she answered, "I could love an old man dearly;
I could confide to him the dearest secret of my heart."
"And your heart, your heart itself? Such things have
The Two Isabels.
115
been, sweet Isabel." His hand was very hard, but she did
not withdraw hers.
"No, not that, because-because I have not my heart
to give." She spoke rapidly, and with emotion. "I have
it not to give, and I have so longed to tell you my secret!
You have such influence with my aunt, you have been so
affectionate, so like a father to me, that if you would only
intercede with her, for him and me, I know she could not
refuse. I have often--often thought of entreating this, and
now, it was so kind of you to ask, if I could love an old
man, giving me the opportunity of showing that I do, by
confiding in you, and asking your intercession."
The room became misty to the General's eyes, and the
rattle of a battle-field sounded in his ears, and beat upon his
heart.
"And pray, Miss Montford," he said, after a pause,
“who may him be ?”
66
'Ah, you do not know him!-my aunt forbade the
continuance of our acquaintance the day before I had the
happiness to meet you. It was most fortunate I wooed you
to call upon her, thinking-" (she looked up at his fine face,
whose very wrinkles were aristocratic, and smiled her most
bewitching smile) "thinking the presence of the only man
she ever loved would soften her, and hoping that I should
one day be privileged to address you as my friend, my
uncle!" And she kissed his hand.-It really was hard to
bear. "I have heard her say," persisted the young lady,
"that when prompted by evil counsel she refused you, she
loved you, and since your return, she only lives in your
presence." The General wondered if this was true, and
thought he would not give the young beauty a triumph.
He was recovering his self-possession. "I remembered
your admiration of passing belles, and felt how kindly you
to'erated me, for my aunt's sake; and surely you will aid
t
116
Modern Story-Teller.
me in a matter upon which my happiness and the happiness
of that poor dear fellow depends!" She bent her beautiful
eyes on the ground.
"And who is the poor dear fellow ?" inquired the
General, in a singularly husky voice.
(ર
Henry Mandeville," half-whispered Isabel. "Oh, is it
not a beautiful name? The initials on those lovely hand-
kerchiefs you gave me will still do; I shall still be I. M."
"A son of old Admiral Mandeville's ?"
"The youngest son," she sighed, "that is my aunt's
objection; were he the eldest, she would have been too
happy. Oh, sir, he is such a hero! lost a leg at Cabool,
and réceived I don't know how many stabs from those
horrid Affgauns."
"Lost a leg?" repeated the General, with an approving
glance at his own; "why, he can never dance with you."
“No, but he can admire my dancing, and does not think
my curtsey a dip, a shuffle, a bend, a bob, a slide, a canter!
Ah! dear General, I was always perfection in his eyes."
"By the immortal Duke," thought the General, "the
young divinity is laughing at me!”
66
My aunt only objects to his want of money; now I
have abundance for both; and your recommendation, dear
sir, at the Horse Guards, would at once place him in some
position of honor and of profit; and even if it were abroad, I
could leave my dear aunt with the consciousness that her
happiness is secured by you, dear guardian angel that you
are! Ah, sir! at your time of life you can have no idea of
our feelings."
"Oh yes, I have!" sighed the General.
"Bless you!" she exclaimed enthusiastically; "I thought
you would recal the days of your youth and feel for us;
and when you see my dear Henry-
""
“With a cork leg-
رد.
The Two Isabels.
117
"Aye, or with two cork legs-you will, I know, be
convinced that my happiness is as secure as your own."
"Women are riddles, one and all!" said the General,
"and I should have known that before."
"Oh! do not say such cruel things and disappoint me,
depending as I have been on your kindness and affection.
Hark!" she continued, "I hear my aunt's footstep; now
dear, dear General, reason coolly with her-my very exist-
ence depends on it. If you only knew him! Promise, do
promise that you will use your influence, all-powerful as it
is, to save my life."
She raised her beautiful eyes, swimming in unshed tears,
to his; she called him her uncle, her dear noble-hearted
friend; she rested her snowy hand lovingly-imploringly,
on his shoulder, and even murmured a hope that, her aunt's
consent once gained, it might not be impossible to have the
two weddings on the same day.
The General may have dreaded the banter of sundry
members of the "Senior United Service Club" who had
already jested much at his devotion to the two Isabels;
he may have felt a generous desire to make two young
people happy, and his good sense doubtless suggested that
sixty-five and twenty bear a strong affinity to January and
May; he certainly did himself honor, by adopting the
interests of a brave young officer as his own, and avoided
the banter of “the club" by pledging the thrice-told vows
to his "old love," the same bright morning that his " new
love" gave her heart and hand to Henry Mandeville,
CC
If
Popping the Question.
Go B
AINT heart,” says the adage, "never won fair ladye.”
I know not who it was that gave birth to this
"wise saw”—whether it is to be found in Homer,
as some say all things may (it is a long time since we read
Homer)—or whether some gallant son of Mars introduced
it to the world by way of forwarding the views of himself
and comrades. But this I know, that whoever the person
may be, he has much to answer for: much to answer for to
the ladies for subjecting them to the affectations and imper-
tinences of our sex-much to answer for to us, for encourag-
ing the belief that such a behavior is pleasing to the fair.
Perhaps it may be urged that a misapprehension and
misapplication of the adage have caused the grievance I
complain of. It may be so: but it is not enough that a law
is made with a view to encourage merit; it should be sc
framed as to defy a perversion to the purposes of evil. In
the blessed days of chivalry, no doubt, the bravest knights
were-as they deserved to be the most successful plead-
ers in the bower of beauty. But let it be remembered
that, in those days, the gallants were bold as lions in battle,
Popping the Question.
119
but in a lady's boudoir (if such an anachronism may be
allowed) meek as so many lambs. Now, I much fear the
high bearing of our gallants is chiefly displayed in the
chambers of their mistresses, while craven hearts are found
to tremble in the tent. Alas, for the days of chivalry! In
a word—though I speak it with the most perfect good
humor, and without a particle of jealousy-I consider the
young men of the present day a saucy, empty, assuming,
ill-bred set of fellows, and altogether unworthy the favors of
the belles of the nineteenth century.
I am not a nineteenth-century man myself, and I thank
the gods (particularly the god of love) for that consolation
in the midst of all my sorrows. Forty years ago things
were very different: the young folks of that age were men
of another calibre, men who paid some regard to decency,
and were not ashamed to wear the blush of modesty upon
all proper occasions. I was a lover then; and I confess
(though at the risk of getting laughed at for my pains), felt
as much alarm at the idea of "popping the red-hot ques-
tion," as facing a fifteen-pounder. An offer of marriage at
that time of day was matter of deliberation for weeks,
months-nay, frequently for years: not, as now, an affair
of three interviews-a ball, a morning call, and an evening
at the opera. No, no: Gretna Green was a terra incognita
in those days; and except in plays and romances, no man
ever dreamt of stealing an heiress burglariously (for I can
find no softer term for it), or running away with a beauty,
and asking her consent afterwards.
The manner of popping the question, certainly, must
always vary considerably with the varying dispositions and
habits of men. The young lawyer, for instance, would put
it in a precise, parchment sort of way,-I, A. B., do hereby
ask and solicit, &c.-while the poet, no doubt, would whip
in a scrap of Ovid, and make it up into a sonnet or moon-
120
Modern Story-Teller.
light impromptu. I remember the opinion of a young beau
of Gray's Inn (macaronies we used to call them in those
days), who, on its being suggested that the best way of
putting the query was by writing, replied, "No, that would
never do; for then the lady would have it to show against
you."
But to my tale. About twenty years ago (I was not
then so bald as I am now), I was spending the Midsummer
with my old friend and schoolfellow, Tom Merton. Tom
had married early in life, and had a daughter, Mary Rose,
who, to her "father's wit and mother's beauty,” added her
uncle Absalom's good humor, and her aunt Deborah's
notability. In her you had the realization of all that the
pocts have sung about fairy forms, dulcet voices, and witch-
ing eyes. She was just such a being as you may imagine.
to yourself in the heroine of some beautiful romance-Nar-
cissa, in Roderick Random, for instance-or Sophia, in Tom
Jones or Fanny, in Joseph Andrews-not the modern,
lackadaisical damsels of Colburn and Bentley. If she
had met the eye of Marc Antony, Cleopatra might have
exerted her blandishments in vain: if Paris had but seen
Mary Rose Merton, Troy might have been standing to this
day. Such was the presiding divinity of the house where I
was visiting. My heart was susceptible, and I fell in love.
No man, I thought, had ever loved as I did a common
fancy among lovers-and the intensity of my affection I
believed would not fail to secure a return. One cannot
explain the secret, but those who have felt the influence,
will know how to judge of my feelings. I was as com-
pletely over head and ears as mortal could be: I loved
with that entire devotion that makes filial piety and
brotherly affection sneak to a corner of nian's heart,
and leave it to the undisputed sovereignty of feminine
beauty.
Popping the Question.
121
The blindness incidental to my passion, and the young
lady's uniform kindness, led me to believe that the possi-
bility of her becoming my wife was by no means so remote
as at first it had appeared to be; and having spent several
sleepless nights in examining the subject on all sides, I
determined to make her an offer of my hand, and to bear
the result, pro or con, with all due philosophy. For more
than a week I was disappointed in an opportunity of speak-
ing alone with my adored, notwithstanding I had frequently
left the dinner-table prematurely with that view, and
several times excused myself from excursions which had
been planned for my especial amusement.
At length the favorable moment seemed to be at hand.
A charity sermon was to be preached by the bishop, for the
benefit of a Sunday school, and as Mr. Merton was church-
warden, and destined to hold one of the plates, it became
imperative on his family to be present on the occasion. I,
of course, proffered my services, and it was arranged that
we should set off early next morning, to secure good seats
in the centre aisle. I could hardly close my eyes that night
for thinking how I should "Pop the Question ;" and when I
did get a short slumber, was waked on a sudden by some
one starting from behind a hedge, just as I was disclosing
the soft secret. Sometimes, when I had fancied myself sit-
ting by the lovely Mary in a bower of jasmine and roses, and
had just concluded a beautiful rhapsody about loves and
doves, myrtles and turtles, I raised my blushing head, and
found myself tête-à-tête with her papa. At another moment,
she would slip a beautiful pink, hot-pressed billet-doux into
my hand, which, when I unfolded it, would turn out to be
a challenge from some favored lover, desiring the satisfac-
tion of meeting me at half-past six in the morning, and so
forth, and concluding, as usual, with an indirect allusion
to a horsewhip. Morning dreams, they say, always come
122
Modern Story-Teller.
true. It is a gross falsehood; mine never came true. But
I had a pleasant vision that morning, and recollecting the
gossip's tale, I fondly hoped it would be verified. Me-
thought I had ventured to "pop the question" to my Dul-
cinea, and was accepted. I jumped out of bed in a tremor.
"Yes," I cried, "I will pop the question: ere this night-cap
again envelope this unhappy head, the trial shall be made!"
and I shaved, and brushed my hair over the bald place on
my crown, and tied my cravat with unprecedented care;
and made my appearance in the breakfast-parlor just as the
servant-maid had begun to dust the chairs and tables.
Poor servant-maid! I exclaimed to myself-for I felt very
Sterne-ish-was it ever thy lot to have the question popped
into thy sophisticated ear? Mayhap, even now, as thou
dustest the mahogany chairs, and rubbest down the legs of
the rosewood tables, pangs of unrequited affection agitate
thy tender bosom, or doubts of a lover's faith are preying
upon thy maiden heart! I can fancy thee, fair domestic,
standing in that neat dress thou wearest now—a gown of
dark blue with a little white sprig, apron of criss-cross
(housemaids were not above checked aprons in those days),
and black cotton stockings-that identical duster, perhaps,
waving in thy ruby hand-I can fancy thee, thus standing,
sweet help, with thy lover at thy feet-he all hope and pro-
testation, thou all fear and hesitation-his face glowing with
affection, thine suffused with blushes-his eyes beaming with
smiles, thine gushing with tears-love-tears, that fall, drop
-drop-slowly at first, like the first drops of a thunder-
storm, increasing in their flow, even as that storm increaseth,
till finding it no longer possible to dissemble thy weeping,
thou raisest the duster to thy cheeks, and smearest them
with its pulverized impurities. But Love knows best how
to bring about his desires: that little incident, simple-uay,
silly as it may seem, has more quickly matured the project
Popping the Question.
123
than hours of sentiment could have done: for the begrimed
countenance of the maiden sets both the lovers a-laughing—
she is anxious to run away, to wash "the filthy witness”
from her face-he will not suffer her to depart without a
promise, a word of hope-she falters forth the soft syllables
of consent—and the terrible task of "popping the question"
is over.
Breakfast-time at length arrived. But I shall pass over
the blunders I committed during its progress; how I salted
Mary Rose's muffin instead of my own, poured the cream
into the sugar basin, and took a bite at the tea-pot lid.
"Pop the question" haunted me continually, and I feared to
speak, even on the most ordinary topics, lest I should in
some way betray myself. Pop-pop-pop! everything
seemed to go off with a pop; and when at length Mr. Mer-
ton hinted to Mary and her mother that it was time for them
to pop on their bonnets, I thought he laid a particular stress
on the horrible monosyllable, and almost expected him to
accuse me of some sinister design upon his daughter. It
passed off, however, and we set out for the church. Mary
Rose leaned upon my arm, and complained how dull I was.
I, of course, protested against it, and tried to rally: viva-
city, indeed, was one of my characteristics, and I was just
beginning to make myself extremely agreeable, when a little
urchin, in the thick gloom of a dark entry, let off a popgun
close to my ear. The sound, simple as it may seem, made
me start as if a ghost had stood before me, and when Mary
observed that I was ((
very nervous this morning," I felt as
if I could have throttled the lad; and inwardly cursed the
inventor of popguns, and doomed him to the lowest pit of
Acheron.
I strove against my fate, however, and made several
observations. "Look," cried Mary Rose, as we gained the
end of the street, "what a beautiful child!”
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Modern Story-Teller.
I turned my head to the window, when the first object
that met my eyes was a square blue paper, edged with
yellow, on which was written in too, too legible characters,
"Pop." I believe I was surprised into an exclamation
stronger than the occasion would seem to warrant, and the
poor child came in for a share of my anathema. I didn't
intend it, however, for I am very fond of children: but it
served Mary Rose to scold me about till we came to the
church door; and, if possible, bewildered me more than
ever. We had now arrived in the middle aisle, when my
fair companion whispered me, "My dear Mr. —, won't
you take off your hat ?" This was only a prelude to still
greater blunders. I posted myself at the head of the seat,
sang part of the hundredth psalm while the organist was
playing the symphony, sat down when I should have stood
up, knelt when I ought to have been standing, and just at
the end of the creed found myself pointed duet, the
gaze and wonder of the whole congregation.
The sermon at length commenced; and the quietness
that ensued, broken only by the perambulations of the
beadle and sub-schoolmaster, and the collision ever and
anon of their official wands with the heads of refractory
students, guilty of the enormous crime of gaping or twirl-
ing their thumbs, gave me an opportunity of collecting my
scattered thoughts. Just as the rest of the congregation
were going to sleep, I began to awake from my mental
lethargy; and by the time the worthy prelate had dis-
cussed three or four heads of his text, felt myself com-
petent to make a speech in parliament. Just at this
moment, too, a thought struck me, as beautiful as it was
sudden-a plan by which I might make the desired tender
of my person, and display an abundant share of wit into
the bargain.
To this end I seized Mary Rose's prayer-book, and
Popping the Question.
125
turning over the pages till I came to matrimony, marked
the passage, ઃઃ
Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded
husband ?" with two emphatic dashes; and pointing sig-
nificantly and confidently to myself, handed it to her with
a bow. She took it!-she read it!!-she smiled!!! Was
it a smile of assent? Oh, how my heart beat in my bosom
at that instant-so loud, that I feared the people around
us might hear its palpitations; and looked at them to see
if they noticed me. She turned over a few leaves-she
took my pencil, which I had purposely inclosed in the
book-and she marked a passage. O ye gods and demi-
gods! what were my sensations at that moment! not Jove
himself, when he went swan-hopping to the lovely Leda-
nor Pluto, when he perpetrated the abduction of the beau-
tiful Proserpine, could have experienced a greater turmoil
of passions than I at that moment. I felt the score—felt it
as if it had been made across my very heart; and I
grasped the book-and I squeezed the hand that presented
it; and opening the page tremblingly, and holding the
volume close to my eyes (for the type was small, and my
sight not quite so good as it used to be), I read-O Mary
Rose! O Mary Rose! that I should live to relate it! —“A
woman may not marry her grandfather."


3
66
Captain Withers' Engagement.
HORTLY after the glorious peace, as they call it,
of 1815, I went upon half pay as a jolly
lieutenant. I was very glad of the change,
as everybody else was, at first. It was very pleasant to
rise when one chose, to dine where he liked, and to run a
comparatively trifling risk of having his brains knocked out
before the evening. But rising at your own hour, dining
at your own time, and even keeping your brains in safety,
becomes very tiresome and fatiguing. In about a month
I would have given the world to be back again to our
hurried reveilles, uncertain dinners, and all the other
glorious sufferings of 'grim-visaged war. I tired of London
in a very short time. They are such a set of chattering
fellows those Cockneys; they worried my life out with
their questions. Even in my coffee-room, I never could
finish my modicum of port in peace. Some inquisitive
fellow or other was sure to sit down at the opposite side of
the table, and ask me all about Vaterloo and the Dook of
Vellington. I never was much given to talking, especially
over my wine, and offended sundry patriotic inquirers by
Captain Withers' Engagement.
127
(
the shortness of my replies. But their persecution was too
much for me at last. I was terrified to go anywhere; the
moment the medal was seen, I was elevated into a hero,
and had every opportunity given me of elevating myself
into an orator at the same time. If I hid the medal, some
coffee-room tormentor was sure to recognise me. I cursed
the Duke, and the Peninsula, and Waterloo, as the dis-
turbers of my peace, and resolved to hide myself in the
country for a few months, till our fame should be in some
measure forgotten. Luckily I saw an advertisement in the
newspapers of a cottage to be let furnished, in the most
beautiful part of Warwickshire. Swelling hills and ver-
dant lawns, flashing waterfalls and umbrageous trees com-
bined,' the advertisement said, 'to form a scene fitted for
the contemplative recluse, or the enthusiastic lover of pic-
turesque magnificence.' I soon settled the business with
Mr. Robins, and started down for my new abode, having
ordered a tolerable stock of genuine old port to precede me
from the cellars of old Barnes. I arrived at last at the
village of Hollywood, and inquired for the cottage I had
taken. Minarets in the gothic style gave a degree of
castellated splendor,' so Mr. Robins said, 'rarely to be met
with in a cottage consisting of two small sitting rooms and
three chambers. Situated in a small park-like inclosure,
it contains every luxury within itself. Grecian couches,
Arabian beds, and Turkey carpets, would add little to the
convenience of this secluded paradise.' And, in fact, there
is no saying what they might have done, for in this instance
the experiment had not been tried. There were some good
strong chairs and tables, a drugget on the floor, of a very
comfortable appearance, and I must have looked like an
innocent image of one of the babes in the wood, as I lay
asleep in a little tent bed, about a foot and a half too short
for me, with my complexion delicately whitened by the
'
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Modern Story-Teller.
reflection of the clean white dimity bed-curtains. How
ever, my old cook, who was as deaf as a post, had never
heard either of Waterloo or the Duke of Wellington, and I
was perfectly happy and contented. I picked up a stout,
natty sort of Suffolk punch, and a good strong dennet, kept
them both at the village inn, smoked my cigar and drank
my bottle, as we are told the patriarchs did long ago under
their fig-trees. I actually began to grow fat, but in a few
weeks my happiness was greatly interrupted. The clergy-
man of the parish called on me. He was a little old fellow
about sixty, with a prodigious nose, surmounted by a pair
of colored spectacles. When he came in, he sat down and
took off his spectacles without saying a word, and as I was
never very talkative, I waited very quietly till he should
commence the conversation.
"You have been at the wars, Captain ?' he said.
I bowed.
"Ah! bad things those wars, and this Waterloo, that
the people talk so much of, was a bloody fight?'
"Yes,' I said.
'A bloody fight-a very bloody fight,' he went on; 'but
what is that, sir, to the great battle of Armageddon, hundreds
of thousands upon either side-earth shaking-sea trembling
—pray, are you a student of the Apocalyptic commentaries?'
"Commentaries!' I said, glad to catch at least a word
I had heard before-oh, I recollect Cæsar's Commentaries
very well; some good fights there, sir.'
"Yes, sir, but Armageddon is the greatest fight of all.
Compared to it, this Waterloo is but a quarrel among some
schoolboys-the Duke of Wellington but the strongest.
bully of the school-but when the devil himself is let loose
and placed at the head of an army’————
"I'll back the Duke against him for a rump and
dozen,' said I, horns, tail, and all.'
¿
Captain Withers' Engagement.
129
"The little old man looked quite confounded at my
reply-put on his spectacles, and in a very short time got
up and bade me good morning. He has published a huge
book, giving a full description of the battle; he is a little
cracked, I suppose, in the upper story, but not a bad fellow
for all that, he drank port wine like a gentleman, and did
not trouble his friends with much conversation. Several
other people called on me, but we did not find each other
very delightful, so after I had returned their visit, we
nodded very politely when we met in the country roads,
but never troubled our heads about talking. At last a gen-
tleman called on me, of the name of Jenkins-he was a
fellow quite after my own heart-had the best cellar in the
county, said very little about it, but did his work after
dinner like a man.
Jenkins and I were sworn friends in a
very short time. He was about fifty years of age, round,
short, and ruddy. He had a capital house about half a mile
from the village, and his elder sister, a widow, took care of
his domestic concerns, as his daughter, a very pretty little
girl of sixteen or seventeen, was thought too young to be
installed as mistress of the family. Well, it was quite
delightful, after driving through the beautiful scenery of
that neighborhood, or hearing my reverend friend's account
of some new vision, or his interpretation of some old one,
to walk quietly over to 'the farm,' as Jenkins's villa was
called, and have a cozy dinner and a quiet bottle or two of
port. The whole family were always so happy to see me—
Mrs. Meddleton, the widow, and little Julia, the daughter,
seemed to contend which should be most hospitable. Some-
times they came down in the same way, and visited me
at my little box in the village. On these occasions Mrs.
Meddleton always did me the honor to preside at my table,
and little Julia, with whom, as I had nothing else to do, I
was very much inclined to fall in love, seemed to make
9
130
Modern Story-Teller.
herself quite at home. In the meantime, old Jenkins and I
sat opposite to each other, and pushed the bottle between us,
very often without saying more than a word or two by the
hour. The ladies were both what is called romantic, and
used to talk a great deal about moonlight and nightingales.
I thought it a capital joke to hear the old lady discoursing
so poetically, and Julia seemed to enjoy the fun of it
as much as I. When they left my cottage, I generally
showed them through the fields, and often accompanied
them the whole way home. Well, this sort of thing went
on delightfully for, I should think, two years. Julia was now
as charming a creature as I had ever taken the trouble to
suppose women could be made. She was beautiful and
merry; and I must say, I began to think I was rather a
favorite with her. To be sure I never paid her any com-
pliments, or put myself greatly out of my way to show my
affection; but, by Jove, about the end of the second
bottle strange feelings used to find their way into my
heart, and I thought so much of her lovely features, that
often through the haze of my cigar I have fancied I saw
her smiling and looking very gracious, when perhaps it was
only her father whiffing away as fast as a volcano. In the
meantime, the old lady continued to be as kind as ever.
She kept on quoting nonsense out of novels or romances,
and was very well pleased with the 'yes' or 'no,' as the
case might be, with which I replied to her rhapsodies.
"About this time a former pupil of our clergyman,
Frank Walton, came down from Oxford to visit his old
preceptor. The old man was half mad with pride and
vanity, as Frank had taken some classes, or medals, or
whatever they call their honors at the University, and
invited us all to a dinner in celebration of the event. We
went; upon my honor he was a very good fellow that
Frank Walton, for a young one, and a chap who had done
Captain Withers' Engagement.
131
nothing but turn over old musty parchment, instead of
handling a sword. We managed to make old Armageddon
as happy, and nearly as noisy, as if he had been present at
the battle; and saw the Jenkins's safe across the fields
with the steadiness of a couple of field-marshals. He came
home with me to my cottage, and we had a very agree-
able chat over a glass of brandy and water and a cigar—
that is to say, he had most of the chat to himself, and a
devil of a fellow to talk he was. He spoke of the Jenkins's.
They had been old friends of his when he lived at the
Rectory, and he really spoke so warmly and kindly of the
all, that I could not resist hinting to him, in rather an
obscure way, that I had some hopes of becoming one of
Mr. Jenkins's family. Jenkins, I said, has been quite a
brother to me already, so that we scarcely require any
relationship to make us more intimate and friendly. The
young collegian shook me by the hand, and congratulated
me on my prospect. 'He did not believe,' he said, 'there
was a more amiable creature in the world than the object
of my choice.' We had some more cigars with accompa-
niments, on the strength of our new acquaintance, and
parted the best friends in the world. Next evening as I
sauntered up to the farm, I saw little Julia and Frank
Walton straying slowly up the avenue before me. I got
on the grass at the side, so as to make no noise, and got
quite close upon them before they perceived my approach.
In answer to something Walton 'said, I heard the young
lady reply, in what I took to be rather an agitated tone-'I
have seen his attentions for some time, and my aunt, I
fancy, sees them too.' The devil she does, thought I.
"Do you think your father would approve of it ?' said
Walton.
"I don't see how he could make any objection. Mr.
Withers seems already a great favorite with him. I myself
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Modern Story-Teller.
should be quite pleased, and my aunt, I am sure, will be
delighted.'
(
"Sweet angel!' I said to myself, 'she will be quite
pleased.' I was just rushing up to thank her for the
delightful discovery I had made, when Walton saw me,
snatched my hand, and shook it very warmly. Julia, in
the meantime, being very much startled by my unexpected.
appearance, made the best of her way to the house. 'I
have done the business for you,' exclaimed Walton, with
the most friendly warmth. Father, aunt, and daughter
will all be delighted with whatever proposal you choose to
make. As a very old friend of the family, I mentioned the
subject to Miss Julia just as you came up, and I assure you
her heart is entirely on your side.' I never was so happy
or proud in my life. I thanked the jolly young Oxonian as
kindly as I could, and asked him to consult with me that
evening, over some brandy and water and cigars. When
we arrived at Mr. Jenkins's, the whole party were kinder
to me than ever. Walton, by way of preventing any
awkwardness which Julia might feel under such interesting
circumstances, took the care of entertaining her entirely
upon himself. He whispered with her on the sofa; and
once or twice, when I heard my name mentioned, I looked
at her, and found such a beautiful and merry sort of smile
upon her countenance, that I became more and more con-
vinced that the young creature, by some means or other,
had fallen desperately in love with me. Old Jenkins filled
his glass, and drank my health with a very peculiar mean-
ing. The old lady sat simpering beside me on the sofa,
thinking it a capital thing, no doubt, to have something to
say in so interesting a matter as a marriage. She sighed
deeply every now and then; and as I supposed the business
put her in mind of her own courtship, I did not like to take
any notice of her proceedings. I merely told her to cheer
Captain Withers' Engagement.
133
up and look happy, for I had something to say to her
brother, which she would be, perhaps, not very sorry to
hear. 'Sweet creature! so kind, so compassionate!' she
said, looking at me with such a cursedly comical leer upon
her face that I could scarcely keep from laughing-and
then hiding her eyes in her handkerchief!
“Oh!' said old Jenkins, 'I guess something of the
business, Withers. I give my hearty consent; but you had
better settle the whole matter with my sister. The ladies
know better about these things than we do.'
tr
Saying this, he finished his glass in a twinkling, and
telling us he was going after Walton and Julia, who had
gone down by the summer-house, he disappeared, leaving
me alone with Mrs. Meddleton.
"I filled up my glass, and sat silent for some time, not
knowing very well how to open the business to such a silly,
romantic sort of old lady. But in a little, she took up the
subject herself.
"Have you been long unattached, Captain Withers?"
she said, in a very sentimental voice.
"About four years and a half,' I replied, 'ever since a
very few months after the peace.'
"But previous to that time,' the old fool continued-
previous to that time, I think I could tell from your face
and manners, you have been more than once engaged.'
"Here, thought I, this silly creature is going to bother
my life out about Waterloo and the Duke of Wellington.
'Yes, madam,' I replied, 'I have had my share in nine
serious engagements, besides ten or twelve trifling little
affairs not worth speaking of."
"Then, I perceive, you have been a man of very
diffusive gallantry,' she said with a simper.
"Diffusive gallantry! thought I. There's a phrase!
'Why, yes, Mrs. Meddleton, we all of us did our best to
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Modern Story-Teller.
follow the Duke's example, and he is a devil of a fellow to
come up to the scratch.'
"Ah! Captain Withers,' she cried, 'you have a soul
far, far above scratching! happiness, contentment, obedi-
ence, will far better become your quiet home, than the
scratching, striving, and fighting you confess you were apt
to meet with in your miscellaneous engagements.'
"Yes,' said I, very drily, wishing to stop her nonsense;
but all my attempts were vain.
"You have a nice cottage in the village, Captain
Withers; elegant, sumptuous, refined-fit for the abode of
a retired warrior.'
"I suspect, madam, you have been studying the
advertisement-but it said something about the retirement
of a poet-nothing that I recollect of about a warrior.'
"A poet!-so, my heart's fondest longings at length
are realized. You are a poet, Captain Withers; I have
suspected it a long time. What a cheering employment
for your lonely hours! The lines to a Robin Redbreast in
the Warwick Mercury, are they yours? sweet, beautiful,
delightful.'
“No; I never wrote a line of any such cursed nonsense
in my life.'
"Ah! in a higher strain-an ode, perhaps, or an epic—
grand, overwhelming, sublime.'
"I took two or three gulps of the port, and did not
answer a word; at last I said, 'Mr. Jenkins, madam, left
me here to consult you on a very tender subject. Your
brother, as he told us, gives his consent: your niece has no
objection-and I only wait your approval to consider myself
the happiest of men.'
"She held down her head and muttered, 'charming,
eloquent, and touching!' and then looking me in the face,
said, 'Is it then possible that you can imagine for a moment
Captain Withers' Engagement.
135
that any selfish scrupulosity of mine should hinder an event
which will give so much delight to every member of my
family? No! away foolish forms and useless dull delays,
I here devote myself to your service!'
"You are very obliging, Mrs. Meddleton; would you
do me the favor to name as early a day as, after consulting
your niece, you conveniently can ?'
"Niece!" she exclaimed-‘I consult no niece, nor
brother, nor any one but myself. Whatever day is most
agreeable to you, you will find no impediment cast in the
way by any one in this family.'
"You are very kind. I will let you know in a few
days, as soon as I shall have completed my preparations.
In the meantime I will just finish this bottle, and join the
party on the lawn.'
"Do; do, my captain! exclaimed the lady, with the
tears actually standing in her eyes.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Meddleton, I am not a captain as
you call me. A plain lieutenant's wife is all the rank I can
offer.'
"Happier in that capacity than as a general's lady-
polite, courteous, enchanting.'
"Well, madam, I may consider everything satisfac-
torily settled ?›
'Yes, all, my Withers!'
"D-n your Withers,' I muttered, and bolted out of
the room.
"I and young Walton stayed to sup with the family
that night. Love, I am sure, is a very healthful occupation,
for I never eat with so ravenous an appetite in my life.
Ham, turkey, tongue, disappeared in no time, and as for
drinking, curse me if I thought old Jenkins and I should
ever have done swigging vast tumblers to each other's
health. In fact, the old gentleman got as drunk as a lord,
136
Modern Story-Teller.
I can't say I myself was particularly sober, and the young
Oxonian, though I perceived he shyed the bottle every
time it came round, sang, and laughed, and reeled about
as if he had been mad. I could not help thinking there
was some little sham in it, but I thought if he was such an
ass as to affect being merry, when he might be so in reality,
the loss was his, not mine. Not a word was said on the
subject of my offer. The ladies both seemed a little confused
at old Jenkins's inuendos, and retired early to bed. We
went on drinking to a late hour, and when I offered to go
away, my old friend would not hear of the proposal.
'Body-o'-me, man-we don't turn near relations out at this
hour o' the night. You shall sleep here, you shall; Frank
can toddle home to the parsonage in a jiffy: but for you,
my boy, you shan't stir a step! We'll have another tum-
bler, and this cigar-so, good-night, Frank, my boy.'
"Walton got up to leave us. As I went with him to
the door, and shook hands at parting, he whispered that
he had intended to ask a favor of me in return for the use
he had been of in my behalf. 'What is it?' I said.
"Oh, nothing-nothing-only if there's an alarm of
housebreakers to-night, don't disturb yourself, 'tis only a
frolic of mine.”
"What! Sally is it ?-wild rogue-I'll sleep as sound
as Orpheus-off with you.'
"And away he went. In a short time after his depar-
ture, old Jenkins really became so foolish and unintelligible,
that I was very glad when his old servant, William, came
in to huddle him off to bed. I took my candle, and as I
knew the house pretty well, no one thought of showing me
the way
I confess my exertions had scarcely been less
than those of my future father-in-law, but luckily I had a
stronger head. As I stalked with all the steadiness I could
muster along the passage, I came suddenly—at a side
Captain Withers' Engagement.
137
(
window which looked out upon the lawn,-upon the beauti
ful Julia herself. Heavens!' I cried, 'how lucky I am!'
'Hush,' she said, 'you'll alarm the house.' And what are
you doing here, my pretty one,--dressed, too, as if for a
promenade,—you ought to have been sound asleep an hour
ago.' 'I was tempted by this beautiful moon,-(the devil
a moon I could see),—'but now I am hurrying off as fast
as I can.' I seized her hand as she attempted to pass me,
and devoured it with kisses as gallantly as the hero of a
novel. She pulled it suddenly and rather angrily away
from me.
'For shame, Captain Withers,' she said, holding
up her finger upbraidingly, 'what would my aunt say
"Your aunt, my dear Julia, may say whatever her old silly
tongue thinks proper, but as for you and me, my darling
The young lady had disappeared, and I made
such an unconscionable lurch as I enacted the lover, that I
nearly put out my candle. I went to bed, and in about a
couple of minutes was as fast as Gibraltar.
"I can't tell how long I had been asleep, when I
thought I heard a voice several times calling on me to get
up. I recollected my promise to young Walton, and
slipping up as gently as possible, and groping my way in
the pitch darkness to the door, I turned the key without
the slightest noise, and got quietly into the warm crib
again. I had not been well asleep the second time, when
such a devil of a row was kicked up in the passage, that it
was impossible even to pretend not to be disturbed. I
heard old Jenkins, scarcely recovered from the effects of his
potations, holloaing at the top of his voice for Julia-then
a prodigious knocking at another door in the passage, and
exclamations for 'Sister!-Sister Meddleton! In a moment
my door was attacked as if by a battering-ram. 'Withers!
Captain Withers! for God's sake answer if you are within!
-Julia and her aunt have disappeared-open the door.'
138
Modern Story-Teller.
"Thus adjured, I could not refuse; I opened the door,
and in walked old Jenkins, and William close behind him,
while two or three of the maid-servants peeped in with the
utmost anxiety from the passage. 'Hilloa, what's the
matter?' I said. Is the house robbed ? Robbed!'
replied old Jenkins, 'I fear it is. Julia is nowhere to be
found. Her clothes have all disappeared. I strongly sus-
pect she has eloped.' 'Impossible! I cried, greatly per-
plexed, after what happened yesterday, it would be
madness to suspect it.' 'My sister, too, is nowhere to be
found.' 6
Ha, ha,' I cried, 'that's too much of a joke. Do
you think anybody has run off with her, too?'
"There's no saying.'
6
C
"I'll warrant ye against that. Who the deuce would
take the trouble to carry off such a silly chattering piece
of rubbish ?'
"She's certainly very silly,' replied my friend; ‘but
then she is so confoundedly romantic;-and you yourself,
Captain Withers, made proposals for her not many hours.
ago.'
"For her?-for Mrs. Meddleton? by the powers!
you are facetious this morning. What! I make proposals
for her?—such a queer, old, ridiculous vixen as that ?'-
.
“And why not, sir ?' cried the lady herself, coming
out from behind the curtain at the foot of my bed!-' old,
indeed ?-ridiculous ?-silly ?'
"Old Jenkins nearly fainted at this unexpected appari-
tion,-'Captain Withers,' he said, 'this is too much. You
shall answer for this, sir. What business has that lady in
your bed-room ?
66 6
Upon my soul, I should like very
much if you would
ask her. I'll take my oath it was not by my invitation,'
said I.
"I'll tell you all about that,' said the lady, casting
Captain Withers' Engagement.
139
disdainful looks all the time at me; on the first alarm of
Julia's elopement, I rushed into the passage, not knowing
what I did; and anxious to get Captain Withers' assistance,
I opened his door and called him; he was sound asleep, I
went up to him and called louder and louder, but he seemed
to take no notice. All of a sudden, he jumped out of bed,
and ran and bolted the door. What was I to do? I hid
myself behind the curtain till you came in,—and now to
hear what the wretch says of me behind my back-false,
inconstant, cruel, O! O! O!
“I don't believe a word of all this story of yours,' said
old Jenkins. Captain Withers, you are a rascal, sir.
You have abused my hospitality, and dishonored my family;
you shall pay for it, sir; you are a villain'-
"Very well, old gentleman,' I said, having now finished
dressing, 'go on as much as you like; I shall have the honor,
the moment I can procure a friend, of shooting you as dead
as a herring. I certainly took a fancy to your daughter,
and asked your consent to let me marry her. You said
you were very happy-this old lady said the same;-but
till we have had a meeting, of course all negotiations are at
an end.'
Pe
"We shall have no meeting, sir, rest assured of that,
unless in presence of a jury,' he replied. I put on my hat,
and walked quietly out of the house, leaving the old lady
with her face hidden in her handkerchief, crying out, 'Oh,
my character, my poor character!-lost-ruined-misera-
ble-undone !'
"Well, gentlemen,”-continued Withers, "I suppose
you all guess what was the real truth of the matter. Wal-
ton and Julia had gone off together, getting me into a
deuce of a scrape by their folly. Old Jenkins forgave them
with all his heart, as he was anxious for their evidence
against me. They raised an action of damages for breach
140
Modern Story-Teller.
of promise of marriage. The widow was examined by the
jury at great length. She swore to them that I had asked
her to marry-not in precise words, for I was the most
silent gentleman she had ever met with-but that I had
told her, I sighed for a friend's company-meaning her by
the word 'friend.' I was only a lieutenant then, you'
remember, and had some thoughts of giving Jack Morrell
the difference for a captaincy in the line.
"Old Armageddon swore that I had certainly given
him to understand that I was soon to be a brother of Mr.
Jenkins's.
"Julia herself declared that she had looked upon her
aunt as the cause of my frequent visits to their cottage, and
related conversations, which she had understood in quite a
different way from what I had meant them.
"Walton swore that I informed him positively I was
going to marry Mrs. Meddleton.
"But when old Jenkins told them, in addition to alt
that the others had said, the story of her being found,
under very suspicious circumstances, in my bed-room, the
whole jury rose up in an agony of indignation, returned a
verdict for the whole amount of damages, and expressed
great sorrow they had not been laid at a higher sum.
What could twelve low fellows, shut up in a box, know of
promises of marriage, tender feelings, harrowing distress,
and all the nonsense a chattering fellow in a wig talked to
them about? But still they nabbed me, you'll perceive.
I had to pay two thousand pounds, besides a great deal
more for expenses. I gave up my castellated cottage, used
great exertions to get on full pay, and have never from
that day to this said a civil word to a woman, especially to
a widow."

-소
​The Twin Sisters.
A
MONG those who attended the first of the king's
levees, during the London season of 18—, was an
unmarried gentleman of large fortune, named
Streatfield. While his carriage was proceeding slowly
down St. James's street, he naturally sought such amuse-
ment and occupation as he could find in looking on the
brilliant scene around him. The day was unusually fine,
crowds of spectators thronged the street and the balconies.
of the houses on either side of it, all gazing at the different
equipages with as eager a curiosity and interest, as if fine
vehicles and fine people inside them were the rarest objects
of contemplation in the whole metropolis. Proceeding at
a slower and slower pace, Mr. Streatfield's carriage had
just arrived at the middle of the street, when a longer
stoppage than usual occurred. He looked carelessly up at
the nearest balcony; and there, among some eight or ten
ladies, all strangers to him, he saw one face that riveted
his attention immediately.
He had never beheld anything so beautiful, anything
which struck him with such strange, mingled, and sudden
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Modern Story-Teller.
sensations, as this face. He gazed and gazed on it, hardly
knowing where he was, or what was doing, until the line
of vehicles began to move on. Then, after first ascertain-
ing the number of the house-he flung himself back in the
carriage, and tried to examine his own feelings, to reason
himself into self-possession; but it was all in vain. He was
seized with that amiable form of social monomania, called
"love at first sight."
He entered the palace, greeted his friends, and per-
formed all the necessary court ceremonies, feeling the
whole time like a man in a trance. He spoke mechanically,
and moved mechanically; the lovely face in the balcony
occupied his thoughts, to the exclusion of everything else.
On his return home, he had engagements for the afternoon
and the evening-he forgot and broke them all; and walked
back to St. James's street as soon as he had changed his
dress.
The balcony was empty; the sight-seers, who had filled
it but a few hours before, had departed—but obstacles of
all sorts now tended only to stimulate Mr. Streatfield; he
was determined to ascertain the parentage of the young
lady, determined to look on the lovely face again-the
thermometer of his heart had risen already to fever heat!
Without loss of time, the shopkeeper to whom the house
belonged, was bribed to loquacity by a purchase. All he
could tell, in answer to inquiries, was that he had let lodg-
ings to an elderly gentleman and his wife, from the country,
who had asked some friends into their balcony to see the
carriages go to the levee. Nothing daunted, Mr. Streat-
field questioned and questioned again. What was the old
gentleman's name ?-Dimsdale-could he see Mr. Dims-
dale's servant? The obsequious shopkeeper had no doubt
that he could; Mr. Dimsdale's servar should be sent for
immediately.
The Twin Sisters
143
In a few minutes the servant, the all-important link in
tne chain of love's evidence, made his appearance.
He
He was
a pompous, portly man, who listened with solemn attention,
with stern judicial calmness, to Mr. Streatfield's rapid and
somewhat confused inquiries, which were accompanied by
a minute description of the young lady, and by several
explanatory statements, all very fictitious, and all very
plausible. Stupid as the servant was, and suspicious as all
stupid people are, he had nevertheless sense enough to per-
ceive that he was addressed by a gentleman, and gratitude
enough to feel considerably mollified by the handsome
douceur which was quietly slipped into his hand. After
much pondering and doubting, he at last arrived at the
conclusion that the object of Mr. Streatfield's inquiries was
a Miss Langley, who had joined the party in the balcony
that morning, with her sister; and who was the daughter
of Mr. Langley, of Langley Hall, in -shire. The family
was now staying in London, at street. More infor
mation than this, the servant stated that he could not
afford-he was certain that he had made no mistake, for
the Misses Langley were the only very young ladies in the
house that morning; however, if Mr. Streatfield wished to
speak to his master, he was ready to carry any message
with which he might be charged.
But Mr. Streatfield had already heard enough for his
purposes, and departed at once for his club, determined to
discover some means of being introduced, in due form, to
Miss Langley, before he slept that night, though he should
travel round the whole circle of his acquaintance, high and
low, rich and poor, in making the attempt. Arrived at
the club, he began to inquire resolutely, in all directions,
for a friend who knew Mr. Langley, of Langley Hall. He
disturbed gastronomic gentlemen at their dinner; he inter-
rupted agricultural gentlemen, who were moaning over the
144
Modern Story-Teler.
prospects of the harvest; he startled literary gentlemen, who
were deep in the critical mysteries of the last Review; he
invaded billiard room, dressing room, smoking room; he
was more like a frantic ministerial whipper-in, hunting up
stray members for a division, than an ordinary man; and
the oftener he was defeated in his object, the more deter-
mined he was to succeed. At last, just as he was standing
in the hall of the club-house, thinking where he should go.
next, a friend entered, who at once relieved him of all his
difficulties-a precious, an inestimable man, who was on
intimate terms with Mr. Langley, and had been lately
staying at Langley Hall. To this friend all the lover's cares
and anxieties were at once confided; and a fitter depository
for such secrets of the heart could hardly have been found.
He made no jokes, for he was not a bachelor; he abstained
from shaking his head and recommending prudence, for
he was not a seasoned husband or an experienced widower;
what he really did, was to enter heart and soul into his
friend's projects, for he was precisely in that position, the
only position, in which the male sex generally take a
proper interest in match-making; he was a newly married
man.
Two days after, Mr. Streatfield was the happiest of
mortals; he was introduced to the lady of his love, to Miss
Jane Langley. He really enjoyed the priceless privilege
of looking once more on the face in the balcony, and look-
ing on it almost as often as he wished. It was perfect Ely-
sium. Mr. and Mrs. Langley saw little or no company.
Miss Jane was always accessible, never monopolized; the
light of her beauty shone day after day for her adorer
alone; and his love blossomed in it, as fast as flowers in a
nothouse. Passing by all the minor details of the wooing
to arrive the sooner at the grand fact of the winning,
let us simply relate that Mr. Streatfield's object in seeking
24
The Twin Sisters.
145
an introduction to Mr. Langley, was soon explained, and
was indeed visible enough long before the explanation.
He was a handsome man, an accomplished man, and a rich
man. His two first qualifications conquered the daughter,
and his third the father. In six weeks Mr. Streatfield was
the accepted lover of Miss Jane Langley. The wedding-
day was fixed; it was arranged that the marriage should
take place at Langley Hall, whither the family proceeded,
leaving the unwilling lover in London, a prey to all the
inexorable business formalities of the occasion. For ten
days did the ruthless lawyers, those dead-weights on the
back of Hymen, keep their victim in the metropolis, occu-
pied over settlements that never seemed likely to be set-
tled. But even the long march of the law has its ends, like
other mortal things; at the expiration of ten days all was
completed, and Mr. Streatfield found himself at liberty to
start for Langley Hall.
A large party was assembled at the house to grace the
approaching nuptials. There were to be tableaux, charades,
boating trips, riding excursions, amusements of all sorts,
the whole to conclude (in the play-bill phrase) with the
grand climax of the wedding. Mr. Streatfield arrived late,
dinner was ready, he had barely time to dress and then
bustle into the drawing-room just as the guests were leav-
ing it, to offer his arm to Miss Jane, all greetings with
friends and introductions to strangers being postponed till
the party met round the dining table.
Grace had been said, the covers were taken off, the
loud, cheerful hum of conversation was just beginning,
when Mr. Streatfield's eyes met the eyes of a young lady
who was seated opposite, at the table. The guests near
him, observing at the same moment that he continued
standing after every one else had been placed, glanced at
him inquiringly. To their astonishment and alarm, they
10
146
Modern Story-Teller.
observed that his face had suddenly become deadly pale--
his rigid features looked struck by paralysis. Several of
his friends spoke to him, but for the first few moments he
returned no answer. Then, still fixing his eyes upon the
young lady opposite, he abruptly exclaimed in a voice, the
altered tones of which startled every one who heard him,
That is the face I saw in the balcony; that woman is the
only woman I can ever marry!" The next instant, without
a word more, either of explanation or apology, he hurried
from the room.
One or two of the guests mechanically started up, as
if to follow him; the rest remained at the table, looking
on each other in speechless surprise. But before any one
could either act or speak, almost at the moment when the
door closed on Mr. Streatfield, the attention of all was
painfully directed to Jane Langley. She had fainted. Her
mother and sisters removed her from the room immediate-
ly, aided by the servants. As they disappeared, a dead
silence again sank down over the company; they all looked
around, with one accord, to the master of the house.
Mr. Langley's face and manner sufficiently revealed the
suffering and suspense that he was secretly enduring. But
he was a man of the world, and neither by word nor action
did he betray what was passing within him. He resumed his
place at the table, and begged his guests to do the same.
He affected to make light of what had happened, entreated
every one to forget it, or, if they remembered it at all, to
remember it only as a mere accident, which would no doubt
be satisfactorily explained. Perhaps it was only a jest on
Mr. Streatfield's part-rather too serious a one, he must
At any rate, whatever was the cause of the interrup
tion to the dinner, which had just happened, it was not im-
portant enough to require everybody to fast around the
table of the feast. He asked it as a favor to himself that
Own.
The Twin Sisters.
147
no further notice might be taken of what had occurred.
While Mr. Langley was speaking thus, he hastily wrote a
few lines on a piece of paper, and gave it to one of the ser-
vants. The note was directed to Mr. Streatfield; the lines
contained only these words:-"Two hours hence I shall
expect to see you alone in the library."
The dinner proceeded; the places occupied by the fe-
male members of the Langley family, and by the young lady
who had attracted Mr. Streatfield's notice in so extraordi-
nary a manner, being left vacant. Every one endeavored
to follow Mr. Langley's advice, and go through the business
of the dinner as though nothing had occurred; but the at-
tempt failed miserably. Long blank pauses occurred in the
conversation; general topics were started, but never pur-
sued. It was more like an assembly of strangers than a
meeting of friends; people neither eat nor drank, as they
were accustomed to eat and drink; they talked in altered
voices, and sat with unusual stillness, even in the same po-
sitions. Relatives, friends, and acquaintances, all alike per-
ceived that some great domestic catastrophe had happen-
ed; all foreboded that some serious, if not fatal, explana-
tion of Mr. Streatfield's conduct would ensue; and it was
vain and hopeless-a very mockery of self-possession, to
attempt to shake off the sinister and chilling influences that
recent events had left behind them, and resume at will the
thoughtlessness and hilarity of ordinary life. Still, how-
ever, Mr. Langley persisted in doing the honors of the table,
in proceeding doggedly through all the festive ceremonies
of the hour, until the ladies rose and retired. Then, after
looking at his watch, he beckoned to one of his sons to
take his place, and quietly left the room. He only stopped
once as he crossed the hall. to ask news of his daughter
from one of his servants. The reply was, that she had had
a hysterical fit, that the medical attendant of the family
148
Modern Story-Teller.
had been sent for, and that since his arrival she had become
more composed. When the man had spoken, Mr. Langley
made no remark, but proceeded at once to the library.
He locked the door behind him, as soon as he had entered
the room. Mr. Streatfield was already waiting there; he was
seated at the table, endeavoring to maintain an appearance.
of composure, by mechanically turning over the leaves of the
books before him. Mr. Langley drew a chair near him, and
in low, but very firm tones, began the conversation thus:-
"I have given you two hours, sir, to collect yourself, to
consider your position fully; I presume, therefore, that you
are now prepared to favor me with an explanation of your
conduct at my table to-day."
"What explanation can I make! what can I say or
think of this most terrible of fatalities!" exclaimed Mr.
Streatfield, speaking faintly and confusedly, and still not.
looking up. "There has been an unexampled error com-
mitted, a fatal mistake, which I could never have antici-
pated, and over which I had no control."
"Enough, sir, of the language of romance," interrupted
Mr. Langley, coldly; "I am neither of an age nor a disposi-
tion to appreciate it. I come here to ask plain questions
honestly, and I insist, as my right, on receiving answers in
the same spirit. You, Mr. Streatfield, sought an introduc-
tion to me, you professed yourself attached to my daughter
Jane, your proposals were (I fear unhappily for us) accepted,
your wedding-day was fixed, and now after all this, when
you happen to observe my daughter's twin-sister sitting
opposite to you
ور
"Her twin-sister!" exclaimed Mr. Streatfield; and his
trembling hand crumpled the leaves of the book, which he
still held while he spoke. "Why is it, intimate as I have
been with your family, that I now know for the first time
that Miss Jane Langley has a twin sister ?"
The Twin Sisters.
149
"Do you descend, sir, to subterfuge, when I ask you
for an explanation ?" returned Mr. Langley, angrily; "you
must have heard over and over again, that my children.
Jane and Clara, were twins."
"On my word and honor I declare that-
"Spare me all appeals to your word and honor, sir; I
am beginning to doubt both."
"I will not make the unhappy situation in which we are
all placed, still worse, by answering your last words as I
might at other times feel inclined to answer them," said
Mr. Streatfield, assuming a calmer demeanor than he had
hitherto displayed. "I tell you the truth, when I tell you
that before to-day I never knew that any of your children
were twins. Your daughter, Jane, has frequently spoken
to me of her absent sister, Clara, but never spoke of her
as her twin-sister. Until to-day, I have had no opportunity
of discovering the truth, for until to-day I have never met
Miss Clara Langley since I saw her in the balcony of the house
in St. James's street. The only one of your children who
was never present during my intercourse with your family
in London, was your daughter Clara, the daughter whom I
now know for the first time as the young lady who really
arrested my attention on my way to the levee, whose affec-
tions it was really my object to win in seeking an introduc-
tion to you. To me, the resemblance between the twin-
sisters has been a fatal resemblance; the long absence of
one, a fatal absence."
""
There was a momentary pause, as Mr. Streatfield sadly
and calmly pronounced the last words. Mr. Langley
appeared to be absorbed in thought. At length he proceed-
ed, speaking to himself:-"It is strange-I remember that
Clara left London on the day of the levee to set out on a visit
to her aunt, and only returned here two days since, to bo
present at her sister's marriage. Well, sir," lc continned,
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Modern Story-Teller.
addressing Mr. Streatfield, "granting what you say, grant
ing that we all mentioned my absent daughter to you, as
we are accustomed to mention her among ourselves, simply
as 'Clara,' you have still not excused your conduct in my
eyes. Remarkable as the resemblance is between the
sisters—more remarkable even, I am willing to admit, than
the resemblance usually is between twins-there is yet a
difference, and which, slight and indescribable though it may
be, is nevertheless discernible to all their relations and to all
their friends. How is it that you, who represent yourself
as so vividly impressed by your first sight of my daughter
Clara, did not discover the error when you were introduced
to her sister Jane, as the lady who had so much attracted
you ?"
"You forget, sir," rejoined Mr. Streatfield, "that I have
never beheld the sisters together until to-day. Though
both were in the balcony when I first looked up at it, it
was Miss Clara Langley alone who attracted my attention.
Had I only received the smallest hint that the absent sister
of Miss Jane Langley was her twin-sister, I would have
seen her, at any sacrifice, before making my proposals.
For it is my duty to confess to you, Mr. Langley (with the
candor which is your undoubted due), that when I was
first introduced to your daughter Jane, I felt an unaccount-
able impression that she was the same as, and yet different
from, the lady whom I had seen in the balcony. Soon,
however, the impression wore off. Under the circum-
stances, could I regard it as anything but a mere caprice,
a lover's wayward fancy? I dismissed it from my mind, it
ceased to affect me, until to-day, when I first discovered
that it was a warning which I had most unhappily disre-
garded; that a terrible error had been committed, for
which no one of us was to blame, but which was fraught
with misery, undeserved misery, to us all."
The Twin Sisters.
151 ·
These, Mr. Streatfield, are explanations which may sat-
isfy you," said Mr. Langley, in a milder tone, "but they
cannot satisfy me, they will not satisfy the world. You
have repudiated in the most public and most abrupt man-
ner an engagement, in the fulfilment of which the honor
and the happiness of my family are concerned. You have
given me reasons for your conduct, it is true, but will those
reasons restore my daughter the tranquillity which she has
lost, perhaps for ever? will they stop the whisperings of
calumny? will they carry conviction to those strangers to
me, or enemies of mine, whose pleasure it may be to dis-
believe them? You have placed both yourself and me, sir,
in a position of embarrassment, nay, a position of danger
and disgrace, from which the strongest reasons and best
excuses cannot extricate us."
"I entreat you to believe," replied Mr. Streatfield, "that
I deplore from my heart the error, the fault, if you will, of
which I have been unconsciously guilty. I implore your
pardon, both for what I said and did at your table to-day;
but I cannot do more—I cannot and I dare not pronounce
the marriage vows to your daughter with my lips, when I
know that neither my conscience nor my heart can ratify
them. The commonest justice, and the commonest respect
towards a young lady who deserves both, and more than
both, from every one who approaches her, strengthen me
to persevere in the only course which it is consistent with
honor and integrity for me to take.”
"You appear to forget," said Mr. Langley, "that it is
not merely your own honor, but the honor of others, that
is to be considered in the course of conduct which you are
now to pursue.”
"I have by no means forgotten what is due to you,"
continued Mr. Streatfield, "or what responsibilities I have
incurred from the nature of my intercourse with your
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Modern Story-Teller.
family. Do I put too much trust in your forbearance, if 1
now assure you, candidly and unreservedly, that I still
place all my hopes of happiness in the prospect of becoming
connected by marriage with a daughter of yours, Miss
Clara Langley ?"-Here the speaker paused. His position
was becoming a delicate and a dangerous one; but he made
no effort to withdraw from it. Almost bewildered by the
pressing and perilous emergency of the moment, harassed
by such a tumult of conflicting emotions within him as he
had never known before, he risked the worst, with all the
blindfold desperation of love. The angry flush was rising
on Mr. Langley's cheek; it was evidently costing him a
severe struggle to retain his assumed self-possession; but
he did not speak. After an interval, Mr. Streatfield pro-
ceeded thus:
"However unfortunately I may express myself, I am
sure you will do me the justice to believe that I am now
speaking from my heart on a subject (to me) of the most
vital importance. Place yourself in my situation; consider
all that has happened; consider that this may be, for aught
I know to the contrary, the last opportunity I may have of
pleading my cause; and then say whether it is possible for
me to conceal from you that I can only look to your for-
bearance and sympathy for permission to retrieve my error,
to-to-Mr. Langley! I cannot choose expressions at such
a moment as this. I can only tell you that the feeling with
which I regarded your daughter Clara, when I first saw her,
still remains what it was. I cannot analyse it; I cannot
reconcile its apparent inconsistencies and contradictions;
I cannot explain how, while I may seem to you and to every
one to have varied and vacillated with insolent caprice, I
have really remained, in my own heart and to my own
conscience, true to my first sensations and my first convic-
tions. I can only implore you not to condemn me to a life
The Twin Sisters.
153
of disappointment and misery, by judging me with hasty
irritation. Favor me, so far at least, as to relate the
conversation which has passed between us to your two
daughters. Let me hear how it affects each of them
towards me. Let me know what they are willing to think
and ready to do under such unparalleled circumstances
as have now occurred. I will wait your time and their
time; I will abide by your decision and their decision,
pronounced after the first poignant distress and irritation
of this day's events have passed over."
Still Mr. Langley remained silent; the angry word was
on his tongue; the contemptuous rejection of what he
regarded for the moment as a proposition equally ill-timed
and insolent, seemed bursting to his lips; but once more her
restrained himself. He rose from his seat, and walked
slowly backwards and forwards, deep in thought. Mr.
Streatfield was too much overcome by his own agitation to
plead his cause further by another word.
There was a
silence in the room now, which lasted for some time.
We have said that Mr. Langley was a man of the world.
He was strongly attached to his children; but he had a
little of the selfishness and much of the reverence for wealth
of a man of the world. As he now endeavored to determine
mentally on his proper course of action-to disentangle the
whole case from all its mysterious intricacies-to view it.
extraordinary as it was, in its proper bearings, his thoughts
began gradually to assume what is called "a practical turn.”
He reflected that he had another daughter, besides the twin
sisters, to provide for; and that he had two sons to settle
in life. He was not rich enough to portion three daughters;
and he had not interest enough to start his sons favorably
in a career of eminence. Mr. Streatfield, on the contrary,
was a man of great wealth, and of great "connexions"
among people in power. Was such a son-in-law to bo
154
Modern Story-Teller.
rejected, even after all that had happened, without at least
consulting his wife and daughters first? He thought not.
Had not Mr. Streatfield, in truth, been the victim of a remark-
able fatality, of an incredible accident, and were no allow-
ances, under such circumstances, to be made for him? He
began to think there were. Reflecting thus, he determined
at length to proceed with moderation and caution at all
hazards and regained composure enough to continue the
conversation in a cold, but still polite, tone.
"I will commit myself, sir, to no agreement or promise
whatever," he began, "nor will I consider this interview in
any respect as a conclusive one, either on your side or mine;
but if I think, on consideration, that it is desirable that our
conversation should be repeated to my wife and daughters,
I will make them acquainted with it, and will let you know
the result. In the meantime, I think you will agree with
me, that it is most fit that the next communications between
us should take place by letter alone.”
Mr. Streatfield was not slow in taking the hint con-
veyed by Mr. Langley's last words. After what had
occurred, and until something was definitively settled, he
felt that the suffering and suspense which he was already
enduring would be increased tenfold if he remained longer
in the same house with the twin-sisters-the betrothed of
one, the lover of the other! Murmuring a few inaudible
words of acquiescence in the arrangement which had just
been proposed to him, he left the room. The same evening
he quitted Langley Hall. The next morning the remainder
of the guests departed, their curiosity to know all the par-
ticulars of what had happened remaining ungratified. They
were simply informed that an extraordinary and unex-
pected obstacle had arisen to delay the wedding; that no
blame attached to any one in the matter; and that as soon
as everything had been finally determined, everything
The Twin Sisters.
155
would be explained. Until then, it was not considered
necessary to enter in any way into particulars. By the
middle of the day every visitor had left the house; and a
strange and melancholy spectacle it presented when they
were all gone. Rooms were now empty and silent, which
the day before had been filled with animated groups, and
had echoed with merry laughter. In one apartment, the
fittings for the series of "Tableaux" which had been pro-
posed, remained half completed; the dresses that were to
have been worn lay scattered on the floor; the carpenter
who had come to proceed with his work, gathered up his
tools in ominous silence, and departed as quickly as he
could. Here lay books, still open at the last page read;
there was an album, with the drawing of the day before
unfinished, and the color-box unclosed by its side. On the
deserted billiard-table, the position of the "cues" and balls
showed traces of an interrupted game. Flowers were
scattered on the rustic tables in the garden, half made into
nosegays, and beginning to wither already. The very dogs
wandered in a moody, unsettled way about the house,
missing the friendly hands that had fondled and fed them
for so many days past, and whining impatiently in the
deserted drawing-rooms. The social desolation of the scene
was miserably complete in all its aspects.
Immediately after the departure of his guests, Mr.
Langley had a long interview with his wife. He repeated
to her the conversation which had taken place between Mr.
Streatfield and himself, and received from her in return
such an account of the conduct of his daughter, under the
-
- trial that had befällen her, as filled him with equal astonish-
ment and admiration. It was a new revelation to him of
the character of his own child.
“As soon as the violent symptoms had subsided,” said
Mrs. Langley, in answer to her husband's first inquiries—“ as
156
Modern Story-Teller.
soon as the hysterical fit was subdued, Jane seemed sud
denly to assume a new character-to become another per-
son. She begged that the doctor might be released from
his attendance, and that she might be left alone with me
and her sister Clara. When every one else had quitted the
room, she continued to sit in the easy-chair, where we had
at first placed her, covering her face with her hands. She
entreated us not to speak to her for a short time, and
except that she shuddered occasionally, sat quite still and
silent. When she at last looked up, we were shocked to see
the deadly paleness of her face, and the strange alteration
that had come over her expression; but she spoke to us so
coherently, so solemnly even, that we were amazed; we
knew not what to think or what to do; it hardly seemed to
be our Jane who was now speaking to us."
"What did she say ?" asked Mr. Langley, eagerly.
"She said that the first feeling of her heart, at that
moment, was gratitude on her own account. She thanked
God that the terrible discovery had not been made too
late, when her married life might have been a life of
estrangement and misery. Up to the moment when Mr.
Streatfield had uttered that one fatal exclamation, she
had loved him, she told us, fondly and fervently; now,
no explanation, no repentance (if either were tendered),
no earthly persuasion or command (in case Mr. Streatfield
should think himself bound, as a matter of atonement, to
hold his rash engagement), could ever induce her to
become his wife."
"Mr. Streatfield will not test her resolution," said Mr.
Langley, bitterly. "He deliberately repeated his repudia-
tion of his engagement in this room; nay more, he-
""
"I have something important to say to you from Jane
on this point," interrupted Mrs. Langley. "After she had
spoken the first few words which I have already repeated
The Twin Sisters.
157
to you, she told us that she had been thinking-thinking
more calmly, perhaps, than one could imagine-on all that
had happened; on what Mr. Streatfield had said at the
dinner-table; on the momentary glance of recognition which
she had seen pass between him and her sister Clara, whose
accidental absence, during the whole period of Mr. Streat-
field's intercourse with us in London, she now remembered
and reminded me of. The cause of the fatal error, and the
manner in which it had occurred, seemed to be already
known to her, as if by intuition. We entreated her to
refrain from speaking on the subject for the present, but
she answered that it was her duty to speak on it--her duty
to propose something which would alleviate the suspense
and distress we were all enduring on her account. No
words can describe to you her fortitude, her noble endur-
ance."
Mrs. Langley's voice faltered as she pronounced the last
words. It was some minutes ere she became sufficiently
composed to proceed thus:-
"I am charged with a message to you from Jane-I
should say charged with her entreaties, that you will not
suspend our intercourse with Mr. Streatfield, or view his
conduct in any other than a merciful light-as conduct for
which accident and circumstances are alone to blame.
After she had given me this message to you, she turned to
Clara, who sat weeping by her side, completely overcome,
and kissing her, said that they were to blame, if any one
was to be blamed in the matter, for being so much alike as
to make all who saw them apart doubt which was Clara
and which was Jane. She said this with a faint smile, and
an effort to speak playfully, which touched us to the heart.
Then, in a tone and manner which I can never forget, she
asked her sister-charging her on their mutual affection
and mutual confidence, to answer sincerely-if she had
158
Modern Story-Teller.
noticed Mr. Streatfield on the day of the levee, and had
afterwards remembered him at the dinner-table, as he had
noticed and remembered her. It was only after Jane had
repeated this appeal still more earnestly and affectionately,
that Clara summoned courage and composure enough to con-
fess that she had noticed Mr. Streatfield on the day of the
levee, had thought of him afterwards during her absence
from London, and had recognised him at our table, as he
had recognised her."
"Is it possible!
I own I had not anticipated-not
thought for one moment of that," said Mr. Langley.
66
Perhaps," continued his wife, "it is best that you
should see Jane now, and judge for yourself. For my
part, her noble resignation under this great trial has so
astonished and impressed me, that I only feel competent to
advise as she advises, to act as she thinks fit. I begin to
think that it is not we who are to guide her, but she who
is to guide us."
Mr. Langley lingered irresolute for a few minutes, then
quitted the room, and proceeded alone to Jane Langley's
apartment.
When he knocked at the door, it was opened by Clara.
There was an expression, partly of confusion, partly of
sorrow, on her face; and when her father stopped as if to
speak to her, she merely pointed into the room, and hurried
away without uttering a word.
Mr. Langley had been prepared by his wife for the
change that had taken place in his daughter since the day
before; but he felt startled, almost overwhelmed, as he now
looked on her. One of the poor girl's most prominent per-
sonal attractions, from her earliest years, had been the
beauty of her complexion; and now the freshness and the
bloom had entirely departed from her face; it seemed
absolutely colorless. Her expression, too, appeared to Mr.
The Twin Sisters.
159
Langley's eyes, to have undergone a melancholy alteration;
to have lost its youthfulness suddenly; to have assumed a
strange character of firmness and thoughtfulness, which he
had never observed in it before. She was sitting by an
open window, commanding a lovely view of wide, sunny
landscape; a Bible, which her mother had given her, lay
open on her knees-she was reading in it as her father
entered. For the first time in his life, he paused, speech-
less, as he approached to speak to one of his own children.
"I am afraid I look very ill," she said, holding out her
hand to him; "but I am better than I look; I shall be
quite well in a day or two. Have you heard my message,
father? Have you been told-———————-”
"My love, we will not speak of it yet; we will wait a
few days," said Mr. Langley.
"You have always been so kind to me," she continued,
in less steady tones, "that I am sure you will let me go
on. I have very little to say, but that little must be said
now, and then we need never recur to it again. Will you
consider all that has happened, as something forgotten?
You have heard already what it is I entreat you to do;
will you let him-Mr. Streatfield"-(she stopped, her voice
failed for a moment, but she recovered herself again almost
immediately). "Will you let Mr. Streatfield remain here,
or recall him if he is gone, and give him an opportunity of
explaining himself to my sister? If poor Clara should
refuse to see him for my sake, pray do not listen to her. I
am sure this is what ought to be done; I have been think-
ing of it very calmly, and I feel that it is right. And ther
is something more I have to beg of you, father. It is,
that, while Mr. Streatfield is here, you will allow me to go
and stay with my aunt. You know how fond she is of me.
Her house is not a day's journey from home. It is best for
everybody (much the best for me) that I should not remain
160
Modern Story-Teller.
here at present; and-and-dear father-I have always
been your spoiled child, and I know you will indulge me
still. If you will do what I ask you, I shall soon get over
this heavy trial. I shall be well again if I am away at my
aunt's-if-
""
She paused; and putting one trembling arm around her
father's neck, hid her face on his breast. For some minutes,
Mr. Langley could not trust himself to answer her. There
was something, not deeply touching only, but impressive and
sublime, about the moral heroism of this young girl, whose
heart and mind, hitherto wholly inexperienced in the harder
and darker emergencies of life, now rose in the strength
of their native purity superior to the bitterest, cruellest
trial that either could undergo; whose patience and resig-
nation, called forth for the first time by a calamity which
suddenly thwarted the purposes and paralysed the affec-
tions that had been destined to endure for a life, could thus
appear at once in the fullest maturity of virtue and beauty.
As the father thought of these things; as he vaguely and
imperfectly estimated the extent of the daughter's sacri-
fice; as he reflected on the nature of the affliction that had
befallen her, which combined in itself a fatality that none
could have foreseen, a fault that could neither be repaired.
nor resented, a judgment against which there was no
appeal, and then remembered how this affliction had been
borne, with what words and what actions it had been met,
he felt that it would be almost a profanation to judge the
touching petition just addressed to him, by the criterion of
his worldly doubts and his worldly wisdom. His eye fell
on the Bible, still open beneath it; he remembered the little
child who was set in the midst of the disciples, as teacher
and example to all; and when at length he spoke in an-
swer to his daughter, it was not to direct or to advise, but
to comfort and comply.
The Twin Sisters.
161
They delayed her removal for a few days, to see if she
faltered in her resolution, if her bodily weakness increased;
but she never wavered, nothing in her appearance changed,
either for better or for worse. A week after the startling
scene at the dinner-table, she was living in the strictest
retirement in the house of her aunt. About the period of
her departure, a letter was received from Mr. Streatfield.
It was little more than a recapitulation of what he had
already said to Mr. Langley, expressed, however, on this
occasion, in stronger and at the same time in more respect-
ful terms. The letter was answered briefly, he was in-
formed that nothing had as yet been determined on, but
that the communication would bring him a final reply.
Two months passed. During that time, Jane Langley
was frequently visited at her aunt's house, by her father and
mother. She still remained calm and resolute; still looked
pale and thoughtful, as at first. Doctors were consulted;
they talked of a shock to the nervous system; of great
hope from time, and their patient's strength of mind, and
of the necessity of acceding to her wishes in all things.
Then the advice of the aunt was sought. She was a
woman of an eccentric, masculine character, who had her-
self experienced a love-disappointment in early life, and
had never married. She gave her opinion unreservedly
and abruptly, as she always gave it. "Do as Jane tells
you," said the old lady, severely; "that poor child has
more moral courage and determination than all the rest of
you put together. I know better than anybody what a
sacrifice she has had to make; but she has made it, and
made it nobly-like a heroine, as some people would say:
like a good, high-minded, courageous girl, as I say; do
as she tells you; let that poor selfish fool of a man have his
way, and marry her sister, he has made one mistake
already about a face, see if he does not find out some day
11
162
Modern Story-Teller.
that he has made another, about a wife, let him :--Jane is
too good for him or for any other man; leave her to me;
let her stop here; she shan't lose by what has happened;
you know this place is mine-I mean it to be hers when
I'm dead; you know I've got some money, I shall leave it
to her. I've made my will, it's all done and settled; go
back home, send for the man, and tell Clara to marry him
without any more fuss! You wanted my opinion, there it
is for you!"
At last, Mr. Langley decided. The important letter was
written, which recalled Mr. Streatfield to Langley Hall.
As Jane had foreseen, Clara at first refused to hold any
communication with him; but a letter from her sister, and
the remonstrances of her father, soon changed her resolu-
tion. There was nothing in common between the twin-
sisters but their personal resemblance. Clara had been
guided all her life by the opinions of others, and she was
guided by them now.
Once permitted the opportunity of pleading his cause,
Mr. Streatfield did not neglect his own interests. It would
be little to our purpose to describe the doubts and difficul-
ties which delayed at first the progress of his second court-
ship-pursued as it was under circumstances, not only extra-
ordinary, but unprecedented. It is no longer with him or
with Clara Langley, that the interest of our story is con-
nected. Suffice it to say, that he ultimately overcame all
the young lady's scruples; and that a few months after-
wards, some of Mr. Langley's intimate friends found them-
selves again assembled round his table as wedding guests,
and congratulating Mr. Streatfield on his approaching union
with Clara, as they had already congratulated him scarcely
a year back, on his approaching union with Jane!
The social ceremonies of the wedding-day were per
formed soberly-almost sadly. Some of the guests (espe
The Twin Sisters.
163
cially the unmarried ladies) thought that Miss Clara had
allowed herself to be won too easily-others were picturing
to themselves the situation of the poor girl who was absent,
and contributed little to the gaiety of the party. On this
occasion, however, nothing occurred to interrupt the pro-
ceedings; the marriage took place; and immediately after
it, Mr. Streatfield and his bride started for a tour on the
Continent.
On their departure, Jane Langley returned home. She
made no reference whatever to her sister's marriage; and
no one mentioned it in her presence. Still the color did not
return to her cheek, or the old gaiety to her manner. The
shock that she had suffered had left its traces on her
for life. But there was no evidence that she was sinking
under the remembrances which neither time nor resolution
could banish. The strong, pure heart had undergone a
change, but not a deterioration. All that had been brilliant
in her character was gone; but all that was noble in it
remained. Never had her intercourse with her family and
her friends been so affectionate and so kindly as it was
When, after a long absence, Mr. Streatfield and his
wife returned to England, it was observed, at the first
meeting with them, that the momentary confusion and em-
barrassment were on their side, not on hers. During their
stay at Langley Hall, she showed not the slightest disposi-
tion to avoid them. No member of the family welcomed
them more cordially; entered into their plans and projects
more readily; and bade them farewell with a kinder or
better grace, when they departed for their own home.
Our tale is nearly ended; what remains of it must com-
prise the history of many years in the compass of a few
words.
Time passed on, and death and change told of its lapse
among the family at Langley Hall. Five years after the
164
Modern Story-Teller.
events above related, Mr. Langley died, and was followed
to the grave shortly afterwards by his wife. Of their two
sons, the eldest was rising into good practice at the bar;
the younger had become attaché to a foreign embassy.
Their third daughter was married, and living at the family
seat of her husband, in Scotland. Mr. and Mrs. Streatfield
had children of their own, now, to occupy their time and
absorb their care. The career of life was over for some,
the purposes of life had altered for others, Jane Langley
alone still remained unchanged.
She now lived entirely with her aunt. At intervals, as
their worldly duties and worldly avocations permitted.
them, the other members of the family, or one or two inti-
mate friends, came to the house. Offers of marriage were
made to her, but were all declined.
The first, last love of her girlish days, abandoned as a
hope and crushed as a passion, living only as a quiet grief,
as a pure remembrance, still kept its watch, as guardian
and defender over her heart. Years passed on and worked
no change in the sad uniformity of her life, until the death
of her aunt left her mistress of the house in which she had
hitherto been a guest. Then it was observed that she
made fewer and fewer efforts to vary the tenor of her ex-
istence, to forget her old remembrances for awhile in the
society of others. Such invitations as reached her from
relations and friends were more frequently declined than
accepted. She was growing old herself now; and, with
each advancing year, the busy pageant of the outer world
presented less and less that could attract her eye.
So she began to surround herself, in her solitude, with
the favorite books that she had studied, with the favorite
music that she had played, in the days of her hopes and
her happiness. Everything that was associated, however
slightly, with that past period, now acquired a character of
The Twin Sisters.
165
inestimable value in her eyes, as aiding her mind to se-
clude itself more and more strictly in the sanctuary of its
early recollections. Was it weakness in her to live thus;
to abandon the world and the world's interests as one who
had no hope or part in either? Had she earned the right¸
by the magnitude and resolution of her sacrifice, thus to
indulge in the sad luxury of fruitless remembrance?
Who shall say—who shall presume to decide that cannot
think with her thoughts, and look back with her recollec-
tions ?
Thus she lived-alone, and yet not lonely; without
hope, but with no despair; separate and apart from the
world around her, except when she approached it by her
charities to the poor, and her succor to the afflicted; by
her occasional interviews with the surviving members of her
family and a few old friends, when they sought her in her
calm retreat; and by the little presents which she constant-
ly sent to brothers' and sisters' children, who worshipped,
as their invisible good genius, "the kind lady" whom most
of them had never seen. Such was her existence through-
out the closing years of her life; such did it continue-
calm and blameless-to the last.


ас
506
Look
The Judge who always Anticipated.
s a judge, Lord Avonmore had one great fault; he
was apt to take up a first impression of a cause, and
it was very difficult afterwards to obliterate it. The
advocate, therefore, had not only to struggle against the real
obstacle presented to him by the case itself, but also with the
imaginary ones created by the hasty anticipation of the
judge. Curran was one day most seriously annoyed by
this habit of Lord Avonmore, and he took the following
whimsical method of correcting it. (The reader must
remember that the object of the narrator was, by a tedious
and malicious procrastination, to irritate his hearer into the
vice he was so anxious to eradicate.) They were to dine
together at the house of a common friend, and a large party
were assembled, many of whom witnessed the occurrences
of the morning. Curran, contrary to all his usual habits,
was late for dinner, and at length arrived in the most
admirably affected agitation.
"Why, Mr. Curran, you have kept us a full hour wait-
mg dinner for you," grumbled out Lord Avonmore.
"Oh, my dear lord, I regret it much; you must know
The Judge who always Anticipated.
167
it is not my custom; but I've just been witness to a most
melancholy occurrence."
"My God! you seem terribly moved by it; ake a
glass of wine. What was it; what was it ?"
"I will tell you, my lord, the moment I can collect my-
self. I had been detained at court-in the Court of Chan-
cery—your lordship knows the Chancellor sits late.”
"I do-I do; but go on."
"Well, my lord, I was hurrying here as fast as I could
-I did not even change my dress-I hope I shall be
excused for coming in my boots."
“Poh, poh, never mind your boots; the point—come
at once to the point of the story."
46
Oh, I will, my good lord, in a moment. I walked
here; I would not even wait to get the carriage ready; it
would have taken time, you know. Now there is a market
exactly in the road by which I had to pass; your lordship
may perhaps recollect the market, do you?"
"To be sure I do; go on, Curran-go or with the story."
"I am very glad your lordship remember the market,
for I totally forgot the name of it-the name-the name—”
"What the devil signifies the name of it, sir? It's the
Castle Market.”
"Your lordship is perfectly right, it is called the Castle
Market. Well, I was passing through that very identical
Castle Market, when I observed a butcher preparing to kill
a calf. He had a huge knife in his hand; it was as sharp
as a razor. The calf was standing behind him; he drew
the knife to plunge it into the animal. Just as he was in
the act of doing so, a little boy about four years old-his
only son, the loveliest little boy I ever saw-ran suddenly
across his path, and he killed-oh, my God! he killed-"
"The child! the child! the child!" vociferated Lord
Avonmore.
168
Modern Story-Teller.
"No, my lord, the calf!" continued Curran, very
coolly; "he killed the calf, but your lordship is in the habit
of anticipating."
The universal laugh was thus raised against his lordship;
and Curran declared that, often afterwards, a first impres-
sion was removed more easily from the Court of Exchequer
by the recollection of the calf in Castle Market than by all
the eloquence of the entire profession.

7 808

010.
@
Je
66
S
The Satisfaction of a Gentleman.
IR, I will have satisfaction !”
The words were uttered in a loud and angry
tone by a military looking personage in the
saloon of one of our most respectable clubs, frequented by
opulent merchants, country squires, bankers, and lords, with
a sprinkling of naval and military gentlemen.
"Sir, I will have satisfaction!" so saying, and buttoning
up his military surtout with the air of a man who has deter-
mined on some desperate course, the offended hero vanished
out of the room. He was immediately observed to mount
a handsome phaeton, drawn by a pair of smart greys. His
tiger leaped up behind, and the equipage drove off with a
furious clatter up St. James's street.
"Satisfaction!" Of course every one within hearing knows
the meaning of the words, when uttered by a "man of honor
and a gentleman." In fashionable circles "satisfaction”
means the chance of projecting an ounce of lead in the shape
of a bullet into some offending friend's body; but the man
of wounded honor is equally "satisfied" if his friend sends
the bullet into his own head: and if his head resists it, then
he may thank the thickness of his skull, rather than the
170
Modern Story-Teller.
soundness of his brains. Two men of honor fall out about
the most trifling matter, perhaps, inflamed with wine, begin
to talk angrily, -and one of them uses an offensive word;
instantly the other calls for "satisfaction." The two "friends"
-call them fools rather-come out in the cool grey of the
next morning with two other "friends" equally foolish, and
then, in some chalk-pit or ravine, each sets himself up as a
target for the other. Two bullets instantly speed upon their
fool's errand. They miss. Well! the two seconds step up,
-"interfere to prevent further hostilities,"-declaring that
their friends' "honor is satisfied," and they march off to
breakfast, thinking they have done some valiant feat: or,
the balls hit their mark; one, if not both, lie on the grass;
a bullet has lodged in the spine of one, and another bullet in
the shoulder-joint of the other. Forth steps a wiry man
with a box of implements, devised for the cutting out,
extracting, or wrenching away of the little bullets from flesh
and bone. Ah! with one of them it is too late; he lies on
the grass, breathless, his lips apart, his eyes glazed:-he is
dead: he has had his desire,-"the satisfaction of a gentle-
man." The other, after submitting to the tortures of bullet
extraction, is borne from the field on a litter, "satisfied:"
he has "killed his man." Such is "honor" in the mouths
of fools.
But we must return to our story;-Scarcely had the
gentleman of wounded honor rushed out of the house, ere
the friends of the other assembled round him to ask, "What
is the matter? And how did you fall out ?"
"The matter," said the offending gentleman, who sat
somewhat stupified at the abrupt and threatening exit of his
military friend; "why, the fellow is as irascible as a turkey-
cock. We fell into a dispute about politics, about which he
knows positively nothing. He became more and more inso-
lent, and his arguments were at length so absurd, that I
The Satistaction of a Gentleman.
171
could not help bursting out laughing, and telling him he was
a bullet-headed fool."
“Is that all ?” said a city merchant; "why everybody
knew that long ago!"
Aye, but to tell him of it," said another; "I fear mis-
chief will come of it.”
'
A considerable damp seemed to have been thrown upon
the spirits of all the company, and the circle gradually broke
up. The gentleman who had been the cause of the explo-
sion, at length rose and went home, not over free from anx-
iety. He now regretted the use of the offensive word, and
yet he felt that it had not been undeserved. Not being a
military man-for he was a banker in good business, and
with extensive connexions-he could scarcely divine what
the other would do in reference to the "satisfaction" which
he had spoken of; yet he had some unpleasant misgivings
about the issue.
The banker was not left long in doubt. Next morning,
after an anxious night, a thundering rat-tat came to his door.
Immediately thereafter, a gentleman was admitted. The
banker rose up to meet him, and recognised him for
a military gentleman-in fact, the major of the other's
corps.
"I have the honor," said he, "of waiting upon you at
the instance of my friend, the Honorable Captain Sir Eus-
tace Fitz-Giles; this letter will explain to you the object of
my visit."
The banker opened the missive. It was written in a
thunder-and-lightning hand, and smelt frightfully of gun-
powder; in fact, there was no misunderstanding it.
..
"I will call upon the captain," said the banker. “I will
do so at once."
"The usual mode in such matters, as you are aware, is
to refer me to your friend."
172
Modern Story-Teller.
"In good time, sir," answered the banker; "but first I
would see the captain himself.”
"Very well," said the major; "but the usual course in
such matters-
""
"Yes, yes!" said the banker; "I know; but I wish to
see the captain himself."
"He will refer you to me."
"Very well! then I shall have the pleasure of seeing
you again ;" and he bowed the major politely out.
The banker went straightway to the choleric captain.
Sir," said he to him, "I am not at all ashamed to confess
myself in the wrong, in having used towards you the ex-
pression which has given you offence. I beg to withdraw
it, and I apologize for it with all my heart."
"Too late, sir, by Jove! too late!" said the captain,
twirling his moustache.. "You must meet me, sir; nothing
short of that will do. Had I knocked you down on the
spot, an apology might have been accepted; but I did not
knock you down, and your apology comes too late. I refer
you to my friend, who is authorized by me to settle all
necessary preliminaries. Name to him your time and place,
and go home and settle your affairs.”
The banker was thunderstruck. He considered with
himself for a while. Well, sir!" said he at length, "if it
must be so, meet me to-morrow at two o'clock, in the large
field north of Lodge, in the
Road, with your
friend, and a pair of pistols."
"Enough, sir," said the brusque captain; and they
parted.
The parties were on the ground at the time appointed.
The captain was accompanied by his friend the major.
The banker was attended by a gentleman in a suit of pro-
fessional black-a very unmilitary, and most civil-looking
personage. As they approached, the major suddenly step.
46
The Satisfaction of a Gentleman.
173
Led before his principal, and addressing the banker's second,
said:-
""
"It was perfectly understood, sir, that pistols were to
be the weapons employed on this occasion; but here, sir,
if I mistake not, you bring a blunderbuss under your arm.'
"I beg your pardon," said the other, drawing the instru-
ment forth; "it is not a blunderbuss, but a telescope."
"And what, in Heaven's name, is the meaning of this?
I hope it is not meant as an additional insult to my prin-
cipal ?"
"Oh! by no means," said the banker, who proceeded
to inform the major of his previous and present readiness
to apologize, assuring him that he had intended no offence
to his friend the captain, and that he was now anxious to
explain. The apology was declined as before, and an expla-
nation was demanded.
"In the first place," said the banker, "I earnestly beg
that you, captain, will look through this telescope."
What, sir, I?-Look through a telescope? By Hea-
ven, sir, what foolery is this?"
The banker's second claimed to be heard. "I insist,"
said he, "that this is most serious and important to my
cli- to my friend."
"It is such a breach of all the customary forms," said
the captain. "Such a proposal is quite intolerable."
"I regret," said the banker to the major, "that I should
have to urge this request; but it is to me a most necessary
preliminary. Will you, major, do me the favor to apply
your eye to the telescope? I put it to you as a gentleman
and an officer, whether there is any offence in the request?”
Nay, sir," said the major, "I do not say that; but it
seems to me so absurd-so contrary to the established rules
in such cases."
66
"Here, sir," said the banker, holding up the telescope
171
Modern Story-Teller.
"place your eye to it for but one moment-there-in that
direction!"
(
"Where!" said the major, carelessly applying his eye to
the telescope. He looked for an instant. "Egad!" said
he, "I see a very fine woman walking about on a grass-
plat, with a little trot of a child in one hand, and two
others pranking round her. But what, I should like to
know, has this to do with the matter in hand?"
Everything," said the banker, with a serious face;
"that lady, sir, is my wife. Those children are mine and
her's; and we are all mutually attached."
CC
"Pshaw!" said the captain; "what is that to me?
You should have thought of this before.”
66
"I know it is nothing to you, sir," said the banker, as
you have no wife or children. I believe I am correct in
saying that you have no wife or children. Now then, I
ask, do we meet on equal terms?"
66
Why no,-certainly not," said the major, "but it is
too late to think of this on the very ground; it is quite
unformal-this discussion; it is really quite,-quite ;-"
and hereupon the major took a huge pinch of snuff to fill
up his simile.
"I warned you to settle all your affairs," broke in the
captain, as if a sudden bright thought had occurred to him.
"True," said the banker, pointing to the distant family
group, but I could not settle them. I have settled every-
thing else."
(L
The banker's second now ventured to observe, that
as the captain's second had admitted the parties about
to contend were not on equal terms, they should be made
equal, or as near as possibly so, before the actual com-
mencement of hostilities; and he appealed to them to do
this as "men of honor and gentlemen."
'Well, there is certainly a show of reason, and that
The Satisfaction of a Gentleman.
175
"But
sort of thing, in what you say," observed the major.
how, in the name of goodness, is that to be effected ?”
"Nothing easier," exclaimed the gentleman in black.
"Your friend the captain has an independent income of
fifteen hundred per annum, and no family; whereas the
income of my friend-though he has some little property-
mainly depends upon his own exertions: and he has a wife
and three children. Now, if the captain should shoot him,
he ought to make over five hundred a year to his family,
and thus the parties would be upon equal terms."
"Putting affection out of the question," added the
banker.
The major, at this, looked blank and puzzled; the cap-
tain all astonishment.
"It would only be putting down your handsome phae-
ton and pair," rejoined the banker's second, calmly.
Oh, sir! ah! yes, indeed!" ejaculated the captain,
reddening up to the ears.
"But supposing I acceded to this most irregular pro-
ceeding," said the major, "there is no time for it now, as I
cannot consent to withdraw my principal from the field
without an exchange of shots."
"That is not at all necessary," said the banker.
"This
gentleman is my attorney." Whereat, on the instant, the
little man in black whipped from beneath his coat a deed
on parchment, ready filled up, and wanting nothing but the
attachment of the signatures.
The captain and the major exchanged looks of blank
rage. They saw that, in common parlance, it was "a sell;"
and they began to storm.
"A most absurd proceeding!-mercenary proposal!"—
ejaculated the captain. "Put down my phaeton, indeed '
Why, sir, this is beyond a joke."
"It is, indeed, a most serious matter, sirs," said the
176
Modern Story-Teller.
banker. "Do you think, sir, whether I would not be
justified in considering it as something more than an
'absurd proceeding' and a pretty joke,' to be put down
dead here, and leave my wife and children to penury ? I
know very well, sir, you are a rare shot, and can snuff a
candle with a pistol bullet. That dexterity I can't pretend
to, so in any case I run the greatest risk. Yet I am ready
to pit my life against your phaeton and pair.”
The major looked more perplexed that ever. The
captain more foolish and puzzled.
66
Again, gentlemen, if I should be killed, my wife and
children will absolutely need the money; but if I kill the
captain, his property is absolutely of no sort of use to him
after his funeral expenses are paid. Nor is my proposal
without precedent. Upon such occasions, men of refined
honor and high courage have thought they could never do
enough. When Best shot Lord Camelford, his lordship,
on his deathbed, left his antagonist, who was in very poor
circumstances, a handsome income, rejoicing, no doubt,
that he had lived long enough to do such an act of magna-
nimity and finished honor. I never fired at a man as a mark
in my life; I am sure to be shot. So you see my proposal
is only a fair one; and as I make it to men of honor, I
expect it to be acceded to."
"Oh, but!-yes, but!-you, sir!" exclaimed the cap-
tain. "Really," interrupted the major, biting his lips, "I
really think, that, as men of finished honor, we must accede
to the proposal."
The banker now flatly refused to fight on any other
terms, putting it directly to the major as the most refined
point of duelling honor that could be manifested on the
occasion, till the two officers, though excessively provoked
and annoyed, could no longer refuse their consent. The
parchment was handed to them by the attorney, who saw
The Satisfaction of a Gentleman.
177
it properly signed, and then the principals took their stand
at fifteen paces' distance.
The banker had the first fire. Not wishing to be
banished his country, or get into prison, or be tried for
manslaughter or murder, he took very good care to fire
wide of his mark, and away flew his innocent ball like a
humming bird across the fields.
Then came the captain's turn. "Now," whispered the
major, "aim low; keep steady-now-you've got him.”
"Got him!" stammered the captain, his face turning
blue, and his jaws falling. "Got him! put down my
pha, pay five hundred a year for being called a bullet-
headed fool, and so prove it. Will you pay the money if I
hit him ?"
Away sped the bullet; but of course it did not hit the
banker, though it whistled rather too close past the law-
yer's ear, who had forgotten to have a similar agreement
for himself in case of accidents.
The antagonists then shook hands. The major with-
drew the Honorable Captain Sir Eustace Fitz-Giles from
the field, declaring that "his honor was satisfied ;" and the
banker went home to his wife and children.
But it is not always that those "meetings of honor"
so end.

12

230 3830
C
The Counter-Stroke.
28
UST after breakfast one fine spring morning in 1837, an
advertisement in the Times for a curate caught
and fixed my attention. The salary was sufficiently
remunerative for a bachelor, and the parish, as I personally
knew, one of the most pleasantly situated in all Somerset-
shire. Having said that, the reader will readily understand
that it could not have been a hundred miles from Taunton.
I instantly wrote inclosing testimonials, with which the
Rev. Mr. Townley, the rector, was so entirely satisfied, that
the return-post brought me a positive engagement, unclog-
ged with the slightest objections to one or two subsidiary
items I had stipulated for, and accompanied by an invita-
tion to make the rectory my home till I could conveniently
suit myself elsewhere. This was both kind and handsome:
and the next day but one I took coach, with a light heart,
for my new destination. It thus happened that I became
acquainted, and in some degree mixed up with the train of
events it is my present purpose to relate.
The rector I found to be a stout, portly gentleman,
whose years already reached to between sixty and seventy
The Counter-Stroke.
179
So many winters, although they had plentifully besprinkled
his hair with grey, shone out with ruddy brightness in his
still handsome face, and keen, kindly, bright-hazel eyes;
and his voice, hearty and ringing, had not as yet one qua-
ver of age in it. I met him at breakfast on the morning
after my arrival, and his reception of me was most friendly.
We had spoken together but for a few minutes, when one
of the French windows, that led from the breakfast-room
into a shrubbery and flower-garden, gently opened and
admitted a lady, just then, as I afterwards learned, in her
nineteenth spring. I use this term almost unconsciously,
for I cannot even now, in the glowing summer of her life,
dissociate her image from that season of youth and joy-
ousness. She was introduced to me, with old-fashioned
simplicity, as "my grand-daughter, Agnes Townley." It
is difficult to look at beauty through other men's eyes, and
in the present instance I feel that I should fail miserably
in the endeavor to stamp upon this blank, dead paper any
adequate idea of the fresh loveliness, the rosebud beauty
of that young girl. I will merely say, that her perfectly
Grecian head, wreathed with wavy bandeaux of bright
hair, undulated with golden light, vividly brought to my
mind Raphael's halo-tinted portraitures of the Virgin-
with this difference, that in place of the holy calm and
resignation of the painting, there was in Agnes Townley a
sparkling youth and life, that even amidst the heat and
glare of a crowded ball-room or of a theatre irresistibly
suggested and recalled the freshness and perfume of the
morning-of a cloudless, rosy morning of May. And, far
higher charm than feature-beauty, however, exquisite, a
sweetness of disposition, a kind gentleness of mind and
temper, was evidenced in every line of her face, in every
accent of the low-pitched, silver voice, that breathed
through lips made only to smile.
180
Modern Story-Teller.
Let me own, that I was greatly struck by so remarka
ble a combination of rare endowments; and this, I think,
the sharp-eyed rector must have perceived, or he might not
perhaps have been so immediately communicative with
respect to the near prospects of his idolized grand-child, as
be was the moment the young lady, after presiding at the
breakfast-table, had withdrawn.
"We shall have gay doings, Mr. Tyrrel, at the rectory
shortly," he said. "Next Monday three weeks will, with
the blessing of God, be Agnes Townley's wedding-day."
"Wedding-day !"
"Yes," rejoined the rector, turning towards and exa-
mining some flowers which Miss Townley had brought in
and placed on the table. "Yes, it has been for some
time settled that Agnes shall on that day be united in holy
wedlock to Mr. Arbuthnot."
"Mr. Arbuthnot of Elm Park ?”
"A great match, is it not, in a worldly point of view ?"
replied Mr. Townley, with a pleasant smile at the tone of
my exclamation. "And much better than that: Robert
Arbuthnot is a young man of high and noble nature, as
well as devotedly attached to Agnes. He will, I doubt not,
prove in every respect a husband deserving and worthy of
her; and that from the lips of a doting old grandpapa must
be esteemed high praise. You will see him presently."
I did see him often, and quite agreed in the rector's
estimate of his future grandson-in-law. I have not fre-
quently seen a finer looking young man-his age was
twenty-six; and certainly one of a more honorable and
kindly spirit, of a more genial temper than he, has never
come within my observation. He had drawn a great prize
in the matrimonial lottery, and, I felt, deserved his high
fortune.
They were married at the time agreed upon, and the
The Counter-Stroke.
181
day was kept not only at Elm Park, and in its neighbor
hood, but throughout "our" parish, as a general holiday.
And, strangely enough-at least I have never met with
another instance of the kind-it was held by our entire
female community, high as well as low, that the match was
a perfectly equal one, notwithstanding that wealth and
high worldly position were entirely on the bridegroom's
side. In fact, that nobody less in the social scale than the
representative of an old territorial family ought, in the
nature of things, to have aspired to the hand of Agnes
Townley, appeared to have been a foregone conclusion with
everybody. This will give the reader a truer and more
vivid impression of the bride, than any words or colors I
might use.
66
The days, weeks, months of wedded life, flew over Mr.
and Mrs. Arbuthnot without a cloud, save a few dark but
transitory ones which I saw now and then flit over the
husband's countenance as the time when he should become
a father drew near, and came to be more and more spoken
of. "I should not survive her," said Mr. Arbuthnot, one
day in reply to a chance observation of the rector's, nor
indeed desire to do so." The grey-headed man seized and
warmly pressed the husband's hand, and tears of sympathy
filled his eyes; yet did he, nevertheless, as in duty bound,
utter grave words on the sinfulness of despair under any
circumstances, and the duty, in all trials, however, heavy,
of patient submission to the will of God. But the venera
ble gentleman spoke in a hoarse and broken voice, and it
was easy to see he felt with Mr. Arbuthnot that the reality
of an event, the bare possibility of which shook them so
terribly, were a cross too heavy for human strength to bear
and live.
It was of course decided that the expected heir or heir-
ess should be intrusted to a wet-nurse, and a Mrs. Danby,
182
Modern Story-Teller.
the wife of a miller living not very far from the rectory,
was engaged for that purpose. I had frequently seen the
woman; and her name, as the rector and I were one even-
ing gossiping over our tea, on some subject or other that I
forget, came up.
"A likely person," I remarked; "healthy, very good.
looking, and one might make oath a true-hearted creature.
But there is withal a timidity, a frightenedness in her man-
ner at times which, if I may hazard a perhaps uncharitable
conjecture, speaks ill for that smart husband of hers.”
"You have hit the mark precisely, my dear sir. Danby
is a sorry fellow, and a domestic tyrant to boot. His wife,
who is really a good, but meek-hearted person, lived with
How old do you suppose her to be ?”
"Five-and-twenty perhaps."
us once.
"Six years more than that. She has a son of the name
of Harper by a former marriage, who is in his tenth year.
Anne wasn't a widow long. Danby was caught by her
good looks, and she by the bait of a well provided home.
Unless, however, her husband gives up his corn specula-
tions, she will not, I think, have that much longer.”
"Corn speculations! Surely Danby has no means ade-
quate to indulgence in such a game as that ?"
"Not he. But about two years ago he bought, on
credit, I believe, a considerable quantity of wheat, and
prices happening to fly suddenly up just then, he made a
large profit. This has quite turned his head, which, by the
by, was never, as Cockneys say, quite rightly screwed on."
The announcement of a visitor interrupted anything
further the rector might have to say, and I soon afterwards
went home.
A sad accident occurred about a month subsequent to
the foregoing conversation. The rector was out riding
upon a usually quiet horse, which all at once took it into
The Counter-Stroke.
183
+
its head to shy at a scarecrow, it must have seen a score of
times, and thereby threw its rider. Help was fortunately
at hand, and the reverend gentleman was instantly con-
veyed home, when it was found that his left thigh was
broken. Thanks, however, to his temperate habits, it was
before long authoritatively pronounced that, although it
would be a considerable time before he was released from
confinement, it was not probable that the lusty winter of
his life would be shortened by what had happened. Un-
fortunately, the accident threatened to have evil conse-
quences in another quarter. Immediately after it occurred,
one Matthews, a busy, thick-headed lout of a butcher, rode
furiously off to Elm Park with the news. Mrs. Arbuthnot,
who daily looked to be confined, was walking with her
husband upon the lawn in front of the house, when the
great burly blockhead rode up, and blurted out that the rec-
tor had been thrown from his horse, and it was feared killed!
The shock of such an announcement was of course over-
whelming. A few hours afterwards, Mrs. Arbuthnot gave
birth to a healthy male child, but the young mother's life,
assailed by fever, was for many days utterly despaired of
for weeks held to tremble so evenly in the balance, that the
slightest adverse circumstance might turn the scale death-
wards. At length the black horizon that seemed to en-
compass us so hopelessly, lightened, and afforded the lover.
husband a glimpse and hope of his vanished and well-nigh
despaired of Eden. The promise was fulfilled. I was in
the library with Mr. Arbuthnot awaiting the physician's
morning report, very anxiously expected at the recovery,
when Dr. Lindley entered the apartment in evidently
cheerful mood.
"There
"You have been causelessly alarmed," he said.
is no fear whatever of a relapse. Weakness only remains,
and that we shall slowly, perhaps, but certainly remove."
184
Modern Story-Teller.
A gleam of lightning seemed to flash over Mr. Arbuth
not's expressive cour tenance. "Blessed be God!" he
exclaimed. And how," he added, “shall we manage
respecting the child? She asks for it incessantly."
Mr. Arbuthnot's infant son, I should state, had been
consigned immediately after its birth to the care of Mrs.
Danby, who had herself been confined, also with a boy,
about a fortnight previously. Scarlatina being prevalent
in the neighborhood, Mrs. Danby was hurried away with
the two children to a place near Bath, almost before she
was able to bear the journey. Mr. Arbuthnot had not left
his wife for an hour, and consequently had only seen his
child for a few minutes just after it was born.
"With respect to the child," replied Dr. Lindley, "" I
am of opinion that Mrs. Arbuthnot may see it in a day or
two. Say the third day from this, if all goes well. I think
we may venture so far; but I will be present, for any
untoward agitation might be perhaps instantly fatal."
This point provisionally settled, we all three went our
several ways; I to cheer the still suffering rector with the
good news.
The next day but one, Mr. Arbuthnot was in exuberant
spirits. "Dr. Lindley's report is even more favorable than
we had anticipated," he said; "and I start to-morrow morn-
ing, to bring Mrs. Danby and the child" The post-
man's subdued but unmistakable knock interrupted him.
“The nurse,” he added, "is very attentive and punctual.
She writes almost every day." A servant entered with a
salver heaped with letters. Mr. Arbuthnot tossed them
over eagerly, and seizing one, after glancing at the post
mark, tore it eagerly open, muttering as he did so: "It is
not the usual handwriting; but from her, no doubt.”
"Merciful God!" I impulsively exclaimed, as I suddenly
lifted my eyes to his. "What is the matter? ”
The Counter-Stroke.
185
A mortal pallor had spread over Mr. Arbuthnot's before
animated features, and he was glaring at the letter in his
hand as if a basilisk had suddenly confronted him. Another
moment, and the muscles of his frame appeared to give
way suddenly, and he dropped heavily into the easy chair
from which he had risen to take the letters. I was terribly
alarmed, and first loosening his neckerchief, for he seemed
choking, I said: "Let me call some one;" and I turned
to reach the bell, when he instantly seized my arms, and
held me with a grip of iron. "No-no-no!" he hoarsely
gasped; water-water!" There was fortunately some
on a side table. I handed it to him, and he drank eagerly.
It appeared to revive him a little. He thrust the crumpled
letter into his pocket, and said in a low, quick whisper:
"There is some one coming! Not a word, remember-
not a word!" At the same time he wheeled his chair half
round, so that his back should be towards the servant we
heard approaching.
66
"I am sent, sir," said Mrs. Arbuthnot's maid, “to ask
if the post has arrived.”
"Yes," replied Mr. Arbuthnot, with wonderful mastery
of his voice. "Tell your mistress I shall be with her
almost immediately, and that her—her son is quite well.”
"Mr. Tyrrel,” he continued, as soon as the servant was
out of hearing, "there is, I think, a liqueur stand on the
sideboard in the large dining-room. Would you have the
kindness to bring it me, unobserved-mind that—un-
observed by any one?"
I did as he requested; and the instant I placed the
liqueur frame before him, he seized the brandy carafe, and
drank with fierce eagerness. "For goodness' sake," I
exclaimed, "consider what you are about, Mr. Arbuthnot:
you will make yourself ill."
"No, no," he answered, after finishing his draught. "It
186
Modern Story-Teller.
seems scarcely stronger than water. But I-I am better
now. It was a sudden spasm of the heart; that's all. The
letter," he added, after a long and painful pause, during
which he eyed me, I thought, with a kind of suspicion-" the
letter you saw me open just now, comes from a relative, an
aunt, who is ill, very ill, and wishes to see me instantly.
You understand ?"
I did understand, or at least I feared that I did too well.
I, however, bowed acquiescence; and he presently rose from
his chair, and strode about the apartment in great agitation,
until his wife's bedroom bell rang. He then stopped sud-
denly short, shook himself, and looked anxiously at the
reflection of his flushed and varying countenance in the
magnificent chimney glass.
"I do not look, I think—or at least shall not, in a dark-
ened room-odder, more out of the way—that is, more agi-
tated than one might, than one must appear, after hearing
of the dangerous illness of—of—an aunt ?”
"You look better, sir, than you did awhile since."
"Yes, yes; much better, much better. I am glad to
hear you say so. That was my wife's bell. She is anxious,
no doubt, to see me."
He left the apartment; was gone perhaps ten minutes,
and when he returned, was a thought less nervous than
before. I rose to go. "Give my respects," he said, “to
the good rector; and as an especial favor," he added, with
strong emphasis, "let me ask of you not to mention to a
living soul that you saw me so unmanned as I was just now;
that I swallowed brandy. It would appear weak, so strange,
so ridiculous."
I promised not to do so, and almost immediately left the
house, very painfully affected. His son was, I concluded,
either dead or dying, and he was thus bewilderedly casting
about for means of keeping the terrible, perhaps fatal tidings
The Counter-Stroke.
187
from his wife. I afterwards heard that he left Elm Park in
a postchaise, about two hours after I came away, unattended
by a single servant!
He was gone three clear days only, at the end of which
he returned with Mrs. Danby and-his son-in florid health,
too, and one of the finest babies of its age-about nine weeks
only-I had ever seen. Thus vanished the air-drawn Doubt-
ing Castle and Giant Despair which I had so hastily conjured
up! The cause assigned by Mr. Arbuthnot for the agitation
I had witnessed, was doubtless the true one; and yet, and
the thought haunted me for months, years afterwards, he
opened only one letter that morning, and had sent a mes-
sage to his wife that the child was well!
Mrs. Danby remained at the Park till the little Robert
was weaned, and was then dismissed very munificently
rewarded. Year after year rolled away without bringing
Mr. and Mrs. Arbuthnot any additional little ones, and no
one, therefore, could feel surprised at the enthusiastic love
of the delighted mother for her handsome, nobly-promising
boy. But that which did astonish me, though no one else,
for it seemed that I alone noticed it, was a strange defect
of character which began to develop itself in Mr. Arbuth-
not. He was positively jealous of his wife's affection for
their own child! Many and many a time have I remarked,
when he thought himself unobserved, an expression of
intense pain flash from his fine, expressive eyes, at any
more than usually fervent manifestation of the young
mother's gushing love for her first and only born! It was
altogether a mystery to me, and I as much as possible
forbore to dwell upon the subject.
Nine years passed away without bringing any material
change to the parties involved in this narrative, except
those which time brings ordinarily in his train. Young
Robert Arbuthnot was a healthy, tall, fine looking lad of
188
Modern Story-Teller.
his age; and his great-grandpapa, the rector, though not
suffering under any actual physical or mental infirmity, had
reached a time of life when the announcement that the
golden bowl is broken, or the silver cord is loosed, may
indeed be quick and sudden, but scarcely unexpected.
Things had gone well, too, with the nurse, Mrs. Danby,
and her husband; well, at least, after a fashion. The
speculative miller must have made good use of the gift of
his wife for the care of little Arbuthnot, for he had built a
genteel house near the mill, always rode a valuable horse,
kept, it was said, a capital table; and all this, as it seemed,
by his clever speculations in corn and flour, for the ordinary
business of the mill was almost entirely neglected. He had
no children of his own, but he had apparently taken, with
much cordiality, to his step-son, a fine lad, now about
eighteen years of age. This greatly grieved the boy's
mother, who dreaded above all things that her son should
contract the evil, dissolute habits of his father-in-law.
Latterly, she had become extremely solicitous to procure
the lad a permanent situation abroad, and this Mr. Arbuth-
not had promised should be effected at the earliest oppor-
tunity.
Thus stood affairs on the 16th of October, 1846. Mr.
Arbuthnot was temporarily absent in Ireland, where he
possessed large property, and was making personal inquir-
ies as to the extent of the potato rot, not long before
announced. The morning's post had brought a letter to
his wife, with the intelligence that he should reach home
that very evening; and as the rectory was on the direct
road to Elm Park, and her husband would be sure to pull
up there, Mrs. Arbuthnot came with her son to pass the
afternoon there, and in some slight degree anticipate her
husband's arrival.
About three o'clock, a chief-clerk of one of the Taunton
The Counter-Stroke.
189
banks rode up in a gig to the rectory, and asked to see the
Rev. Mr. Townley, on pressing and important business.
He was ushered into the library, where the rector and I
were at the moment rather busily engaged. The clerk
said he had been to Elm Park, but not finding either Mr.
Arbuthnot or his lady there, he had thought that perhaps
the Rev. Mr. Townley might be able to pronounce upon
the genuineness of a cheque for £300, purporting to be
drawn on the Taunton Bank by Mr. Arbuthnot, and which
Danby the miller had obtained cash for at Bath. He
further added, that the bank had refused payment, and
detained the cheque, believing it to be a forgery.
"A forgery!" exclaimed the rector, after merely glanc-
ing at the document. "No question that it is, and a very
clumsily executed one, too. Besides, Mr. Arbuthnot is not
yet returned from Ireland.”
This was sufficient; and the messenger, with many
apologies for his intrusion, withdrew, and hastened back
to Taunton. We were still talking over this sad affair,
although some hours had elapsed since the clerk's depar-
ture-in fact, candles had been brought in, and we were
every moment expecting Mr. Arbuthnot-when the sound
of a horse at a hasty gallop was heard approaching, and
presently the pale and haggard face of Danby shot by
the window at which the rector and myself were standing.
The gate-bell was rung almost immediately afterwards, and
but a brief interval passed before "Mr. Danby" was an-
nounced to be in waiting. The servant had hardly gained
the passage with leave to show him in, when the impatient
visitor rushed rudely into the room in a state of great, and
it seemed angry, excitement.
"What, sir, is the meaning of this ill-mannered intru
sion ?" demanded the rector sternly.
"You have pronounced the check I paid away at Bath
190
Modem Story-Teller.
to be a forgery; and the officers are, I am told, already at
my heels. Mr. Arbuthnot, unfortunately, is not at home,
and I am come, therefore, to seek shelter with you.”
"Shelter with me, sir!" exclaimed the indignant rector,
moving, as he spoke, towards the bell. "Out of my
house
you shall go this instant.”
The fellow placed his hand upon the reverend gentle-
man's arm, and looked with his bloodshot eyes keenly in
his face.
"Don't!" said Danby; "don't, for the sake of yourself
and yours! Don't! I warn you; or, if you like the phrase
better, don't, for the sake of me and mine."
((
Yours, fellow! Your wife, whom you have so long
held in cruel bondage through her fears for her son, has at
last shaken off that chain. James Harper sailed two days
ago from Portsmouth for Bombay. I sent her the news
two hours since.”
"Ha! Is that indeed so ?" cried Danby, with an irre
pressible start of alarm. "Why, then- - But no mat-
ter: here, luckily, come Mrs. Arbuthnot and her son.
All's right! She will, I know, stand bail for me, and, if
need be, acknowledge the genuineness of her husband's
cheque."
The fellow's insolence was becoming unbearable, and I
was about to seize and thrust him forcibly from the apart-
ment, when the sound of wheels was heard outside. "Hold!
one moment," he cried, with fierce vehemence. "That is
probably the officers: I must be brief, then, and to the
purpose. Pray, madam, do not leave the room for your
own sake: as for you, young sir, I command you to remain !"
"What! what does he mean?" exclaimed Mrs. Arbuth-
not bewilderedly, and at the same time clasping her son-
who gazed on Danby with kindled eyes, and angry boyish
defiance-tightly to her side. Did the man's strange words
The Counter Stoke.
191
give form and significance to some dark, shadowy, indistinct
doubt that had previously haunted her at times? I judged
so. The rector appeared similarly confused and shaken,
and had sunk nerveless and terrified upon a sofa.
"You guess dimly, I see, at what I have to say,"
resumed Danby, with a malignant sneer. "Well, hear it,
then, once for all, and then, if you will, give me up to the
officers. Some years ago," he continued, coldly and steadi-
ly-"some years ago, a woman, a nurse, was placed in
charge of two infant children, both boys; one of these was
her own; the other was the son of rich, proud parents.
The woman's husband was a gay, jolly fellow, who much
preferred spending money to earning it, and just then it
happened that he was more than usually hard up. One
afternoon, on visiting his wife, who had removed to a
distance, he found that the rich man's child had sickened
of the small-pox, and that there was no chance of its
recovery. A letter containing the sad news was on a table,
which he, the husband, took the liberty to open and read.
After some reflection, suggested by what he had heard of
the lady-mother's state of mind, he recopied the letter, for
the sake of embodying in it a certain suggestion. That
letter was duly posted, and the next day brought the rich
man almost in a state of distraction; but his chief and
mastering terror was lest the mother of the already dead
infant should hear, in her then precarious state, of what had
happened. The tidings, he was sure, would kill her. See-
ing this, the cunning husband of the nurse suggested that,
for the present, his-the cunning one's-child might be
taken to the lady as her own, and that the truth could be
revealed when she was strong enough to bear it. The rich
man fell into the artful trap, and that which the husband
of the nurse had speculated upon, came to pass even beyond
his hopes. The lady grew to idolize her fancied child-she
192
Modern Story-Teller.
has, fortunately, had no other-and now, I think, it would
really kill her to part with him. The rich man could not
find it in his heart to undeceive his wife-every year it
became more difficult, more impossible to do so; and very
generously, I must say, has he paid in purse for the forbear-
ance of the nurse's husband. Well now, then, to sum up:
the nurse was Mrs. Danby; the rich, weak husband, Mr.
Arbuthnot; the substituted child, that handsome boy-
my son !"
A wild scream from Mrs. Arbuthnot broke the dread
silence which had accompanied this frightful revelation,
echoed by an agonized cry, half tenderness, half rage, from
her husband, who had entered the room unobserved, and
now clasped her passionately in her arms. The carriage
wheels we had heard were his. It was long before I could
recall with calmness the tumult, terror, and confusion of that
scene.
Mr. Arbuthnot strove to bear his wife from the
apartment, but she would not be forced away, and kept
imploring with frenzied vehemence that Robert—that her
boy should not be taken from her.
"I have no wish to do so-far from it," said Danby, with
gleeful exultation. "Only folks must be reasonable, and
not threaten their friends with the hulks".
"Give him anything, anything!" broke in the unhappy
lady. "O Robert! Robert!" she added, with a renewed
burst of hysterical grief, "how could you deceive m› so ?”
"I have been punished, Agnes," he answered, in a husky,
broken voice, "for my well intended but criminal weakness;
cruelly punished by the ever-present consciousness that this
discovery must one day or other be surely made. What do
you want ?" he after awhile added, with recovering firmness,
addressing Danby.
"The acknowledgment of the little bit of paper in dis-
pute, of course; and say a genuine one to the same amount.”
The Counter-Stroke.
193
"Yes, yes," exclaimed Mrs. Arbuthnot, still wildly sob-
bing, and holding the terrified boy strained in her embrace,
as if she feared he might be wrenched from her by force.
'Anything-pay him anything!"
،،
At this moment, chancing to look towards the door of
the apartment, I saw that it was partially opened, and that
Danby's wife was listening there. What might that mean?
But what of hopeful meaning in such a case could it have?
"Be it so, love," said Arbuthnot soothingly. "Danby,
call to-morrow at the Park. And now, begone at once.”
"I was thinking," resumed the rascal, with swelling auda-
city, "that we might as well at the same time come to some
permanent arrangement upon black and white. But never
mind: I can always put the screw on; unless, indeed, you
get tired of the young gentleman, and in that case, I doubt
not he will prove a dutiful and affectionate son -Ah,
devil! What do you here? Begone, or I'll murder you!
Begone, do you hear!"
His wife had entered, and silently confronted him.
"Your threats, evil man," replied the woman quietly,
"have no terrors for me now. My son is beyond your
reach. Oh, Mrs. Arbuthnot," she added, turning towards
and addressing that lady, "believe not".
Her husband sprang at her with the bound of a panther.
"Silence! Go home, or I'll strangle".
His own
utterance was arrested by the fierce grasp of Mr. Arbuth-
not, who seized him by the throat, and hurled him to
the further end of the room. 'Speak on, woman; and
quick! quick! What have you to say ?"
(
"That your son, dearest lady," she answered, throwing
herself at Mrs, Arbuthnot's feet, "is as truly your own
child as ever son born of woman !"
The shout of half-fearful triumph seems even now as
I write to ring in my ears! I felt that the woman's words
13
194
Modern Story-Teller.
were words of truth, but I could not see distinctly; the
room whirled round, and the lights danced before my eyes,
but I could hear through all the choking ecstasy of the
mother, and the fury of the baffled felon.
"The letter," continued Mrs. Danby, "which my hus
band found and opened, would have informed you, sir, of
the swiftly-approaching death of my child, and that yours
had been carefully kept beyond the reach of contagion.
The letter you received was written without my knowledge.
or consent. True it is that, terrified by my husband's
threats, and in some measure reconciled to the wicked
imposition by knowing that, after all, the right child would
be in his right place, I afterwards lent myself to Danby's
evil purposes. But I chiefly feared for my son, whom I
fully believed he would not have scrupled to make away in
revenge for my exposing his profitable fraud. I have
sinned; I can hardly hope to be forgiven, but I have told
the sacred truth."
All this was uttered by the repentant woman, but at the
time it was almost wholly unheard by those most interested
in the statement. They only comprehended that they were
saved that the child was theirs in very truth. Great,
abundant, but, for the moment, bewildering joy! Mr.
Arbuthnot-his beautiful young wife-her own true boy
(how could she for a moment have doubted that he was her
own true boy!-you might have read that thought through
all her tears, quickly as they fell)—the aged and half-stunned
rector, whilst yet Mrs. Danby was speaking, were exclaim-
ing, sobbing in each other's arms, aye, and praising God too,
with broken voices and incoherent words it may be, but
certainly with fervent, pious, grateful hearts.
When we had time to look about us, it was found that
the felon had disappeared-escaped. It was well, perhaps,
that he had; better, that he has not been heard of since.

exiera
The Betrothal.
by
RANCES SEYMOUR had been left an orphan and an
heiress very early in life. Her mother had died in
giving birth to a second child, which did not sur-
vive its parent, so that Frances had neither brother nor
sister; and her father, an officer of rank and merit, was
killed at Waterloo. When this sad news reached England,
the child was spending her vacation with Mrs. Wentworth,
a sister of Mrs. Seymour, and henceforth this lady's house
became her home; partly, because there was no other rela-
tive to claim her, and partly, because amongst Colonel
Seymour's papers, a letter was found, addressed to Mrs.
Wentworth, requesting that, if he fell in the impending
conflict, she would take charge of his daughter. In making
this request, it is probable that Colonel Seymour was more.
influenced by necessity than choice; Mrs. Wentworth being
a gay woman of the world, who was not likely to bestow
much thought or care upon her niece, whom she received
under her roof without unwillingness, but without affection.
Had Frances been poor, she would have felt her a burden;
but as she was rich, there was some éclat and no inconveni-
196
Modern Story-Teller.
ence in undertaking the office of her guardian and chaperon
—the rather as she had no daughters of her own with whom
Frances's beauty or wealth could interfere; for as the
young heiress grew into womanhood, the charms of her
person were quite remarkable enough to have excited the
jealousy of her cousins, if she had any; or to make her
own fortune, if she had not possessed one already. She
was, moreover, extremely accomplished, good-tempered,
cheerful, and altogether what is called a very nice girl; but
of course she had her fault, like other people: she was too
fond of admiration-a fault that had been very much
encouraged at the school where she had been educated;
beauty and wealth, especially when combined, being gene-
rally extremely popular at such establishments. As long,
however, as her admirers were only romantic schoolfellows
and calculating school-mistresses, there was not much harm
done; but the period now approached in which there would
be more scope for the exercise of this passion, and more
danger in its indulgence. Frances had reached the age of
seventeen, and was about to make her début in the world
of fashion--an event to which, certain as she was of making
numerous conquests, she looked forward with great delight.
Whilst engaged in preparations for these anticipated
triumphs, Mrs. Wentworth said to her one day: "Now
that you are coming out, Frances, I think it is my duty to
communicate to you a wish of your father's, expressed in
the letter which was found after his death. It is a wish
regarding your choice of a husband.”
"Dear me, aunt, how very odd!" exclaimed Frances.
"It is rather odd," returned Mrs. Wentworth; "and,
to be candid, I don't think it is very wise; for schemes of
this sort seldom or never turn out well."
"Scheme! What scheme is it?" asked Frances, with no
little curiosity,
The Betrothal.
197
"Why, you must know," answered her aunt, "that
your father had a very intimate friend, to whom he was as
much attached all his life as if he had been his brother."
"You mean Sir Richard Elliott. I remember seeing
him and his son at Otterby, when I was a little girl; and I
often heard papa speak of him afterwards."
"Well, when young Elliott got his commission, your
papa, in compliance with Sir Richard's request, used his
interest to have him appointed to his own regiment, in
order that he might keep him under his eye. By this
means, he became intimately acquainted with the young
man's character, and, I suppose, as much attached to him
as to his father."
"And the scheme is, that I should marry him, I sup-
pose ?"
"Provided you are both so disposed, not otherwise;
there is to be no compulsion in the case."
"It is a scheme that will never be realized," said Fran-
ces; "for, of all things, I should dislike a marriage that
had been planned in that way. The very idea of standing
in such an awkward relation to a man would make me hate
him."
"That's why I think all such schemes better let alone,”
returned Mrs. Wentworth; "but as your father desires
that I will put you in possession of his wishes before you go
into the world, I have no choice but to do it.”
"It does not appear, however, that this Mr. Elliott is
very anxious about the matter, since he has never taken the
trouble of coming to see me. Perhaps he does not know
of the scheme ?"
"Oh yes, he does; but, in the first place, he is abroad
with his regiment; and in the second, he abstains upon
principle from seeking to make your acquaintance. So Sir
Richard told me, when I met him last year at Lady Grant-
198
Modern Story-Teller.
ley's fête. He said that his son's heart was yet perfectly
free, but that he did not think it right to throw himself in
your way, or endeavor to engage your affections, till you
had an opportunity of seeing something of the world. The
old gentleman had a great desire to see you himself; and
he would have called, but he was only passing through
London on his way to some German baths, and he was to
start the next morning."
"And what sort of a person is this Mr. Elliott ?"
"I really don't know, except that his father praised him
to the skies. He's Major Elliott now, and must be about
eight-and-twenty."
"And is he the eldest son ?"
"He's the eldest son, and will be Sir Henry-I think
that's his name-by and by. But he's not rich; quite the
contrary, he's very poor for a baronet; and I incline to
think that that is one of the reasons that influenced your
father. Being so fond of the Elliotts, he wished to repair,
in some degree, the dilapidation of their fortunes by yours."
"So that I shall have the agreeable consciousness of
being married purely for my money. I am afraid poor dear
papa's scheme will fail; and I wish, aunt, you had never
told me of it.”
"That was not left to my discretion; if it had been, I
should not have told you of it, I assure you.”
66
Well, I can only hope that I shall never see Major
Elliott; and if he ever proposes to come, aunt, pray do me
the favor to assure him, from me, that it will not be of the
smallest use."
“That would be foolish till you've seen him. You may
like him."
"Never: I could not like a man whom I met under
such circumstances, if he were an angel."
Thus, with a heart steeled against Major Elliott and his
The Betrothal
199
attractions, whatever they might be, Frances Seymour
made her début; and, however briliant had been her anti-
cipations of success, she had the satisfaction of finding them.
fully realized. She was the belle of the season-admired,
courted, and envied; and by the end of it, she had refused
at least half-a-dozen proposals. As she was perfectly inde-
pendent, she resolved to enjoy a longer lease of her liberty,
before she put it in the power of any man to control her
inclinations.
Shortly after the termination of the season, some family
affairs called Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth to St. Petersburg;
and as it was not convenient that Frances should accom-
pany them, they arranged that she should spend the inter-
val in visiting some families of their own connexion residing
in the country, who promised to take due charge of her.
The first of these, by name Dunbar, were worthy people
enough, but, unfortunately for Frances, desperately dull;
and the few neighbors they had happened to be as dull as
themselves. There were neither balls nor routs to keep up
the spirits of the London belle; and a tiresome drive of six
or eight miles to an equally tiresome dinner party, was but
a poor
substitute for the gaieties which the late season had
given her a taste for.
Frances was not without resources. She was a fine
musician, and played and sang admirably; but she liked to
be told that she did so. At Dunbar House, nobody cared
for music, nobody listened to her, and her most recherchées
toilettes delighted nobody but her maid. She was aux
abois, as the French say, and had made some progress in
the concoction of a scheme to get away, when an improve-
ment took place in her position, from the arrival of young
Vincent Dunbar, the only son of the family. He was a
lieutenant in a regiment of infantry that had lately returned
from the colonies, and had come, as in duty bound, to waste
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Modern Story-Teller.
ten days or a fortnight of his three months' leave in the
dull home of his ancesto.s. As he was an extremely hand-
some, fashionable-looking youth, Frances, when she went
down to dinner, felt quite revived by the sight of him.
Here was something to dress for, and something to sing to;
and although the young lieutenant's conversation was not a
whit above the usual standard of his class, it appeared lively
and witty when compared with that of his parents. His
small colonial experiences were more interesting than Mrs.
Dunbar's domestic ones; and his account of a tiger hunt
more exciting than his father's history of the run he had had
after a fox. Frances was an equally welcome resource to
him. Here was an opportunity, quite unexpected, of
displaying his most fashionable ties and most splendid
waistcoats; here was a listener for his best stories, and one
who did not repay him in kind, as his father did; and here
were a pair of bright eyes that always looked brighter at
his approach; and a pair of pretty lips, that pouted when
he talked of going away to fulfil an engagement he had made
to meet some friends at Brighton.
As was to be expected, under circumstances so propitious,
the young man fell in love-as much in love as he could be
with anybody but himself; whilst his parents did not neglect.
to hint that he could not do better than prosecute a suit
which the young lady's evident partiality justified. Pleased
with the prospect of their son's making so good a match, they
even ventured one day a dull jest on the subject in the
presence of Frances-a jest which, heavy as it was, aroused
her to reflection. Flirting with a man, and angling for nis
admiration, is one thing; loving and marrying him, is
another. For the first, Vincent Dunbar answered exceed-
ingly well; but for the second, he was wholly unfit. In
spite of her little weaknesses, Frances had too much sense
not to see that the young ieutenant was an empty-headed
The Betrothal.
201
coxcomb, and not at all the man with whom she hoped to
spend her years of discretion-when arrived at them-after
an ample enjoyment of the delights that youth, beauty,
and wealth are calculated to procure their possessor. Her
eyes were opened, in short; and the ordinary effect of this
sort of awakening from an unworthy penchant for attach-
ment it could not be called-ensued; the temporary liking
changed into aversion, and the attentions that had flattered
her before became hateful. In accordance with this new
state of her feelings, she resolved to alter her behavior, in
order to dissipate as quickly as possible the erroneous
impression of the family; whilst, at the same time, she
privately made arrangements for cutting short her visit, and
anticipating the period of her removal to the house of Mrs.
Gaskoin, betwixt whom and the Dunbars the interval of
her friends' absence in Russia was to be divided. In spite
of her stratagem, however, she did not escape what she
apprehended. Vincent's leave had nearly expired too; and
when the moment approached that was to separate them,
he seized an opportunity of making his proposals.
There is scarcely a woman to be met with in society, who
does not know, from experience, what a painful thing it is
to crush the hopes of a man who is paying her the high
compliment of wishing to place the happiness of his life in
her keeping; and when to this source of embarrassment is
added the consciousness of having culpably raised expecta-
tions that she shrinks from realizing, the situation becomes
doubly distressing. On the present occasion, agitated,
ashamed, and confused, Frances, instead of honestly avow-
ing her fault, which would have been the safest thing to do,
had recourse to a subterfuge; she answered, that she had
been betrothed by her father to the son of his dearest
friend, and that she was not free to form any other engage
ment. Of course, Vincent pleaded hat such a contract
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Modern Story-Teller.
could not be binding on her; but as, whilst she declared
her determination to adhere to it, she forbore to add, that
were she at liberty his position would not be improved, the
young man and his family remained under the persuasion
that this premature engagement was the only bar to his
happiness; and with this impression, which she allowed him
to retain, because it spared him and herself pain, he returned
to his regiment, whilst she, as speedily as she could,
decamped to her next quarters, armed with a thousand
good resolutions never again to bring herself into such an
unpleasant dilemma.
Mrs. Gaskoin's was a different sort of a house to the
Dunbars'. It was not gay, for the place was retired, and
Mrs. Gaskoin being in ill health, they saw little company;
but they were young, cheerful, and accomplished people,
and in their society Frances soon forgot the vexations she
had left behind her. She even ceased to miss the admiration
she was accustomed to; what was amiable and good in her
character-and there was much-regained the ascendant;
her host and hostess congratulated themselves on having so
agreeable an inmate as much as she did herself on the
judicious move she had made, till her equanimity was
disturbed by learning that Mr. Gaskoin was expecting a
visitor, and that this visitor was his old friend and brother
officer, Major Elliott, the person of all others, Vincent
Dunbar excepted, she had the greatest desire to avoid.
"I cannot express how much I should dislike meeting
him," she said to Mrs. Gaskoin, to whom she thought it
better to explain how she was situated. "You must allow
me to keep my room whilst he is here.”
"If you are determined not to see him, I think you had
better go back to the Dunbars for a little while," answered
the hostess; "but I really think you should stay, and let
things take their course. If your aversion continues, you
The Betrothal.
203
need not marry him; but my husband tells me he's charm-
ing; and in point of character, I know ao one whom he
estimates so highly."
But Frances objected, that she should feel so embar-
rassed and awkward.
"In short, you apprehend that you will appear to a
great disadvantage," said Mrs. Gaskoin. "That is possible,
certainly; but as Major Elliott is only coming for a day or
two, I think we might obviate that difficulty, by introduc-
ing you as my husband's niece, Fanny Gaskoin. What do
you say? You can declare yourself whenever you please,
or keep the secret till he goes, if you prefer it."
Frances said she should like it very much; the scheme
would afford them a great deal of amusement, and any
expedient was preferable to going back to Dunbar House.
Neither, as regarded themselves, was it at all difficult of
execution, since they always addressed her as Fanny or
Frances; the danger was with the servants, who, however
cautioned to call the visitor by no other name than Miss
Fanny, might inadvertently betray the secret. Still, if
they did, a few blushes and a hearty laugh were likely to
be the only consequences of the disclosure; so the little
plot was duly framed, and successfully executed; Major
Elliott not entertaining the most remote suspicion that this
beautiful, fascinating Fanny Gaskoin was his own fiancée.
Whether they might have fallen in love with each other
had they met under more prosaic circumstances, there is
no saying. As it was, they did so almost at first sight. It
is needless to say, that Major Elliott extended his visit
beyond the day or two he had engaged for; and when Mr.
and Mrs. Gaskoin saw how matters were going, they recom-
mended an immediate avowal of the little deception that
had been practised, lest some ill-timed visitor should inop
portunely let out the secret, which had already been
204
Modern Story-Teller.
endangered more than once by the forgetfulness of the
servants; but Frances wished to prolong their diversion
till she should find some happy moment for the dénouement;
added to which, she had an extreme curiosity to know how
Major Elliott intended to release himself from the engage-
mert formed by Colonel Seymour, in which he had tacitly,
if not avowedly, acquiesced. It was certainly very flatter-
ing that her charms had proved sufficiently powerful to
make him forget it; but that he should have yielded to the
temptation without the slightest appearance of a struggle,
did somewhat surprise her, as indeed, from their knowledge
of his character, it did Mr. and Mrs. Gaskoin. Not that they
would have expected him to adhere to the contract, if
doing so proved repugnant either to himself or the young
lady; but under all the circumstances of the case, they
would have thought his conduct less open to exception, if
he had deferred entering into any other engagement till he
had seen Miss Seymour. It was true, that he had not yet
offered his hand to his friend Gaskoin's charming niece;
but neither she, nor any one else, entertained a doubt of
his intention to do so; and Frances never found herself
alone with him, that her heart did not beat high with the
expectation of what might be coming.
The progress of love affairs is no measure of time:
where the attrait, or magnetic rapport (for perhaps magnet-
ism has something to do with the mystery), is very strong,
one couple will make as much way in a fortnight as another
will do in a year. In the present instance, Major Elliott's
proclivity to fall in love with Frances may have been aided
by his persuasion that she was the niece of his friend. Be
that as it may, on the thirteenth day of his visit, Major Elliott
invited his host to join him in a walk, in the course of
which he avowed his intention of offering his hand to Miss
Gaskoin, provided her family were not likely to make any
The Betrothal
205
serious objection to the match. "My reason for mentioning
the subject so early is," said he, "that, in the first place, I
cannot prolong my visit; I have already broken two
engagements, and now, however unwillingly, I must be off;
and, in the second place, I felt myself bound to mention the
subject to you before speaking to Miss Gaskoin, because
you know how I am situated in regard to money-matters;
and that I cannot, unfortunately, make such a settlement as
may be expected by her friends.”
"I don't think that will be any obstacle to your wishes,"
answered Mr. Gaskoin, with an arch smile. "If you can
find Fanny in the humor, I'll undertake to answer for all
the rest. As for her fortune, she'll have something, at all
events-but that is a subject, I suppose, you are too much
in love to discuss."
"It is one there is no use in discussing till I am
accepted," returned Major Elliott; "and I confess that is
a point I am too anxious about to think of any other."
"Prepare yourself," said Mrs. Gaskoin to Frances;
"Major Elliott has declared himself to my husband, and
will doubtless take an opportunity of speaking to you in the
course of the evening. Of course now the truth must be
disclosed, and I've no doubt it will be a very agreeable sur-
prise to him."
When the tea-things were removed, and Frances, as
usual, was seated at the pianoforte, and Major Elliott, as
usual, turning over the leaves of her music-book, she almost
lost her breath with agitation when the gentle closing of a
door aroused her to the fact that they were alone. Mr. and
Mrs. Gaskoin had quietly slipped out of the room; and
conscious that the critical moment was come, she was
making a nervous attempt to follow them, when a hand was
laid on hers, and But it is quite needless to enter into
the particulars; such scenes do not bear relating. Major
206
Modern Story-Teller.
Elliott said something, and looked a thousand things!
Frances blushed and smiled, and then she wept, avowing
that her tears were tears of joy; and so engrossed was she
with the happiness of the moment, that she had actually
forgotten the false colors under which she was appearing,
till her lover said: "I have already, my dear Fanny, spoken
on the subject to your uncle."
"Now, then, for the dénouement !" thought Frances
but she had formed a little scheme for bringing this about,
which she forthwith proceeded to put into execution.
64
But, dear Henry," she said, as seated on the sofa
hand in hand, they dilated on their present happiness and
future plans-" dear Henry, there is one thing that has
rather perplexed me, and does perplex me still, a little-do
you know, I have been told you were engaged?"
"Indeed! Who told you that?"
"Well, I don't know; but I'm sure I heard it. It was
said that you were engaged to Miss Seymour-the Miss
Seymour, that lives with Mrs. Wentworth
>>
"Do you know her ?" inquired Major Elliott, interrupt-
ing her.
Yes, I do—a little.”
Only a little?"
"Well, perhaps, I may say I know her pretty well.
Indeed, to confess the truth, I'm rather intimate with her."
"That is extremely fortunate," returned Major Elliott.
"Then you don't deny the engagement ?" said Frances.
"Colonel Seymour, who was my father's friend and mine,
very kindly expressed a wish, before he died, that, provided
there was no objection on either side, his daughter and I
should be married; but you see, my dearest Fanny, as
there happens to be an objection on both sides, the scheme,
however well meant, is defeated.”
"On both sides!" reiterated Frances with surprise.
66
The Betrothal.
20%
"Yes; on both sides," answered he smiling.
"But how do you know that, when you've never seen
Miss Seymour-as least I thought you never had?”
"Neither have I; but I happen to know that she has
not the slightest intention of taking me for her husband."
"Oh," said Frances, laughing at the recollection of her
own violent antipathy to this irresistible man, who, after all,
had taken her heart by storm-“I suppose you have some-
how heard that she disliked the idea of being trammelled by
an engagement to a person she never saw, and whom she
had made up her mind she could not love; but remember,
Henry, she has never seen you. How do you know that
she might not have fallen in love with you at first sight ?-
as somebody else did," she added, playfully.
"Because, my dear little girl, she happens to be in love
already. She did not wait to see me, but wisely gave
away her heart when she met a man that pleased her."
"But you're mistaken," answered Frances, beginning
to feel alarmed; "you are indeed! I know Frances Sey-
mour has no attachment. I know that till she saw you-I
mean that—I am certain she has no attachment, nor ever
had any."
(t
Perhaps you are not altogether in her confidence."
Oh, yes, I am indeed.”
(ર
Major Elliott shook his head, and smiled significantly.
'Rely on it," he said, "that what I tell you is the fact;
bnt you have probably not seen Miss Seymour very lately,
which would sufficiently account for your ignorance of her
secret. I am told that she is extremely han‍dsome and
charming, and that she sings divinely."
Five minutes earlier, Frances would have been delighted
with this testimony to her attractions; and would have
been ready with a repartee about the loss he would sustain
in relinquishing so many perfections for her sake; but now
1
208
Modern Story-Teller.
her heart was growing faint with terror, and her tongue.
clove to the roof of her mouth. Thoughts that would fill
pages darted through her brain like lightning-dreadful
possibilities, that she had never foreseen nor thought of.
Vincent Dunbar's regiment had been in India; she knew
it was one of the seventies; but she had either never heard
the exact number, or she had not sufficiently attended to
the subject to know which it was. Major Elliott's regiment
had also been in India; and it was the 76th. Suppose it
were the same, and that the two officers were acquainted—
and suppose they had met since Vincent's departure from
Dunbar House! The young man had occasionally spoken
to her of his brother-officers; she remembered Poole, and
Wainright, and Carter; the name of Elliott he had certainly
not mentioned; but it was naturally of his own friends and
companions he spoke, not of the field-officers. Then, when
she told him that she had been betrothed by her father, she
had not said to whom; but might he not, by some unlucky
chance, have found that out? And might not an explana-
tion have ensued!
Could Major Elliott have distinctly discovered the
expression of her features, he would have seen that it was
something more than perplexity that kept her silent; but
the light fell obscurely on the seat they occupied, and he
suspected nothing but that she was puzzled and surprised.
"I see you are very curious to learn the secret," he
said, "and if it were my own, you should not pine in igno-
rance, I assure you; but as it is a young lady's, I am bound
to keep it till she chooses to disclose it herself. However, I
hope your curiosity will soon be satisfied, for I have ascer
tained that Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth are to be in England
almost immediately-they have been some time on the con-
tinent and then we shall come to a general understanding
In the meantime, my dearest Fanny-"
The Betrothal.
209
But Frances, unable longer to control her agitation,
took advantage of a slight noise in the hall, to say that Mr
and Mrs. Gaskoin were coming; and before he had time to
finish his sentence, she started to her feet, and rushed out
of the room.
On the other side of the hall was Mrs. Gaskoin's bou-
doir, where she and her husband were sitting over the
fire, awaiting the result of the tête-à-tête in the drawing-
room.
Well?" said they, rising as the door opened and a
pale face looked in. "Is it all settled ?"
"Ask me nothing now, I beseech you!" said Frances.
"I'm going to my room; tell Major Elliott I am not well;
say I'm agitated-anything you like; but remember he
still thinks me Fanny Gaskoin-
"
"But, my dear girl, I cannot permit that deception to
be carried any further; it has lasted too long already," said
Mr. Gaskoin.
"Only to-night!" said Frances.
"It is not fair to Major Elliott," urged Mrs. Gaskoin.
“Only to-night! only to-night!" reiterated Frances.
"There! he's coming; I hear his step in the hall! Let me
out this way!" and so saying, she darted out of a door that
led to the backstairs, and disappeared.
"She has refused hin!" said Mrs. Gaskoin. "I confess
I am amazed.”
But Major Elliott met them with a smiling face. "What
has become of Frances ?" said he.
"She rushed in to us in a state of violent agitation, and
begged we would tell you that she is not well, and is gone
o her room. I'm afraid the result of your interview has
not been what we expected."
"On the contrary," returned Major Elliott, "you must
both congratulate me on my good-fortune."
14
210
Modern Story-Teller.
"Silly girl!" said Mr. Gaskoin, shaking his friend heart-
ily by the hand. "I see what it is: she is nervous about a
little deception we have been practising on you."
"A deception!"
“Why, you see, my dear fellow, when I told Frances
that you were coming here, she objected to meeting
99
you-
"Indeed! On what account ?"
"You have never suspected anything ?" said Mr. Gas-
koin, scarcely repressing his laughter.
"Suspected anything? No."
"It has never by chance occurred to you that this
bewitching niece of mine is"
"Is what ?"
"Your betrothed lady, for example, Frances Sey-
nour ?"
Major Elliott's cheeks and lips turned several shades
paler; but the candles were not lighted, and his friends did
not remark the change.
"Frances Seymour!" he echoed.
"That is the precise state of the case, I assure you;"
and then Mr. Gaskoin proceeded to explain how the decep-
tion came to be practised. "I gave into it," he said,
"though I do not like jests of that sort, because I thought,
as my wife did, that you were much more likely to take a
fancy to each other, if you did not know who she was, than
if you met under all the embarrassment of such an awk
ward relation."
During this little discourse, Major Elliott had time to
recover from the shock; and being a man of resolute calm-
ness and great self-possession-which qualities, by the way,
formed a considerable element in his attractions-the
remainder of the evening was passed without any circum
stance calculated to awaken the suspicions of his host and
The Betrothal.
211
hostess, further than that a certain gravity of tone and man-
ner, when they spoke of Frances, led them to apprehend
that he was not altogether pleased with the jest that had
been practised.
"We ought to have told him the moment we saw that
he was pleased with her; but, foolish child, she would not
let us," said Mr. Gaskoin to his wife.
"She must make her peace with him to-morrow,” re-
turned the lady; but, alas! when they came down to
breakfast on the following morning, Major Elliott was
gone, having left a few lines to excuse his sudden departure,
which, he said, he had only anticipated by a few hours, as,
in any case, he must have left them that afternoon.
By the same morning's post there arrived a letter from
Vincent Dunbar, addressed to Miss Seymour. Its contents
were as follow:-
"My dearest, dearest Frances-I should have written
to you ten days ago to tell you the joyful news-you little
guess what-but that I had applied for an extension of
leave on urgent private affairs, and expected every hour to
get it. But they have refused me, be hanged to them! So
I write to you, my darling, to tell you that it's all right—I
mean between you and me. I'm not a very good hand at
an explanation on paper, my education in the art of compo-
sition having been somewhat neglected; but you must
know that old Elliott, whom your dad wanted you to
marry, is our senior major. Well, when I came down here
to meet Poole, as I had promised his governor keeps
hounds, you know; a capital pack, too,-I was as dull as
dish-water; I was, I assure you; and whenever there was
nothing going on, I used to take out the verses you wrote,
and the music you copied for me, to look at; and one day,
who should come in but Elliott, who was staying with his
governor on the West Cliff, where the old gentleman has
212
Modern Story-Teller.
taken a house. Well, you know, I told you what a mad
cap fellow Poole is; and what should he do, but tell Elliott
that I was going stark mad for a girl that couldn't have me
because her dad had engaged her to somebody else; and
then he showed him the music that was lying on the table
with your name on it. So you may guess how Elliott
stared, and all the questions he asked me about you, and
about our acquaintance and our love-making, and all the
rest of it. And, of course, I told him the truth, and
showed him the dear lock of hair you gave me; and the
little notes you wrote me the week I ran up to London;
for Elliott's an honorable fellow, and I knew it was all right.
And it is all right, my darling; for he says he wouldn't
stand in the way of our happiness for the world, or marry
a woman whose affections were not all his own. And he'll
speak to your aunt for us, and get it all settled as soon as
she comes back," &c. &c.
The paper dropped from poor Frances Seymour's hands.
She comprehended enough of Major Elliott's character to
see that all was over. But for the unfortunate jest they
had practised on him, an explanation would necessarily have
ensued the moment he mentioned Vincent's name to her;
but that unlucky deception had complicated the mischief
beyond repair. It was now too late to tell him that she
did not love Vincent; he would only think her false or
fickle. A woman who could act as she had done, or as she
appeared to have done, was no wife for Henry Elliott.
There is no saying, but it is just possible, that an entire
confidence placed in Mr. Gaskoin might have led to a hap-
pier issue; but her own conviction that her position was
irrecoverable, her hopelessness and her pride, closed her
lips. Her friends saw that there was something wrong;
and when a few lines from Major Elliott announced his im-
mediate departure for Paris, they concluded that some
The Betrothal.
213
strange mystery had divided the lovers, and clouded the
hopeful future that for a short period had promised so
brightly.
Vincent Dunbar was not a man to break his heart at
the disappointment, which it is needless to say awaited
him. Long years afterwards, when Sir Henry Elliott was
not only married, but had daughters coming out in the
world, he, one day at a dinner-party, sat next a pale-faced,
middle-aged lady, whose still beautiful features, combined
with the quiet, almost grave elegance of her toilet, had
already attracted his attention in the drawing-room. It
was a countenance of perfect serenity; but no observing eye
could look at it without feeling that that was a serenity not
born of joy, but of sadness—a calm that had succeeded a
storm-a peace won by a great battle. Sir Henry felt
pleased when he saw that the fortunes of the dinner-table
had placed him beside this lady, and they had not been
long seated before he took an opportunity of addressing
her. Her eyelids fell as she turned to answer him; but
there was a sweet mournful smile on her lip-a smile that
awoke strange recollections, and made his heart for a
moment stand still. For some minutes he did not speak
again, nor she either; when he did, it was to ask her, in at
low gentle voice, to take wine with him. The lady's hand
shook visibly as she raised her glass; but, after a short
interval, the surprise and the pang passed away, and they
conversed calmly on general subjects, like other people in
society.
When Sir Henry returned to the drawing-room, the
pale-faced lady was gone; and a few days afterwards, the
Morning Post announced among its departures that Miss
Seymour had left London for the continent.

Love Passages in the Life of Perron
the Breton.
UN
E propose in this paper to describe the courtship
and the marriage of M. Perron; and in so doing
shall adopt, as nearly as possible, his somewhat
eccentric but highly graphic style. Indeed my host at the
chateau “Eunn toul enn Douar" was, in all respects, an
extraordinary man; and having been placed in extra-
ordinary circumstances, subject to the tone and usages of a
foreign country, I promised myself both interest and amuse-
ment in thus partaking his confidence, in neither of which
was I disappointed.
I had been prepossessed with Madame the Countess of
Croan at our first interview, but that prepossession soon
increased to adiniration as I became acquainted with her
various accomplishments and cultivated mind. Beauty and
grace of person; simplicity, accompanied with the highest
polish of manners, combined to fascinate; while her ten-
derness and devotion towards her husband were as inexpli-
cable as the contrast between them was great.
On the second night after my arrival, madame finished
Lobe Passages in the Life of Perron, the Breton.
215
the evening at the piano. The piece with which she
concluded was the touching and sentimental ballad of
"Penherez à Keroulas," narrating the melancholy fate of
the Heiress of Keroulas.
She then rose and retired. The appropriate plaintive-
ness of the air, and the delicious blending of the voices (for
madame had been admirably accompanied by her husband)
lingered in my ear; but I could not banish the idea that
such sweet perfection had been produced by an angel and
a satyr. My reverie was interrupted by a loud laugh from
M. Perron.
،،
Oh, I see!" cried he, good-humoredly, "I divine
your thoughts. Vulcan and Venus. Is it not so ?”
I was shocked and confused at thus having my secret
thoughts laid bare, nor had I tact enough to conceal my
feelings.
"Nay, do not attempt an apology," he continued; "it
will spoil all. I have been an object of hatred, envy, fear,
and ridicule by turns, for nearly twenty years, on this very
point, and am not to be startled by a natural act of wonder
to-day. You are merely surprised that my wife, who is so
handsome and accomplished, should be married to me; that
is, should love such a monster as myself! Believe me, there
is no offence. You do not say it, and you could not help
thinking thus. But come, draw to the fire, and over our
nightcap a glass of punch à la citron-I will recount to
you what every one else knows, for there never was one
act in my life I would desire to conceal. I have in my own
experience exemplified that mental is more powerful than
physical beauty; that lasting affection is based upon esteem:
and that, though loveliness is captivating to the unaccus-
tomed eye, as ugliness is repugnant, yet in the established
relations, truth, virtue, and sincerity, secure the prize, and
produce a more enduring sympathy."
216
Modern Story-Teller.
Fresh logs were now thrown on the ample hearth, and
broad flames shot up from the ardent braise; the black oak
floor frotté'd with cirage noir, gleamed with the flood of
light like a mirror, reflecting in rich mosaic the bright-
hued grotesque images of the tapestry, the snowy tusks of
mighty boars, and antlered heads of "lordly" stags, that
lined this halle de chasse. Meanwhile, the wind without
moaned through the ancient trees of the adjacent forest,
bringing fitfully the roar of the mountain falls that emptied
themselves into the lake, mingled with the dull tolling of
the convent bell, summoning the holy fathers from "cell
monastic” to watch and pray through the bitter night, in
the cold, dim aisles of St. Philibert. We drew more closely
to the genial warmth; and doubly grateful was the reeking
punch, fragrant with limes, which, as my host crushed them
into the liquor, sent up a cloudy incense sacred to hospi-
tality and good fellowship!
M. Perron commenced his narrative.
66
66
My wife, the Countess de Croan," said he, was
heiress of one of the most noble and ancient houses in
Basse Bretagne. This, however, mattered little to me;
so that honor keep pace with the blood within one's veins,
I hold it to be sufficient. I have seen too much of musty
monuments whose heraldic emblazonry no one cares to
decipher-half-starved nobles, whom nobody cares to know,
and denuded barons, tottering about in revolutionary rags
-to convince me that grandeur is conventional, that there
are two nobilities, that of the soul and that of the peerage
(the blending of the two being perfection); and which is
the most to be prized. Nor is this a revolutionary, but
a moral maxim with me. However, madame was none the
Our
worse, even in my estimation, for being a countess.
first meeting was remarkable; we were mutually struck
with each other, but our feelings were totally different.
Lobe Passages in the Fife of Perron the Breton.
217
She revolted at my ugliness; and I was fascinated with her
beauty. I had been of service to her family, by assisting
them with such legal information as would enable them to
recover a small remnant of their estates, which upon that
occasion was the object of my visit. This being the first
time of my seeing their chateau, I paused to admire the
lofty terrace with massive balustrades, which you may have
frequently observed in Brittany, commanding a varied and
noble prospect, when my attention was attracted by a sweet,
melodious voice, singing wildly a verse of some old legend
of the country; and at the same moment a figure burst
from a clump of evergreens at the opposite end of the
garden, light as a fairy, and followed by an Italian grey-
hound, whose playful evolutions and buoyant grace it fully
equalled, nay, surpassed. Clear peals of laughter-the
echoes of youthful spirits, untouched by the world's trou-
bles-gave way to a second stanza; and this to the
gathering of flowers from the parterre, with which she
filled her lap.
"This was the heiress of the house, a young girl of
seventeen years, a pure creature of unvarying delight; and
then, how beautiful! Her form was slight, but soft with
the sweet proportions of early womanhood; a sparkling
complexion; forehead high, and white as marble; face
oval, so suited to sweetness of expression, with delicately
pencilled brow; and eyes black, and liquid as the stag's;
her lovely countenance shaded by hair as fine as silk and
black as night, which streamed in the wind, dancing when
she danced, or falling in flaky curls upon her shoulders.
Altogether, her beauty was of that cast which may be said
to be characteristic of no country, but moulded in the
perfection of nature and nurtured by a 'fresh heart.' This
fair creature ascended the terrace, and, occupied with her
flowers, advanced within a few yards of the spot where
218
Modern Story-Teller.
I stood without perceiving me; then suddenly looking up,
and disınayed, either from the fixedness of my gaze or my
uncouth appearance, so repugnant to her own charming
associations, or both, she dropped her eyes, turned hastily
round, and instead of passing me, as appeared to be her
first intention, she retreated with timid precipitation. I
gazed after her, and involuntarily ejaculated, 'You have
met your fate!'
"On my part, I was overwhelmed with admiration of
so high a character, that it truly deserved the appellation
of love at first sight. This was the more extraordinary, as
I was accustomed to act in all grave matters with reason
and reflection, and had only that very day made my deter-
mination to live a bachelor, in despair at ever finding a
sympathy in so peculiar a person as I desired. I said to
myself again and again, 'You have met your fate! I had
but one anxiety, that, in the first flush of the heart, she
should have formed a previous attachment. Had it been
so, I would have renounced my passion. A man of spirit,
animated with a strong affection, can always inspire a reci
procal feeling, or at least something beyond indifference,
save where there has been a prior passion, in which case his
task is humiliating indeed. Happily the result did not
place me in so painful a predicament, for her youthful affec-
tions were untouched. The Countess's family were, as I
have said, poor-the Revolution had swallowed their vast
estate; my property and rising fame were advantages too
great to be rejected by her parents, but the repugnance of
the young lady seemed to be insurmountable. I had become
so fascinated and entangled that I at once formed my plan,
and determined that my first step should be to gain a power
over her, for I dreaded lest some more fortunate rival
should interpose and snatch her from me. Hitherto I had
piqued myself on my rough exterior, and was proud of a
Lobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton.
219
power of intellect that raised me, notwithstanding these
personal disqualifications, to a level with the first of my
fellow-men; yet I had no vanity. But now that I felt the
disadvantage I had to contend against, I cursed the bitter-
ness of my fate, and rude as you see me, I watered my
pillow with my tears. Though I had no difficulty in gaining
the consent of her parents, it required all their influence to
induce her to receive my visits; and when she found that
she had nothing to hope for from them, and that, in fact,
she was in a state of siege, she requested a private interview
with me.
Never shall I forget her as she stood before me,
her beauty bursting into womanhood, taste in every action,
timidly contending with resolution in her manner, and
maiden delicacy and apprehension her sole protector!
vain I admitted the selfishness of my passion, the unmanly
use I was making of circumstances, the almost unnatural
contrast between us. She advanced towards me and threw
herself on her knees, and bursting into a passionate flood of
tears, she implored in terms of childish eloquence that I
would have compassion on her. I was deeply moved, my
tears exceeded hers; I made every effort to master my
passion, but it increased upon me with every struggle. Her
appeal was in vain.
In
'It was now my turn to sue, and I pleaded my suit
with all the eloquence that affection could suggest; yet her
repugnance remained unconquered; and at length rising
from her knees, with an effort she collected all her ener-
gies, and coldly said,-
"You have the power-my parents' power over me:
you will take me as a sacrifice, but you will repent it!'
"So saying, she left the apartment without waiting my
reply.
66
Throughout this interview she had not once looked
upon me; her very soul was full of aversion towards me.
220
Modern Story-Teller.
My state of mind may be imagined; I could not but pity
the victim, so young, so fair! She pleaded for more than
life, but I have an iron will. My fate was irrevocably
bound up in hers; to renounce her, to hear that she had
become another's, would have been despair; the very
apprehension shook my frame with horror, and brought
down drops of agony upon my brow. I felt it impossible
to live without her: death appeared a trifling thing in com-
parison. My mind being made up, I sat down to take a
calm view of my position in all its relations. It was a fair
garden, full of pitfalls. I at length fixed upon a line of
conduct, from the spirit of which I never afterwards devi-
ated, and which, in the end, conducted me to success; for
what can resist passion and reason combined?
66
Having resolved upon my course, I hastened our mar-
riage forward. The ceremony took place; and at that part
of it where the lady's consent is expressed, she looked at
me, for the first time since I had declared my intentions,
with an expression so imploring, so appealing to my com-
passion, that it required the utmost fortitude to maintain my
firmness. After a short pause, seeing I appeared unmoved,
she turned from me, and seemed to have taken a sudden
resolution, as though having made a last effort, she had
decided upon her fate.
"After the ceremony she attempted to take a tranquil,
nay, cold leave of her parents; but nature and youth were
too strong for her; she burst into tears, and, folding them
in her arms, said, 'I forgive you; but, oh, how you will be
wrung with remorse for this!'
"We took our seats in the carriage alone; the feeling
of loathing which betrayed itself in her beautiful features,
after a while subsided into icy coldness. Her manner,
coupled with her conduct to her parents and before the
altar, filled me with inexpressible dread, and I felt myself a
Lobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton.
221
prey to an undefined apprehension beyond the confessed
difficulties of my situation. I behaved to her en route
with distant but kind politeness; and no one who had seen
us would have imagined our relative positions. I had no
hope of success in this painful struggle but in going beyond
her. After a journey full of embarrassments, which we
performed without pause, my object being to reach my
residence in Paris as speedily as possible, we arrived at our
destination. I welcomed her with ceremonial kindness as
an honored guest. I took an opportunity in her presence
to order my own private chamber to be prepared for the
night; and handing her the key of hers, said aloud to her
femme de chambre,-
"You will find two beds in madame's boudoir; I
desire that, with her permission, you occupy one, and
never neglect to do so, without her especial order.'
'I cannot describe the expression of the countess at
that moment. A frightful vision appeared to have been.
dispelled: she looked as one unexpectedly reprieved from
death. Her features, which had been rigid with the fixed
resolution that seemed hitherto to have influenced her,
relaxed into an expression of the sincerest gratitude; and,
after a moment's reflection, she drew from her bosom a
small phial, and placing it hurriedly into my hands, she
rushed from the room. It was poison! I was horror-
struck! Oh, how humiliating was my situation! Into what
extremity had I plunged the being most dear to me on
earth! Her, for whose happiness I would have sacrificed
all that I valued in this world, save HERSELF! And she,
what would she not have done to rid herself of me! For-
lorn and hopeless, what had I done that Nature should put
her hateful mark on me thus? An angel was shutting the
door of Paradise against me.
A burst of anguish suc-
ceeded, but after a time my feelings became tranquil, and I
222
Modern Story-Teller.
turned for comfort to the recollection that I was at any rate
in the same home with her; that I should daily breathe the
same air, and occupy myself in the same pursuit, agreeably
to my scheme. I felt a gush of thankfulness that absorbed
my being. This was true love.
"It was late on the following day before the countess
appeared in the saloon; her color had somewhat returned,
and a smile of grateful calmness gleamed in her sweet face.
Already it was evident that a sympathy was awakened in
her, though as yet of no warmer a nature than gratitude.
I was cheered. One point was gained. She no longer
avoided me as a hateful thing; and though she sometimes
trembled, as a consciousness of her situation came over her,
my conduct, at once frank and respectful, restored her to
confidence.
"My first object was to find a congenial current for her
thoughts, and to divert them by useful and agreeable occu-
pation. She had received her education as an externe at a
Breton convent, which affords instruction both economical
and sound. I surrounded her with associations of taste and
beauty, books, sculptures, pictures; and contrived for her,
during a temporary absence of one day, a surprise that
must delight her taste: in place of a wall of tapestry that
divided her chamber from a conservatory of the rarest
flowers, I had one of glass erected with a speed equalling
that of magic. Masters of celebrity in the various accom
plishments which her talents qualified her to attain, gave
their assistance to her indefatigable assiduity, for of these
intellectual pursuits she seemed never weary; and, ere a
twelvemonth had flown past, my lovely companion was
fitted to shine in the most élite circles of Paris.
"I had now gained two points: she had become even
happy in her new position, and the foundation of a lasting
sympathy was laid by my knowledge of her favorite authors
Lobe Passages in the Life ot Perron the Breton. 223
2.
and composers, together with all those arts which she so
ardently admired; at the same time, whilst blending my
own with her pure taste, I was scrupulously careful to
confine our sympathy to the mental elements which sur-
rounded us. Sometimes I was paralysed with the torment-
ing question, for whom was I rearing so much perfection
into life? I had my own experience to warn me that
one glance, one single instant, might rob me of her
heart! But for this torturing uncertainty (which, notwith-
standing my vigorous efforts to check its intrusion, would
too frequently disturb my happy calm), I was now in a state
of bliss, too content to have purchased, by any sacrifice, the
continuance of my felicity, and scarcely caring to wish for
an addition to it, considering the fearful risk of losing all.
"But the time arrived when my wife must mingle in
the society befitting her station. Instinctively she took its
highest tone. I was not prepared for the universal admira-
tion she attracted; and you may imagine the contrast
between her charms and my appearance, when I tell you
we were designated among the gay as 'La Belle et la
Bête Now began my tribulations-my combat with the
!
world.
"Whoever is acquainted with Parisian society and the
broad limits it prescribes itself, will comprehend the posi-
tion in which madame was placed. On one hand was the
temptation of all that was graceful and seductive in man,
while there was nothing to oppose it but the mere abstract
love of virtue unsupported by affection, even if not weakened
by a sense of shame at being linked with a being who
formed a butt for every shaft of ridicule. She was hourly
followed by a crowd of admirers, by whom I was detested
and regarded as an object of pity and compassion. Appear
ing to see nothing, I saw and felt all, for I had all at stake.
Not a glance, not a word, escaped my observance. I calcu
224
Modern Story-Teller.
lated the character and pretensions of every man who, from
fashion or fascination, fell into madame's train; but this was
a miserable existence, upon the very threshold of dishonor
(not for those who are used to it, and see in it only a conven-
tional form of society; but for me, who judged by what
the dignity of human nature ought to be)-it wrung my
heart with bitterness and shame. I had now no resource
but patience. I had entered for a desperate stake, and was
determined to play it out. It would have been an easy
thing to act the tyrant to my wife; but, alas! of all the
evils that threatened me, the most imminent was her
disgust, that heaviest ill without a remedy; as it was, I
had gained at least her esteem, and must not forfeit it.
Possibly I may be blamed for thus placing her in the way
of temptation, instead of withdrawing her into obscurity
and retirement; but then my position rendered this impos-
sible: besides, I detest half measures, which rarely secure
even a half success. As I apprehended, she became intoxi-
cated with the adulation showered upon her; and though
virtuous at heart, her youth and inexperience exposed her to
danger. I took all possible measures to prevent her being
taken by surprise; and having confidential servants who
were devoted to us, I was certain nothing could occur
without my instant knowledge; but I was impatient to
seize some opportunity for putting an end to this degrading
situation.
46
Among the constant visitors at our réunions was the
Viscount de V, who was openly the most sedulous
attendant on madame. He was a young man of great
personal attractions, high birth, and great wealth, witty
and accomplished; so much so, that he had obtained the
sobriquet of Croesus Crichton.' The viscount's attentions
to madame were offered with great empressement, and
augmented the envy and jealousy with which the fashiona-
Tobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton. 225
ble of her own sex regarded her. Scandal began to be
busy. I could have sent the viscount a curtel, but this
would have been his death, and I did not desire to become
his murderer. He was an accomplished shot, but I was far
his superior; for though I had never been known to fire a
pistol, and was, to their seeming, exactly the man to be
trifled with, they were mistaken. I could strike the poupée
at forty paces, a dozen times in succession. Besides, his
fire was slow; mine with the signal. I could not bring
myself to injure this young man.
He was frank, generous,
and high-spirited, and there was nothing in his conduct but
what the detestable habits of society permitted. He was,
moreover, unconscious of the thorn that rankled in my
heart, and how sorely he was pressing upon it. I did not
hate his beauty because I was ugly, and I bore him no
resentment; however, I dreaded lest madame's feelings
should be entrammelled. I had never found it difficult to
penetrate madame's exact sentiments. Hitherto she was
free, but I should be culpable to let her be longer exposed
to temptation. At this juncture a circumstance happened
which, I perceived, if skilfully handled, might serve greatly
to my advantage. A note fell into my hands directed to
madame, and sealed with the viscount's arms. I did
not hesitate to peruse it. It contained a pressing invitation
to be allowed to attend her to the Duke of
-'s, to hear
the divine Pasta (then in the zenith of her glory, and
who was to execute the chefs-d'œuvre in Nina), before a
réunion of the élite of Paris. The viscount and madame
had executed much of this music together; and the note
concluded by adding: Such heavenly sounds require
your angelic company alone to realize all that is perfect on
earth.' My resolution was taken. I determined to give
madame the opportunity to accept this invitation. After
carefully resealing the note, I caused it to be delivered
15
226
Modern Story-Teller.
to madame. An hour afterwards I presented myself before
her. I found her silent, thoughtful, and uneasy.
It
appeared to me that duty and a sense of decorum were
strong-that virtue was not alarmed-and her simplicity
blinded her to her danger. But when I stated the neces
sity for my absence at the Chambers, on affairs of govern-
ment, till late at night, I became aware that the demon
temptation was at work, from the urgency and anxiety
with which she entreated me to remain. I, however,
pleaded the necessity of my engagement, and retired to
prepare for a result which I saw, by her want of fortitude,
was inevitable. I need not say, the viscount conducted the
countess to his own hotel, which I entered as soon as he,
and followed them to his chamber. As I approached the
door, I heard madame's voice loud in reproach, and
on entering, found her standing in the middle of the room,
scarlet with indignation, the viscount on his knees before
her. I closed the door after me, and turned the key. My
wife sank upon the sofa, overwhelmed by her feelings.
The viscount rose from his knees, full of mortification, but
maintaining the perfect self-possession of a man of the
world. I drew a pair of pistols from my cloak, and,
placing them on a table, took my seat opposite to him.
"Will it not be more in keeping,' said he, pointing to
the weapons, 'to await the lady's absence ?'
"From your manner, Monsieur le Vicompte,' I replied,
coolly, one would imagine I had come for your wife,
instead of my own.'
"At the sound of my voice madame recovered herself.
She seemed astonished at my composure, and rising in
embarrassment, would have placed herself beside me, but I
repulsed her, saying,-
"When you can bring your heart with you will be time
enough.'
Lobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton.
227
"She cast a reproachful look upon me, anl sank again
into her seat, covering her face with her hands. There
was a pause, which the count at length broke by saying,—
"This triumph, monsieur, is somewhat lengthy; will
you take satisfaction on the spot, or what do you propose ?'
“'I did not come to seek your blood,' replied I.
Why, then, these pistols ?' he inquired.
66.6
"Because,' I said, 'I would have you know what I say
arises from principle, not from fear. Monsieur le Vicompte,
I came not here to upbraid you. I came to convince
madame of the viciousness of that circle of folly with which
she suffers herself to be surrounded-to prove to her the
danger which attends it. Whether I belie the galaxy
of satellites that float around her, she herself shall be the
judge. You love my wife, Monsieur le Vicompte-you
have told her so a thousand times. You have pitied her
for being sacrificed to a monster like myself—you set off
your own perfections against my deformity. I love her too.
Now, let her be judge of the difference in the quality of your
love and mine. Monsieur, I come to make you happy. I
give this lady to you. You are a bachelor; I can be
divorced; you shall marry her, and that which on earth
you most desire shall be yours.'
"The viscount was thrown completely off his guard. I
knew full well he was in a position in the Luxembourg, in a
certain exalted quarter, that rendered matrimony the sure
path to disgrace and banishment from the gay world.
"Let her,' I continued, share your love, your high
station, your affluence; she will well become it all. On the
honor of a man consumed with wretchedness and misery,
she is as pure as when first she quitted her father's home.
Ah, Monsieur, you are amazed! You dream not what
wretches, such as I, whose bones are covered in an unbeau-
teous case, are doomed to suffer. Monsieur, you pause.
6
223
Modern Story-Teller.
Do you hesitate to take that, now it is offered, which you
have sought so long, with such eager passion and open
perseverance, in the sight of all the world? Is your boast
ful affection mere words—the folly of the hour, the herald
of shame and repentance? Be prompt, monsieur; make
your decision, and end this hateful scene.'
"I was not prepared for this,' said the viscount, in
vain endeavoring to overcome his embarrassment. 'I
cannot submit to this result-I must have recourse to the
argument on the table.'
<
“Observe, madam,' I said, addressing myself to my
wife, you are rejected. Nay, rather than receive you
honorably, this gentleman, who professes to love you,
would seek to escape you, even in the arms of death. Is
this enough? Is this humiliation-degradation, or will you
help me to a name befitting it ?'
"Whilst I spoke she rose from the sofa, and placed her-
self behind my chair. She leaned upon my shoulder-I
felt her tremble. Her tears fell fast-they were drops of
precious balm upon my heart. I addressed myself anew to
the viscount.
"You sit there, monsieur, with all the blandishments
that Nature can lavish upon a man, the idol of the opposite
sex, the envy of your own, sated with success.
You see
before you one of the unfortunates of her caprice-one who
has but a single pretension to humanity, and that is invisible
—it is his heart! It is thought among you, that because I
have a rough exterior, to aspire to the beautiful is in me a
crime that I have no title to affections! Oh, monsieur,
could you but see the rich mine of love within this poor
exterior, treasured for none in this vast crowd save her―
this fairest creature, you would hold me in contempt no
more! Listen, Monsieur le Vicompte-I will conceal
nothing from you. I loved this lady from the first hour
Tobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton.
229
she blessed my sight, with a passion that consumed my
being, and left no choice between its gratification and utter
misery. She married me in hate her heart was turned
against me, and she would only consent to live, on condition
of a friendship so cold that my soul was frozen in its
element. Yet, day by day, I offered up an untired patience
a watchful affection, on this shrine. Hope was almost
dead within me, yet still I hoped! Love was ashamed to
feel so abject, yet still I loved! Behold the quality of my
affection-contrast it with that of the libertine! Oh, mon-
sieur, judge my feelings at seeing that which is mine, but to
which I dare not aspire, freely played for by you and
others. And for what? To throw away!
The very
terms by which I hold existence (for oh, madame,' I con-
tinued, turning towards her, 'nothing can quench my love
but death!') thrown by as a cast-off garment. You, mon-
sieur, are a man of fashion and of the world, yet, unlike
your peers, you have a fresh and noble heart. Plead for
me-in charity give me the influence of that seductive voice
which you renounce on your own account. You owe me
somewhat for my patience-teach her that there is a charm
in the innate soul greater than the man corporeal! Teach
her to believe that in me, unsightly and contemned, she
rejects all that man can offer, forbear, or suffer for her sake!
"I had not miscalculated the viscount; he arose from
his seat with emotion, and approached me.
"How little do we know the misery we inflict on
others!' said he. Noble De Perron, forgive me; and you,
madame, I ask your pardon. Cherish, I implore you, an
affection so devoted: show but an equal constancy, and the
world, which is now permitted to look on you with compas-
sion, will stand aloof with admiration. I will make what
amends I can,' he added, wringing my hands as he left the
room.
230
Modern Story-Celler.
"I conducted my wife to our home and made no altera-
tion in my conduct towards her, except that, if possible, I
was more humble, kind, and attentive, than heretofore;
while her self-abasement was so great, that it was many
days before I could restore her cheerful confidence.
"The viscount conducted himself as a man of honor, at
a cost that the mere man of ton would shrink from. He
stopped the mouth of scandal by the sacrifice of his own
vanity. The night following, madame was surprised
(though I was not) to see him enter our saloon, and with
perfect ease and assurance, pay his court to her as before,
and even in a more marked and public manner. After
what had occurred, this insult stung her to the quick (as
was his intention). A freezing coldness, not unmingled
with scorn, was returned by madame, which was soon per-
ceived by the assembly. For the next two nights he pur-
sued the same course, and submitted to the same ordeal,
making it to be understood that he had accomplished a
failure. He then retired with well feigned mortification
and confusion, thereby establishing the reputation of ma-
dame, and saving her from the attempts of others, as few
could hope to please where the most accomplished courtier
of the day had failed.
"Madame had bought experience, and became retiring
and circumspect, but was not adequate to the difficult task
of drawing lustre from a licentious circle by despising it—
an art which she afterwards acquired to perfection, as the
following circumstance will show.
"There was at that time in great vogue in Paris the
Chevalier de Roseville, a fellow notorious for every vice
under the sun. His real name was Bois le Dreux, from
the Lyonnais; like myself, sprung from humble origin.
This man could boast neither refinement nor accomplish-
ments; but he had a quick capacity, that could adapt itself
Tobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton.
231
to all persons and occasions. His figure was symmetrical,
and his countenance handsome, but faded with the pallor of
dissipation. He was a successful and unscrupulous gambler,
cruel and vicious in intrigue, a professed duellist, and well
known master of his weapons. He revelled in a princely
fortune, accumulated by cards and dice, and every imagi
nable species of villany. By means of his wealth he found
a way into the highest ranks of society, and by his remorse-
less reputation he held his way unattacked. If it could be
said I entertained a feeling of hate to any human creature,
that was the man. De Roseville, uninvited, mingled with
the visitors at my house. The retiring of the one was the
signal for the other's entrée; for the viscount was a sort
of game he did not care to come in contact with. He was
introduced by a party who did not dare refuse him; for it
was but a week previous that he shot a youth named De
l'Orme, of good family and inoffensive character, merely to
keep up his reputation and create intimidation.
"From the moment he entered my house this man esta-
blished himself at the side of madame: he became a com-
plete persecution. But I was not sorry for this, as I desired
nothing so much as to give her an entire disgust to these
impertinences. Already my courage had been canvassed-
a challenge, and, consequently, my death, was daily looked
for by the gaping crowd. In truth, my patience was well
nigh exhausted, when the viscount, who, from the time we
had come to an understanding of each other's character,
had been entirely in my confidence, gave me reasons to fear
that De Roseville had set his will that he would not be
baffled by madame, and it was probable that he would
resort to the base and desperate means which he was well
known to have taken more than once before, and which was
neither more nor less than an enlèvement. It was clear the
villain must be dealt with at once; but how, was a matter
232
Modern Story-Teller.
I
of no small deliberation, for, from the first, I had resolved
madame's name should not be sullied in the matter.
entered into a project with the viscount, and we together,
that evening, attended the club which he frequented. We
made for the table where he sat, and commenced play.
Our intrusion struck De Roseville with evident surprise:
he whispered to his companion, with an expression between
a smile and a sneer. De Roseville was as expert as a
juggler; let him shuffle, cut, nay but touch the cards, when
out of your hands, it was fatal. I was not long in finding
legitimate cause for attacking him.
"Monsieur de Roseville,' I said, addressing him in a
tone that drew all eyes upon us, and made the attack un-
flinchingly personal, 'I do not approve the manner in which
you have cut those cards. You have placed an honor-it
is the ace of spades!'
"I turned over the cards and showed the one named.
It was but a guess, however; yet, as the stakes were
heavy, and this was the card he wanted, the cheat might be
considered a certainty. He was confounded.
"I continued my attack.
"Your habit of cheating, and your impostures of all
sorts, are so notorious, that, if the company are of my
mind, every honest man amongst them will lend a finger to
lodge you in the street.'
રર
Play was suspended; all eyes were concentrated on
the stranger, who had dared to beard the lion in his den
De Roseville was livid with ire.
"You are tired of your life, monsieur, it would seem,'
he said, in a voice hoarse with rage.
"If I were,' was my reply, 'you are precisely the man
to whom I would come to rob me of it. But while I have
yet to live, I will make the most of my breath, by telling
you what you are-the hated and detested of all Paris!
Lobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton.
233
You are a remorseless and unscrupulous murderer! De
l'Orme, who never fired a shot till he faced you, and whom
you murdered to keep up your reputation for blood, is
hardly cold in his grave! The flesh is still firm upon the
poor Arnaud's bones, whom you put out of the way to
leave his sisters unprotected! Young Le Grange you killed
And
to stop his mouth, after robbing him of his fortune!
more-how many more are known to have been sacrificed
to glut your evil passions! Messieurs, you know these
things to be true! You know this villain, who crawls into
the very bosom of our families, leaving his track of venom
where'er he glides, to be a scoundrel, for whom the bagne
were too merciful! Is there no shame that you permit
such a monster to breathe amongst you? Is it that you
fear him? or are you willingly his fellows ?"
"I believed De Roseville to be a coward at bottom, but
who found courage in the impunity of success and skill. I
was determined to strike terror into his very heart, and
deprive him of his dangerous power.
“Villain !' I continued, how many families have you
ruined to acquire your wealth? How many of your victims
are at this moment pining in poverty and anguish, or have
been driven to madness and solitary death? Your daily
occupation is to betray innocence, and your nights are given
to plunder. You have shed blood enough to swim in;
and are feared and hated of all men-a curse to your
species.'
CC
(The table was between us, and he had risen, pale as
death, and stupified with the audacity and violence of my
attack. He glared around upon the spectators, but there
was a dead silence.)
"Will any one gainsay what I have said? Henceforth,
my friends, never fear a villain; for my part, when I meet
a wretch, who is not only out of the pale which protects all
234
Modern Story-Teller.
gentlemen, but beyond that of humanity also, I serve him
thus ;'—and seizing suddenly by the throat with one hand,
while the other grasped his collar, spite of a feeble resist-
ance, and a few random blows, I dragged him over the
table into the middle of the room. As a lutteur, or Breton
wrestler, I was too great an adept to let him keep his
equilibrium; and his dissipated frame was like a child's in
my grasp. There was a breathless silence, amounting to
awe, for it was felt I was to pay my life for this. At length
I threw him violently to the ground, and bestowing on him
a slight kick as a mark of contempt, I left the place accom-
panied by the viscount.
"To mark the point of what next followed, it is neces-
sary I should explain to you that, at the time when what I
am relating occurred, it was a common habit to fight duels
by proxy: that is to say, men of a similar description to
Venetian bravos were to be hired, at a hundred or two
francs; they were to be met with at every café of a certain
description, and would undertake your quarrel against any
individual you might wish to remove, by insulting him,
compelling him to come out, and shooting him—an event
which, as they were invariably good shots, was sure to
happen. It was their livelihood; and those who knew the
depravities which hung about Paris will bear me out, that
these miscreants augmented their price according to the
nature of the wound to be inflicted, or the death of the
party. Having thus far explained, that you may under-
stand what follows, I shall further observe with respect to
duelling, that there is no crime my soul equally abhors, nor
is there one more worthy of moral condemnation. At the
time to which I am referring, blood was shed like water;
and many ghastly bodies might be seen daily stretched out
at the Morgue, robbed prematurely of life. I used to feel in
passing this public receptacle, that no picture within the
Lobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton. 235
range of humanity could be more distressing; and was
weighed down with the reflection of the domestic distress,
broken hearts, and desolate hearths, caused by this legalized
but dreadful crime. The day following my attack on De
Roseville I was publicly insulted by one of these brigands,
and a cartel was immediately delivered, to which I returned
no answer. That night I was posted as a coward at the
most frequented club-room, and other public places in Paris.
I immediately caused the following note to be placed
beside the placard, wherever it was found:-
“Monsieur Perron knows not his challenger; but until
he has settled an affair with a polisson, who passes by the
name of 'The Chevalier de Roseville,' but whose real name
is ‘Bois le Dreux, an impostor from the Lyonnais, and who
is under his personal chastisement, M. Perron does not con-
sider himself at liberty. After that event, he pledges himself
to answer all comers, from a hundred to a thousand francs.'
"This ruse, therefore, failed; and the tables were com-
pletely turned on De Roseville, who had now no means of
escaping from contempt and obloquy but the field. I
received his challenge accordingly. In this case I was
resolved to leave as little as possible to chance. The choice
of the weapons was with me. I should have chosen to
fight an American duel, with the all-fatal rifle, but this
was not then in use, and I feared De Roseville, not know-
ing my expertness at the pistol, would raise an objection.
I therefore went to the Salle d'Armes, which he frequented,
and found him there, in the act of practising, surrounded
by a party of his colleagues, looking pale and disfigured
from our late scuffle. I bowed slightly and passed on.
This was an opportunity of making him know what he had
to expect, and I resolved not to miss it. I took twenty
236
Modern Story-Teller.
shots at the poupée (a doll as big as my thumb, made of
India-rubber, painted white, which dipped when struck,
and recovered itself by means of a spring). I displaced it
with ease every time: but I was somewhat embarrassed, as
I did not wish him to become aware of the secret of my
quick fire, and I dwelt upon my aim in a manner quite dif
ferent from my usual style. I heard from the viscount that
Roseville was aghast; his practice was bad, and altogether
he was quite out of himself. The duel was on the follow-
ing morning. Roseville had agreed to my proposition to
use rifles. You see that one hanging against the wall,
small in bore, and nearly six feet in length-a real Ken-
tuckian? It is the one I fought with. I doubt not you will
be surprised to hear that I insisted on madame's presence
at the duel; possibly you condemn such a measure; it cer-
tainly was an outrage against all prescribed rules of society.
But though I will not confess to eccentricity (of which I am
often accused), and for this reason, that my motives of
action are strong and consistent, whereas eccentricity is
more or less extravagant, and borders on absurdity; yet I
will admit, that in extraordinary positions I do not hesitate
to avail myself of extraordinary means to produce a result.
In fact, the air of my native mountains still influences my
nature, though full half my life has been spent in Paris. I
am a sort of mongrel, so to speak, between barbarism and
refinement. I will, however, state the reasons that actu-
ated me in this particular. I meant it as an effectual preven
tive to her being in future a prey to these hunters after
intrigue, these pests of society; intending she should sup-
pose our quarrel arose on her account, as in truth it did. I
had also a latent hope, that her seeing my life placed in
jeopardy for her, after my long patience and inexhaustible
kindness, would touch the right chord! You shall see how
far I was correct in this conjecture.
Lobe Passages in the Life of Perron the Breton. 237
"She never did, nor ever would have questioned my
will. I requested her to envelope herself in my large tra-
velling cloak, and to remain in the carriage a silent specta-
tor to whatever might occur. We took up the viscount,
and without exchanging a word reached the ground before
my antagonist had arrived.
"He was not long behind, and the preliminaries were
quickly arranged. We were to be placed at a hundred
paces' distance, and advance upon each other step by step,
with the option of firing at discretion. But woe to him
who should fire first and miss! His opponent had only to
approach and put the muzzle to his breast. Such was the
arrangement.
"I never once thought of failure, so entire was my self-
confidence; and I had, throughout, no intention of killing
my man -this would have been contrary to my fixed prin-
ciple. My object was to strike him on the right shoulder,
so as to disable the limb, and for the future put it out of
his power to gamble, intrigue, or murder, as he had been
in the habit of doing for so long a time. But now the mo-
ment was come, and I had the opportunity of doing what
the laws should have done for me-nerved also with the
conviction that I was making common cause with humanity
-my repugnance to shed blood rose powerful within me;
but I summoned all my firmness to go through with the
part I had assigned myself. As the shoulder would be
somewhat covered with the stock of the rifle, my aim must
be to the greatest nicety. I examined his piece; it was ill-
chosen for his, and well for my purpose, being very thin at
the stock, and badly balanced. His only chance was in a
near approach before he fired.
"We were placed.
"I looked upon madame; she was pale, but motionless
as a statue. I rodded cheerfully to her. The signal was
238
Modern Story-Teller.
given at that instant, and we advanced towards each other
at a funereal pace, our rifles poised, and fingers on the trig
ger-watchful as lynxes at every motion. This slow pro
cess-while death hangs in the air over one's head-is apt
to try the nerves. Mine were as cool as if I had been
waiting for a hart in the thicket. I have said, the secret of
my success depended on the quickness of my aim, for I get
an instantaneous sight. If he approached within sixty
yards I could execute any manœuvre I pleased. He came
within thirty yards-a murderous distance-he then stop-
ped rather suddenly, and brought his rifle to his shoulder ;
it was somewhat covered, but I fired and the ball went
straight as an ace to its aim; yet, keeping as closely as possi-
ble to the wood of his stock, which was carved, it glanced
against an angle and shot upwards. De Roseville whirled
round two or three times and fell on his face, his piece
going off in the air.
"When turned over he presented a spectacle too dread
ful to describe. His jaw was shattered, and the right eye
forced from its socket-a fitting spectacle for a duellist! I
felt sick at heart, and madame was horror-struck. We
drove rapidly home, without giving vent to our feelings in
words. Sobs, however, broke from her; and the move-
ment of the cloak in which she remained enveloped, showed
how powerful was her emotion.
"When we entered our room she rushed into my arms,
and threw herself upon my bosom, imploring forgiveness for
the past. I felt her heart throb upon my own—her tears wet
my cheek-SHE WAS MINE!!! Here, then, was at last an end
to all my sufferings!! To describe my feelings would be
impossible-rapture, too great almost for nature to support!
"From that hour to the present no cloud has passed
over our unvarying sympathies, not a cold word has broken
the harmony of our communion."
Tobe Passages in the Wife of Perron the Breton.
239
The narrative of M. Perron, told with all the earnest-
ness that the recapitulation would awaken in one who
could revel in the remembrance of past woe as compared
with present bliss, affected me with deep emotion. No-
thing could surpass the interest it excited in me, now that
I had become acquainted with my extraordinary host and
hostess.
M. Perron, also, subsequently concluded the fate of De
Roseville.
"For many years after the above happy termination of
all my sufferings, a man was led through the streets of
Paris in poverty and darkness, begging his bread. That
man was De Roseville! The injuries of the duel, in the
sequel, deprived him of both his eyes. The plunderer, in
his helpless condition, was, in his turn, plundered of his ill-
gotten wealth. He had neither friend nor conscience to
console him. The last few years of his degraded existence
were supported by a pittance which I caused to be delivered
to him by an unknown hand.
“The viscount redeemed himself even beyond my hopes,
much as I reckoned on his good natural dispositions. We
continue to live on terms of the sincerest friendship and
mutual esteem."
Here my narrative must end; and I hope my readers
will acknowledge, that an acquaintance with these particu-
lars of their early career added no little zest to the enjoy-
ment I experienced whilst domiciled with M. and Madame
Perron. I trust, also, they will share the regret with which
I tock leave of personages of such intrinsic worth.

D
Match-Making.
ARLY in a beautiful morning in the lovely month of
June, the pretty little village of Alderfield was all
astir, two or three gigs and other vehicles were
already drawn from their respective depositories, and pre-
paring for service, and now and then a fair face peeped
from an upper window, and was almost instantly withdrawn,
irradiated with a smile of pleasure at the favorable appear-
ance of the weather. Well might peaceful little Alderfield
be awake and alive, for this was the appointed day for Mrs.
Weatherhill's picnic party, which had formed the theme of
the village gossip and conjecture for the last ten days at
least.. To be sure only a select few of the villagers were
invited, but those who were out were naturally anxious to
know who were in, and those who were not going, had
risen thus laudably early to watch the movements of those
who were.
Mr3. Weatherhill, the promoter of the present festivity,
was generally considered by herself and others as the prin-
cipal personage in Alderfield, inasmuch as she possessed an
independent property, and decidedly took the lead in
Match-Making.
241
society on all occasions. Her house was the largest, her
dress the most fashionable, and her barouche the only one in
the village. She had no children, and was not in the least
impeded in the exercise of her will by a little fat gouty
husband, who seldom spoke at all, and when he attempted
to do so, was talked down at once by his lady. His own
fortune was small; she had inherited a large one at an early
age; and why she had married Mr. Weatherhill, nobody
could surmise, unless it was to show her entire indepen-
dence of opinion, and her perfect freedom of will.
She was a stout but very comely dame of forty-five or
thereabouts, with a pleasant voice and smile, a merry laugh,
and a manner peculiarly attractive from its warmth and
heartiness. She was a great patroness of "young people,"
especially young ladies, fond of "having them with her,"
and devising pleasures for them, sometimes not over-judi-
cious in their character. "What did girls go from home
for but to enjoy themselves ?" she would often remark, as
if home were a place destitute of enjoyments, instead of
forming the centre of the very best and purest pleasures.
So, when she had young friends staying with her, which was
very frequently the case, she took good care that they should
never "lose a day;" for she would have considered twenty-
four hours' respite from the pursuit of pleasure as so much
lost time. What with parties at home and abroad, by land
and by water, drives to the county town, and visits to
every exhibition that might happen to be stationed there
she contrived to keep her guests in a very undesirable state
of excitement from their arrival to their departure. At the
time my story begins, she had two very pretty girls for her
inmates, and it was principally on their account that she had
planned a party to Ilston Abbey, a fine old ruin some
seven or eight miles from Alderfield. A very wet season
had marred several previous projects of the kind, therefore
16
242
Modern Story-Teller.
Mrs. Weatherhill and her invited guests looked forward
with no little anxiety to the day, and watched the barome-
ter with intense interest. Great was the joy of all con-
cerned when a cloudless morning gave promise of some
hours of equally cloudless enjoyment, and all prepared with
alacrity to set forth. Mrs. Weatherhill had private reasons,
also, for wishing her plan to prosper. She considered this
party of much greater importance than as a mere matter of
amusement, and had anxieties and hopes on the subject as
yet only known to herself. She unfortunately delighted in
that mischievous and unwarrantable interference in the
affairs of others called match-making, and she hoped on
this occasion to lay the foundations of two marriages at
least. Two gentlemen, whom she asked to join her party,
seemed to her precisely suited to her two young guests, who
were neither of them, as far as she knew, pre-engaged; and
so far from suspecting that there was anything improper in
her designs, she gave herself great credit for planning two
such eligible unions. She was sure Arthur Bonnington
must want a wife. He must be dreadfully lonely in hist
rumbling old house, with nothing but his books to amuse
him and with his large fortune, it was a burning shame
that he did not marry. Could any woman be found more
sure to suit him than Lucy Austin, who was as quiet, and
almost as fond of books as himself; very pretty, well born
and bred; and supposing she had no fortune, what could
that signify to a man so wealthy as Mr. Bonnington? Mary
Granby, her other protegée, was a very different girl from
Lucy; but she would therefore be more likely to please the
fancy of young Scarborough, the surgeon, newly settled in
Y(the county town), who, as Mrs. Weatherhill said to
herself, must marry somebody at any rate, if he meant to
get into respectable practice. Mary was a handsome,
shrewd, showy girl, active and cheerful, and well able to
Match-Making.
243
take a prominent place in society-no small merit in the
wife of a medical man aiming at popularity. Moreover, she
had, or rather was to have, a thousand pounds, the legacy
of her godmother, but at present in her father's hands; he
having been executor to the old lady in question. Mrs.
Weatherhill, who, no one knew how, had a very intimate
knowledge of the private affairs of all her acquaintances,
was aware that Mr. Scarborough had also some property
independent of his profession: and the match seemed in
every way so equal, that she thought it would be an actual
sin not to try to bring it about. Anxiously, therefore, did
the "foundress of the feast" anticipate her picnic to
Ilston.
Nine o'clock, the appointed hour of assembling, had
arrived, and Mrs. Weatherhill's barouche was at the door,
and Mr. Weatherhill safely bestowed in one corner of it.
Then the young ladies took their places, and Mrs. Weather-
hill followed, having first seen divers well stocked baskets
and hampers, and sundry cloaks and umbrellas, packed into
a light cart, which was to attend them to the abbey. Then
came a family jaunting-car, with its family load-father,
mother, and three or four grown and growing-up daughters;
then Dr. Derwent's gig, bearing the worthy rector and his
lady; and lastly, Mr. Sanderson, the attorney's vehicle,
occupied by its owner, a sturdy old bachelor, accompanied
by his maiden sister. Thus the procession moved off, but
did not by any means include the whole party; for many
were to join it on the road, and several stragglers from
remote quarters were to meet the main body at the abbey.
Certainly Mary Granby looked very stylish in the smart
silk pelisse and gay hat which Mrs. Weatherhill had recom-
mended her to wear on the occasion; and Lucy Austin
never was prettier than in the simple white dress and straw
bonnet, which her own perception of the fitness of things
244
Modern Story-Teller.
had taught her to adopt. And Mrs. Weatherhill thought,
as she looked on them, that never were two damsels more
captivating, or more sure of conquest; the only fear that
shadowed her pleasure being, lest by any dire mischance,
either of the beaux should fail to keep appointment; lest
Arthur Bonnington should have been seized with a fit of
shyness or low spirits-no uncommon occurrence; or young
Scarborough called away to attend to some broken limb, or
case of sudden illness. But her apprehensions proved.
groundless; for when the party from Alderfield arrived at
Ilston, the two young men were already there; and it
seemed a good omen to Mrs. Weatherhill that they had
been punctual to their appointment.
Mrs. Weatherhill was now in her glory. Before the
loiterers of the company arrived, she had managed to
establish Arthur Bonnington as the temporary guardian of
Lucy Austin, and to fasten Mary Granby on young Scar-
borough's arm; and the group had soon dispersed among the
ruins, or were tracing the little winding paths of the neigh-
boring woods, with that quickly-increasing friendliness
which grows nowhere so rapidly as on a rural excursion,
such as this whereof I write.
It would take up too much space to detail all that was
said or done on that momentous day. Suffice it, that it was
unmarked by serious accident or unfavorable change of the
weather, which circumstances will occasionally mar the
delights of a party of pleasure; that Mrs. Weatherhill's
schemes seemed to thrive beyond her utmost hopes; and
that, before bidding them good-night, she had engaged
both Arthur Bennington and young Scarborough to dine at
her house early in the following week. The readiness with
which her invitation was accepted, she took as an excellent
omen of the impression already made on the minds of the
gentlemen in question by the charms of her fair visitants.
Match-Making.
245
From that evening to the day of her dinner party, Mrs
Weatherhill, when alone with Lucy and Mary, talked of
little except the two young men, who, she maintained, had
paid them such marked attention; and whilst Lucy, with
native delicacy, shrank from her rallying on the subject of
Arthur Bonnington, Mary, whilst deprecating far more
loudly the jest respecting Mr. Scarborough and herself,
evidently enjoyed it. She laughed and listened, and she
did not listen heedlessly. She was by no means so much
attached to a country home-in whose neighborhood eligible
bachelors were anything but plentiful, where she was under
the guidance of rather homely parents, and expected to take
an active part in the management of six younger brothers.
and sisters as to object to leave it, if a tolerably good
opportunity for doing so offered. Besides, having arrived.
at the age usually called that of discretion, she was exceed-
ingly anxious to get possession of her "own thousand
pounds," which, as we have said, were at present in her
father's hands. Her marriage would be an event, she
thought, after which he could have no possible pretext for
retaining it; and incited by these considerations, and Mrs.
Weatherhill's representations of the advantages of the
match, she boldly resolved that, if Harry Scarborough did
propose for her, she would accept him. If he did not, she
was not yet desperately in love with him, and there was no
harm done.
Full of these thoughts, she dressed herself in the most
becoming style she could devise, resolved that Mr. Scarbo-
rough should not find her less charming in a drawing-room
than in the ruins of Ilston Abbey; and so effectually did she
carry out her intentions on the occasion of their second
meeting, that Scarborough, during his long solitary ride.
from Alderfield to Y- owned to himself that she had
impressed him as no woman had ever done before. He had
"
246
Modern Story-Caller.
been for some time thinking of looking ou, for a wife and
hearing from Mrs. Weatherhill an account of the "high
respectability" of Miss Granby's connexions, accompanied
by a judicious hint of her forthcoming thousand pounds, a
few more visits to the enchantress decided his course. He
proposed, and was duly accepted; and Mrs. Weatherhill
thanked heaven, while she applauded her own foresight for
the favorable termination of one of her plans.
That her other project respecting Arthur Bonnington
and Lucy Austin was likely to end as much to her mind,
she was still doubtful; for though there were many symp-
toms which she deemed auspicious, there was little appear-
ance of progress in the affair. To any close observer,
indeed, it would have been evident that Lucy was any-
thing but slightly interested in this event. Her heart, with
its pure, young, untried affections, was already the prize-
alas! the unsolicited prize-of the quiet and somewhat
melancholy student. He evidently preferred her society
to that of any other member of Mrs. Weatherhill's circle,
and listened to her music, and pointed out the beauties of
his favorite authors, and talked to her by the hour together
in a low earnest voice, as he did to none beside. But it
was not of love—not of marriage. He was pleased to find
one so gentle and intellectual, who would listen unweariedly
to the revealings of his romantic imaginations and some-
what morbid sensibilities; and this, which in fact was but
refined egotism, poor Lucy received with love and grati
tude, as proofs of his affectionate confidence. It might
heve been so she might soon have grown necessary to his
happiness in this very character of patient and sympathiz-
ing confidante-and with her unselfish and devoted nature,
they might have been married and happy. But Mrs.
Weatherhill unfortunately took it into her head that she
could expedite matters by enlightening Mr. Bonnington's
S
Match-Making.
247
mind as to her own view of the case. She was convinced
his modest diffidence alone stood in his way; at any rate,
it was her duty not to permit Miss Austin's affections to be
trifled with. Accordingly, having contrived a tête-à-tête
with the tardy lover, she introduced the subject by naming
the approaching marriage of Miss Granby to Mr. Scarbo-
rough. From that it was easy to allude to the party to
Ilston, and thence to glide to the topic of his own supposed
attachment to Lucy. Mr. Bonnington heard her, first with
surprise, then with evident vexation.
"You really distress me, Mrs. Weatherhill; you are
laboring under some strange delusion. I consider Miss
Lucy Austin as a most excellent and estimable young lady,
but I have never for a moment thought of her in the light
you allude to."
"Then why, in the name of wonder, Mr. Bonnington,
have you acted in such a manner towards her? Why have
you paid her such marked attention ever since your first
introduction to her? I am sure Henry Scarborough has
scarcely showed a greater preference for Mary than you.
for Miss Austin; and now you tell me that it all meant
nothing."
"I told you no such thing, Mrs. Weatherhill. I said,
and I still say, that I respect and esteem Miss Austin; I
consider her in the light of one of my most valued friends;
but I have never given her cause to suppose that I wished
to engage her regard in any more serious character. You
forget also, that a great portion of what you call attentions,
I could not avoid paying to the lady, dictated as they were
by yourself."
"By me, Mr. Bonnington ?"
CC
Certainly. Did we walk, you bade me escort her;
did we dance, you solicited me as her partner: and so on
through all our intercourse. I will not say that I did not
248
Modern Story-Teller.
prefer these arrangements, but prudence would probably
have made me less exclusive in them but for your own
directions."
"Then my poor Lucy is to be deceived and deserted!"
exclaimed Mrs. Weatherhill; "that gentlest, most affec-
tionate creature, to be wounded so deeply and fatally.
Oh, Mr. Bonnington! you have deceived us all!"
"You use strong language, madam. I cannot accuse
myself of having ever wilfully deceived any one, and there
can be no desertion in a case like the present. In one
point, I both hope and believe you are mistaken.
I am
sure Miss Austin has too much good sense to bestow her
affections unsought; least of all, where there could be so
little inducement to do so. I am sorry, very sorry, this
misunderstanding has occurred, as it must, for some time
at least, deprive me of the pleasure of Miss Austin's
society."
So saying, he arose, and bidding Mrs. Weatherhill good
morning, abruptly quitted the house.
Yet, as he rode back to his lonely mansion, Arthur
Bonnington, in recalling the events of the last few weeks,
felt less at ease in his mind than he had anticipated. Now
that his attentions to Lucy Austin had been remarked upon
by a third party, they struck his own conscience in a way
they had never done before, and he felt that he was not
wholly free from blame, should she have misinterpreted
them. Yet Mrs. Weatherhill's conduct had been most pre-
posterous. Had that lady had the discretion to remain
quiet, had she not prematurely spoken to him on the sub-
ject of Lucy Austin, it is not unlikely that the gentle charms
of the fair girl might have wakened in a heart that deemed
itself for ever blighted a purer passion than it had ever
known. But Mrs. Weatherhill could not be passive; even
when things looked most favorably, she m ist interfere; and
Match-Making.
249
her eagerness in this instance had defeate l its own purpose.
Arthur Bonnington, as he rode home that day, came to a
conviction that he had narrowly escaped the machinations
of an inveterate match-maker, whose designs it was an
absolute duty to circumvent.
Meanwhile, how fared it with Lucy? She knew not,
till some angry expressions from Mrs. Weatherhill indicated
the fact, that some violent and unsatisfactory explanation
had occurred between that lady and Arthur Bonnington;
and, alas! with that knowledge came the bitter feeling that
she had been compromised and degraded in his opinion by
the imprudent conduct of one who ought to have shielded
her delicacy with the care of a mother. She said nothing;
but her varying color and trembling limbs told a tale of
mental suffering most intelligible to good Miss Sanderson,
who happened to be present when the disclosure took place.
With that tact which is an inestimable quality when united
to kindness of heart, she found a speedy pretext for with-
drawing Lucy from the room, and conducting her to the
quiet precincts of her own chamber. There a flood of
tears relieved the poor girl, and told more eloquently than
words the wound that her womanly feelings had received.
Alas! it was too true that Lucy had ventured to love,
before her affections had been explicitly sought by him to
whom she had yielded them. She loved, too, with a depth
and tenderness which Mrs. Weatherhill was quite unable to
appreciate. All her regret consisted in the failure of her
project for a "good match;" and she would have expected
Lucy to be consoled at once, could another as apparently
suitable have been found. To say that the station and
wealth of Mr. Bonnington had not contributed to increase
the brightness of the visions that had floated through
Lucy's mind, would be saying too much; but still she was
as far from being a mere speculating husband-seeker as any
250
Modern Story-Tell.c.
one could possibly be.
But she had a kind and generous
nature, whose impulses her contracted means had never yet
permitted her to gratify. Her father was an officer and a
gentleman; but beyond his half-pay, he had very little of
this world's wealth, and Lucy had certainly admitted the
idea of his happiness in her prosperity. Still, independent
of all these considerations, she had loved dearly and truly,
and now her vision-her bright and happy vision-was
dashed to pieces in a moment. There was nothing to
hope, except that Arthur Bonnington would utterly forget
her, since, as her awakened fears suggested, he could only
remember her with contempt and disgust. Could she have
followed her own inclinations, she would at once have
returned home; but Mrs. Weatherhill opposed her doing so
on two accounts; first, that it would seem as if she were
leaving abruptly on Arthur Bonnington's account; and,
secondly, that Mary Granby, who was to be married next.
month, could by no means dispense with her services as
bridesmaid. Mrs. Weatherhill had insisted that Miss
Granby's nuptials should be solemnized at Alderfield; and the
family of the bride, feeling all the convenience of the arrange-
ment, had not offered any very vehement opposition to it.
Lucy was spared the pain of seeing Mr. Bonnington
again during her stay, by his departure for the continent;
and could she have found consolation in the propagation of
an untruth, she might have received it from the general
report of the neighborhood, that he had left the country in
consequence of her refusal of him. A few days after his
interview with Mrs. Weatherhill, he set out for London, and
from thence proceeded to explore the beauties and romantic
features of the woods and mountains of Germany, a country
he had expressed a desire to visit. Amidst new scenes and
people, it was natural that the events of the past should
rapidly become less prominent in his mind; still there were
Match-Making.
251
times when the idea would intrude, that if Lucy Austin
were not a designing actor in Mrs. Weatherhill's schemes,
she had not been quite fairly treated; and remembrances of
her mild blue eyes, her varying cheek, and gentle voice,
intruded amidst his day dreams more frequently than was
quite consistent with his peace. Meantime, Lucy, under
Mrs. Weatherhill's auspices, was dragged from scene to
scene of gaiety, in which her sick heart could take no part,
and was at once longing for and dreading her return to her
humble home. The bitter idea that she had been lowered
in the estimation of him whose regard she valued above
that of every other person, was a sting in Lucy's bosom for
whose poison there seemed to be no cure. The time arrived
for the marriage of Mary Granby and Mr. Scarborough,
and Mrs. Weatherhill's exultation knew no bounds. Here
was a match that would in all probability have never taken
place but for her management; and so said the bride's
father, as he privately thanked her for the interest she had
taken in his "dear girl's" welfare,
Lucy Austin did not fall a victim to brain-fever, or
perish within a few months by the more insidious inroads
of consumption; but if a broken or a blighted heart be one
in which hope and happy love are crushed for ever, and
whose capacity for the keen enjoyment of life, which youth
should experience, is irretrievably lost, such was hers from
the time of her unfortunate visit to Alderfield. Her consti-
tution was never robust; and now, without being subject to
any specific disorder, she gradually fell into delicate health,
and in a year or two was considered amongst her friends as
a confirmed invalid. Her father died; and as the slender
provision he had been able to make for her was insufficient
to support her in the house they had hitherto occupied, she
disposed of her furniture, and went to board with a widowed
female relative who resided at a small watering place on the
252
Modern Story-Teller.
east coast of England. She never revisited Alderfield, and
her intercourse with that neighborhood consisted almost
entirely in an occasional correspondence with an old acquaint-
ance, Miss Sanderson, for whom she retained the most affec-
tionate regard.
Five or six years had now gone by, and how had Mrs.
Weatherhill's match-making prospered with Mr. and Mrs.
Scarborough? Even worse than poor Lucy's wooing; for
it was a mere union of apparent suitabilities, without any
genuine foundation for mutual happiness. Mrs. Weatherhill
had represented Mary Granby to her betrothed as a perfect
treasure of ingenuity and industry; and certainly in her
father's house, compelled by circumstances, she had dis-
played something of these qualities. But now, as a wife,
she thought she had a right to be exempt from what she
termed "mere drudgery," and having an overweening love
of display, a considerable stock of pride, and a fondness for
amusement, she was disposed to exercise her activity more
in spending money than in saving it. She discovered also,
within a very short time after her marriage, that Scarbo-
rough possessed a most violent temper; and to avoid its
explosions, and at the same time to obtain what she wished
to have, she descended to many mean and despicable subter
fuges, which, when detected, were sure to draw down upon
her a double portion of her husband's wrath. Besides, he
had a constant source of complaint in the non-payment of
the thousand pounds which her father still retained, and which
no application could draw from him; and this subject was
one which Scarborough never failed to mention when he
had any dispute with his wife. In short, constant bickerings
soon made their home a wretched one, and the husband
gladly left it to seek society and amusement elsewhere.
Mary, meanwhile, was not sorry for his frequent absence, as
she thereby was enabled to pursue her own course of extra
Match-Making.
253
vagance and folly with more freedom; and the end of all
this may be easily conceived. Scarborough got into diffi-
culties, lost his business, fell into intemperate habits, and at
the end of eight years after the gay bridal fête at Alder-
field, Mary found herself a widow, with two helpless
children, dependent on the bounty of her husband's rela
tives, whereby alone she was kept from utter destitution.
Arthur Bonnington's sojourn on the continent was pro-
tracted from month to month, till it had even extended to
years, and when he did at last return to his solitary mansion,
his visits to Mrs. Weatherhill were few, and the name of
Lucy Austin never passed his lips. But it happened one
day that business led him to call on Mr. Sanderson the
attorney, and as that gentleman was from home, his client.
requested to see Miss Sanderson, as he wished to leave a
message with her. He found the old lady sitting in her
little parlor, and as he was announced, she laid down her
spectacles and an open letter she had been perusing, and
rose to receive him. But in vain she begged him to be
seated; he heard as though he heard not, and stood for
some moments with his eyes riveted on the letter, which
seemed to absorb all his attention; for though it was years
since he had seen it, he recognised the graceful though
somewhat peculiar hand in which Lucy Austin, years ago,
had transcribed for him some pieces of poetry.
Great was Miss Sanderson's surprise when, with flushed
cheek and trembling voice, her visitor stammered out the
question, "If that were not the hand-writing of Miss Lucy
Austin ?"
"It is," was the reply; "it is a letter which I received
from her this morning."
Bonnington immediately inquired her present residence,
adding to his question a hope that she was well.
"She is living at L-," was the answer.
was the answer. "I am NT,
254
Modern Story-Teller.
to say her health is very indifferent. She has been delicate
ever since she was at Alderfield, some years ago; and latterly,
I fear, her illness is assuming a more alarming character.”
"Miss Sanderson," said Bonnington, after an embar-
rassed pause, "you are a friend of Lucy-you have ever
been so; for I well remember the respect and regard with
which she used to speak of you, even in the early days of
your acquaintance. I am anxious to ask you one strange
question, and, believe me, I do so with a true and single
purpose-not from curiosity, or for any other trifling reason.
Do you think that Lucy Austin had ever any regard-in
one word, do you think she ever loved me ?”
"You do, indeed, ask a strange question, Mr. Bon-
nington," said Miss Sanderson, "and I scarcely feel justified
in replying to it; but, trusting to your honor to keep my
communication sacred, I will venture to tell you that, most
unfortunately for herself, Lucy Austin did love you-
I could find in my heart to say, far better than you
deserved."
"Better, indeed," said Bonnington, sadly; "I must
have seemed false and heartless in her eyes, and in yours
also; but believe me, if I did trifle with her happiness, I did
so most unwittingly. My heart had scarcely recovered the
wounds inflicted by another's faithlessness, and knew not
that her gentle influence, sweet and soothing though I felt
it to be, could ever awaken a new affection within me. But
now I know that this might have been, and that a purer and
happier love than I had known before might have arisen
for me, had not Mrs. Weatherhill's premature interference
startled me from my dream. By her coarse intermeddling
she aroused the suspicion that I was merely looked upon
as a 'good speculation,' and the idea that Lucy knew and
acquiesced in her design was most repulsive to my feelings.
I determined to break through the net at once; I left Eng
Match-Making.
255
land in the first heat of my annoyance; but I have never
since met man or woman whose affection could be to me
what I now know Lucy Austin's might have been !”
Before Arthur Bonnington left Miss Sanderson, he had
determined to visit L without delay, and if he found
Lucy's sentiments respecting himself still unchanged, to
offer her the only compensation he could for the years of
suffering she had undergone, by proposing to make her his
wife. In a few days his journey was accomplished, and he
stood before the door of the humble dwelling that Lucy
inhabited, striving to still the beating of his heart before he
ventured to raise the knocker. The door was at length
opened, and he was shown into an apartment, evidently
prepared with some care for the reception of an invalid;
whom, his fears too plainly told him. The little old-
fashioned sofa was placed near the fire, and piled with
pillows; a small table was drawn up beside it, and on this
was laid an open bible, a plate with a few grapes, and a
small vase of flowers. In a few seconds the door opened,
and the mistress of the house entered. She was a pale,
thin, lady-like personage; and though evidently embarrassed
by the presence of a stranger, received Arthur with the
greatest politeness. When informed that he was an old
friend of Miss Austin, she shook her head, and said she
feared Lucy was too weak to see any one whose presence
might agitate her; but she also offered, if the gentleman
would leave his name, to endeavor to prepare her cousin to
meet him on the following day.
And on the morrow they met; he but little changed in
outward appearance since their first interview amidst the
woods and ruins of Ilston, she so wan, so wasted, so utterly
altered, that, but for her voice, and the expression of her
blue soft eye, he would scarcely have recognised her. It
was a solemn meeting; but Lucy was calm, for she knew
256
Modern Story-Tiller.
that her destiny was fixed, and she dreaded not to speak of
the past, which could exercise no further influence on the
future. It was in vain that Arthur talked of hope, of
renewed health, of years of love and happiness that they
yet might pass together. She knew it could never be;
yet she allowed him to call in further medical advice, and
to remove her to a more genial climate, feeling that, by her
compliance, she secured to him the after satisfaction of
knowing that all had been done for her which could be
done. But she told him these cares came too late; and she
told him the truth. Six weeks after his visit to L
Arthur Bonnington saw the earth laid over her who, but for
the officious meddling of a match-maker, might have been
living his happy and honored wife, blest herself, and
diffusing blessings around her.
Mrs. Weatherhill wept bitterly when Bonnington de-
tailed to her the circumstances of Lucy's death, and she had
no defence to offer when her own indirect share in the
catastrophe was referred to, except that she had "acted for
the best." But Bonnington's upbraidings were not without
a salutary effect. From that time forward Mrs. Weather-
hill, as much from terror of public opinion as remorse,
avoided interfering in any way with the marrying or giving
in marriage of her numerous friends and acquaintances.

M
**

143
44243
The Tapis Vert of Versailles.
E
VERY one knows and admires the magnificent carpet
of verdure spread by the elegant hand of Lenotre in
the gardens of Versailles; that long, smooth grass-
plot, whose flowery borders fringe the steps of the Grand
Terrace and the margin of the Apollo Basin. Lenotre's
tapis-vert, which in bygone times was trodden only by the
delicate feet of the beauties of the Court of the "Grand
Monarque," is now the summer evening resort of all the
petits bourgeois and rentiers of Versailles. The soldiers of
the garrison, and the nursery-maids in the service of the
neighboring families, have succeeded to the celebrated war-
riors and illustrious beauties of former days. The pages of
Louis XIV. are represented by the gamins of the Seine et
Oise, and Madame's charming maids-of-honor have given
place to the finely dressed wives and daughters of the
tradesmen of the Avenue de Paris.
Two centuries ago, at the date of the little story about
to be related, the Tapis Vert was the afternoon resort of all
the rank, beauty, and talent-all the royalty of monarchical
France. After some time passed in chatting and pro-
menading, the gay assemblage was wont to disperse, and
17
258
Modern Story-Teller.
forming little scattered groups, would retire into the
grottoes and bosquets, or wander through the labyrinthian
paths of the enchanting gardens. Louis XIV. sauntered
up and down, in all the pomp of his self-complacent dignity,
side by side with Mausard, who had raised the graceful
structure of the palace-with Lebrun, who had adorned it
with his pencil's magic art-with Girardon and Le Puget,
whose chisels had imparted almost breathing life to the
deities, nymphs, and graces of the heathen mythology-or
with Colbert, the bold agent of royal enterprises, ever ready
to receive or to impart a sublime idea.
Statesmen and generals usually collected together in
some remote corner of the regal domain. One of their
favorite haunts was the "Cent Marches," which possibly to
their frequent presence owes its name of "Escalier des
Géans." Beaux-esprits, poets, artists, and other profane
thinkers, loved to chat together in the orangery, amidst the
flowers and perfume of sunny Provence.
The reverend guests of the royal master of Versailles,
consisting of dignitaries of the church and cloquent preach-
ers, slowly paced up and down the famous Allée des Philo-
sophes, where Bossuet and his friends discussed important
affairs, temporal as well as spiritual. In fine, of all the
brilliant court of Louis Quatorze, there remained on the
Tapis Vert, at a certain hour in the evening, only the offi-
cers of the household, the King's pages, and Madame's
maids-of-honor.
Now for a glimpse at the innocent pastimes of the noble
demoiselles of that age. Let it not be supposed that Ma-
dame's maids-of-honor invariably employed their evenings
in flirting with the gay cavaliers of the Court, or in keeping
love assignations in the shady bosquets of the gardens! By
no means; they often took pleasure in diversions of a much
more childish character. For example--they were all as-
The Tapis Vert of Versailles.
259
sembled one evening on the Tapis Vert, trying who among
them could accomplish the feat of walking blindfold from
one end of the grass-plot to the other, without deviating
either to the right or to the left-without approaching the
lateral gravel walks, or touching the flowery borders at
either end. The perseverance with which they endeavored
to accomplish this undertaking was almost inconceivable.
Though each successively failed in the trial, yet with un-
flagging spirit they over and over again commenced the
tedious and difficult task, while every renewed attempt left
the problem of the straight-line still unsolved.
One of the young ladies-the loveliest of all the fair
group was resolutely bent on accomplishing the apparent
impossibility. This was Louise de Navarre; she had vowed
she would succeed, were it only for the sake of taunting her
companions on their failure; and as she possessed as much
pride, vanity, and wilfulness, as ever fell to the lot of any
daughter of Eve, she made it a point of honor to accom-
plish her vow, though its fulfilment would have been no-
thing short of a miracle. Nevertheless, she failed as well as
the rest. Her footsteps, though guided by the most careful
calculation, continually diverged from the right line, and
the disappointed young lady was saluted with the scoffs
and jeers of her laughing companions.
Mdlle de Navarre tore the handkerchief from her eyes
with an air of mortified pride; then turning to the newly
created Bishop of Condom, who was standing at a little
distance and gazing at her with an expression of sadness
mingled with regret-"Monseigneur," said she, "doubtless
your wisdom can throw light on this mystery. Pardon my
ignorance, Monseigneur, and pray explain to me why it is
impossible to do a thing apparently so easy as to walk blind-
fold in a straight line from one end of the Tapis Vert to the
other."
260
Modern Story-Teller.
"Mademoiselle de Navarre," replied Bossuet, in a low
tone of voice," when a lady is young, beautiful, and in-
discreet, she should not venture to walk on the Tapis Vert,
or any other carpet at Court, either with a bandage on her
eyes or a passion in her heart.”
(L
Why not?"
"Because she is likely to move at hazard-to deviate
from the right line-perhaps to fall, never to rise again."
"Your pardon, Monseigneur; I do not understand you."
"Louise," pursued the dignitary, in a tone expressive of
the kindest feeling, come with me to the terrace; I have
something to say to you. Shall I offend you if I call back
to your recollection a story which may, perhaps, be inter-
esting to you? Some day or other you will, I hope, thank
me for having directed your thoughts to it."
"Speak, Monseigneur; I shall listen with profound at-
tention," said Louise, as she followed Bossuet up the steps
of the terrace.
66
Mademoiselle," resumed the Bishop, "the story I am
about to narrate to you is of recent date. Only a very
short time ago, a young lady of noble birth and great
beauty came from her retired provincial home, to be pre-
sented at the Court of Versailles, in quality of maid-of
honor to the English Princess recently united to Monsieur,
his Majesty's brother."
"You allude to Mademoiselle de la Vallière."
No; but, like Mademoiselle de la Vallière, the lady's
name is Louise-I speak of Louise de Navarre."
"Of me!" exclaimed the young lady, coloring deeply,
and hanging down her head. Bossuet, without heeding her
confusion, thus continued-
"At the happy time when I first had the honor of
knowing Mdlle Louise de Navarre in the quiet home of her
mother, she was no more than fifteen years of age. Though
The Tapis Vert of Versailles.
261
richly endowed with talent and beauty, she was even less
remarkable for those qualities than for excellence of heart,
and above all for devout piety. In the habits of her mun-
dane life, Louise might be said to be at once proud and
humble. She was indulgent to every one; severe only to
herself and her own faults. Her manners were natural and
unaffected; her dress, simple and elegant. She was devout,
without hypocrisy; witty, without ill-nature; charitable,
without ostentation; liberal, without prodigality. In short,
she was a young lady whom I looked upon as nearly ap-
proaching to mortal perfection!"
"You judge me too favorably, Monseigneur."
"Stay, Louise, hear me out; I have not yet said all.
Notwithstanding these excellent qualities, Louise had two
great faults, which seldom fall to the lot of young women
of her age, and least of all when they are poor and pious.
Those faults were towering pride and boundless ambition!"
"Oh! Monseigneur, spare me!"
"You said just now, I judged you too favorably! But
hear me to an end. One evening, the courtly circle assem-
bled in Madame's drawing-room were listening to one of
the company, who was reading aloud some passages from
the writings of the prince of Latin poets. At every pause
of the reader, Louise gave utterance to her admiration of
the marvellous beauties of a text which she was not ex-
pected to understand. At length, the reader, laying down
the book, and turning to the fair admirer of Virgil, pre-
tended to express astonishment at her perfect knowledge of
the Latin tongue. 'Oh!' replied Louise, in a tone which
plainly betrayed offended vanity, 'I have not understood all
you read; but what I did not understand, I guessed!""
"I do not remember the circumstance, Monseigneur."
"Then I have done well to remind you of it. There is
another little incident which I am desirous of recalling
262
Modern Story-Teller.
to your memory. One day the learned M. d'Hozier had
the courage to tell Louise (whether in jest or earnest, it
matters not) that her family was neither very ancient nor
very distinguished."
"Well," replied the ambitious lady, "if I am not great,
I must try to rise-and I will rise !"
There a brief pause intervened, and then Bossuet con-
tinued as follows:-
tr
Among the visitors who used to be most constant in
their attendance at the little, quiet, unpretending parties.
given by the Countess de Navarre, there was a gentleman,
very rich, but very plain in person. He was not then
young; but in his earlier days he had been celebrated for
extravagance and dissipation. The frivolous, coxcombical,
and irreligious Marquis de Lansac loved to draw upon the
recollections of his past life for the sake of describing love
adventures and duels, or repeating profane jokes and here-
sies. But in spite of all this, the Marquis had some good
points he was at bottom warm-hearted and generous."
"Quite true, Monseigneur."
"Then you have not forgotten him-so much the bet-
ter! Doubtless the Marquis de Lansac, with all his vanity,
was conscious of his personal disadvantages, and he thought
to conceal them beneath the mask of borrowed vices and
silly impertinences. Strange to say, he took pains to make
his character appear even more ill-favored than his face.
"Such was the first adorer-or, I should rather say, the
first admirer of Mdlle de Navarre. The lady was pleased
with this admiration, and within the space of a few months
a complete metamorphosis was observable in the Marquis
de Lansac. He became exceedingly assiduous in his atten-
tions to the young lady. He was always respectful, always
gallant; sometimes tender, even to weakness.
He now
conversed like a man who loved morality, but who had
The Tapis Vert of Versailles.
263
not the courage to practise it. He spoke of virtue as of a
consolatory tradition which he had once known and forgot
ten, and which he was trying to recall. He spoke of reli-
gion as of a sacred ark, which he might worship at a distance,
but dared not venture to approach. When he alluded to
the dangerous follics of his past life, it was only to pro-
nounce commendation on reason and prudence. In short,
the sinner appeared transformed to a saint, when the Mar-
quis de Lansac knelt at the feet of Malle de Navarre, ren
dering homage to religion, virtue, and discretion.
"One morning, when on the point of returning to the
Court of France, the Marquis called to take leave of the
Countess de Navarre. On entering the door the servants
informed him that, only an hour previously, that venerable
lady had breathed her last.
"Some months after this event, the orphan Louise ap-
peared at the Court of Louis XIV., under the generous
auspices of her ardent friend, the Marquis de Lansac.
Through his influence, she was speedily attached to the house-
hold of Madame. She had said she would rise, and become
great
she kept her fatal vow . . . . she did rise."
"But I am yet very lowly, Monseigneur."
"One day, Louis XIV., on entering the Royal chapel,
beheld for the first time one of the maids-of-honor of
Madame, whose beauty appeared to him to eclipse that of
all the ladies of the Court of Versailles. This was no other
than Louise de Navarre, whom Madame de Montespan,
only a short time previously, had sought to condemn to the
penalty of ridicule, by surnaming her Une Statue de Pro-
vence . . . . little thinking how soon a capricious ray of
royal sunshine might warm and animate the beauteous
statue. But so it happened; and in a very brief space of
time the Marquis de Lansac found a rival
a redoubt.
able rival, in our Royal Master, Louis XIV !"
•
264
Modern Story-Teller.
"A rival in his Majesty !"
"Yes, you well know it, Mademoiselle; therefore why
dissemble and interrupt me?
"The charms of Louise de Navarre recalled to the
sovereign's heart the touching graces of Louise de la Val-
lière; and that tender remembrance doubtless had its effect
in augmenting the fascinating influence of the new maid of
honor.
"Next day, the Marquis de Lansac received notice to
depart on a diplomatic mission to Spain. He took leave of
his Majesty with no very good grace, and with but little.
gratitude for the mark of Royal confidence conferred upon
him.... From that time, the king's passion was no longer
a secret .... and there was little reason to doubt that the
religion and the virtue of Mademoiselle de Navarre would
speedily yield to the suit of her Royal lover.
"In the absence of the Marquis de Lansac a devoted
friend, an honest man, a priest of the Court, ventured to
address to the young lady the language of truth, at which
the futile passions of this world sometimes take alarm. He
unfolded to her eyes the dark spectacle of the future.-
Louise, if it will gratify capricious vanity to become the
queen of a day, you may possess a power which will last no
longer than a dream; you may have friends equally fleet-
ing, and enemies of more permanent endurance; you may
have a courtly train of attendants, and live in regal splen-
dor for a brief time; you may have horses, carriages,
servants, and guards; but you will have the hatred and
mockery of the court, and contempt of all honorable per-
sons; and some time or other, Louise, under the influence
of one of those sudden revelations with which God visits us
for our salvation, mysterious voices will in turn whisper to
you-'I am thy Father.-Where is my name?' 'I am thy
Mother. Where is my honor? I am thy Betrothed.-
The Tapis Vert of Versailles.
265
Where are thy vows?' 'I am Conscience.-Where is thy
virtue?' And finally the solemn voice of Religion will say
Hast thou forgotten thy God?"
"Reverend father," exclaimed Louise, throwing herself
on her knees before the prelate, "thanks-thanks for this
kind admonition .. I again behold the light of heaven!
I am humbled .... I am penitent. Henceforth let me for-
sake the Court let me renounce my culpable ambition
and my foolish hopes. . . . Yes, I now feel myself worthy of
your friendship. Conduct me hence, Monseigneur !"
"Whither would you go?"
• • • ·
"To the Carmelites-to join my sister, Louise de la
Misericorde."
"Be it so," resumed Bossuet; "for God is with you!"
Louise de Navarre retired to the convent of Mademoi-
selle de la Vallière. The ceremony of her profession took
place in the presence of all the assembled Court of Louis
XIV. The Queen of France presented to her the black
veil, and Bossuet delivered the sermon. After that day,
doubtless the two Louises-the two sisters of la Misericorde
-sometimes meditated, the one on what she had been, and
the other on what she had escaped being.
In after years, if Bossuet happened to see a giddy beauty
of the Court groping her way blindfold over the Tapis
Vert of Versailles, he used to think of Mademoiselle de
Navarre, and would murmur to himself—" Heaven forgive
her.... she is on her way to the Carmelites !"


S
The White Lace Bonnet.
ET no enthusiast of the pastoral or romantic school,
no fair reader, with eyes "deeply, darkly, beauti
fully blue," sneer at the title of my paper. I have
written it after much and mature meditation.
It is about two years since I was one of that strange and
busy mob of some five hundred people, who were assembled
on the platform in the Euston-square station a few minutes
previous to the starting of the morning mail-train for Birm-
ingham. To the unoccupied observer the scene might have
been an amusing one-the little domestic incidents of leave-
taking and embracing-the careful looking after luggage
and parcels the watchful anxieties for a lost cloak, or a
stray carpet-bag, blending with the affectionate farewells of
parting, are all curious; while the studious preparations for
comfort of the old gentleman in the coupé, oddly contrast
with similar arrangements on a more limited scale by the
poor soldier's wife in the third-class carriage.
Small as the segment of humanity is, it is a type of the
great world to which it belongs.
I sauntered carclessly along the boarded terrace, in-
The White Face Bonnet.
267
vestigating, by the light of the guard's lantern, the innates
of the different carriages—and, calling to my assistance my
tact as a physiognomist as to what party I should select for
my fellow-passengers-"not in there, assuredly," said I to
myself, as I saw the aquiline noses and dark eyes of two
Hamburgh Jews; "nor here, either-I cannot stand a day
in a nursery; nor will this party suit me, that old gentleman
is snoring already;" and so I walked on until at last I be-
thought me of an empty carriage, as at least possessing
negative benefits, since positive ones were denied me.
Scarcely had the churlish determination seized me, when
the glare of the light fell upon the side of a bonnet of
white lace, through whose transparent texture a singularly
lovely profile could be seen. Features, purely Greek in
their character, tinged with a most delicate color, were
defined by a dark mass of hair, worn in a deep band along
the cheek almost to the chin. There was a sweetness—a
look of guileless innocence in the character of the face,
which, even by the flitting light of the lantern, struck me
strongly. I made the guard halt, and peeped into the car-
riage as if seeking for a friend. By the uncertain flickering,
I could detect the figure of a man, apparently a young one,
by the lady's side; the carriage had no other traveller.
"This will do," thought I, as I opened the door, and took
my place on the opposite side.
The little lamp which hung aloft, gave me but slight
opportunity of prosecuting my favorite study on this oc-
casion. All that I could trace, was the outline of a young
and delicately-formed girl, enveloped in a cachmere shawl
—a slight and inadequate muffling for the road at such a
The gentleman at her side was attired in what
seemed a dress-coat, nor was he provided with any other
defence against the cold of the morning.
season.
Scarcely had I ascertained these two facts, when the lamp
268
Modern Story-Teller.
flared, flickered, and went out, leaving me to speculate on
these vague but yet remarkable traits in the couple before
me. "What can they be ?" "who are they ?" "where do
they come from ?" "where are they going ?" were all ques-
tions which naturally presented themselves to me in turn;
yet every inquiry resolved itself into the one, "why has
she not a cloak? why has not he got a Petersham?" Long
and patiently did I discuss these points with myself, and
framed numerous hypotheses to account for the circum-
stance-but still with comparatively little satisfaction, as
objections presented themselves to each conclusion; and
although, in turn, I had made him a runaway clerk from
Coutts's, a Liverpool actor, a member of the swell-mob, and
a bagman-yet I could not, for the life of me, include
her in the category of such an individual's companions.
Neither spoke, so that from their voices, that best of all
tests, nothing could be learned.
Wearied by my doubts, and worried by the interruption
to my sleep the early rising necessitated, I fell soon into a
sound doze, lulled by the soothing "strains" a locomotive
so eminently is endowed with.
Bang, bang, bang," said I aloud, repeating this infernal
"refrain,” and with an energy that made my two fellow-
travellers burst out laughing. This awakened me from my
sleep, and enabled me to throw off the fearful incubus
which rested on my bosom; so strongly, however, was the
image of my dream-so vivid the picture my mind had
conjured up-and stranger than all, so perfect was the
memory of the demoniac song, that I could not help
relating the whole vision, and repeating for my companions.
the words, as I have here done for the reader.
ceeded in my narrative, I had ample time to observe the
couple before me. The lady, for it is but suitable to begin
with her, was young, she could scarcely have been more
As I pro-
tr
The White Lace Bonnet.
269
than twenty-and looked, by the broad daylight, even
handsomer than by the glare of the guard's lantern; she
was slight, but as well as I could observe, her figure was
very gracefully formed, and with a decided air of elegance,
detectable even in the ease and repose of her attitude.
Her dress was of pale blue silk, around the collar of which
she wore a profusion of rich lace, of what peculiar loom I
am, unhappily, unable to say-nor would I allude to the
circumstance, save, that it formed one of the most embar-
rassing problems in my efforts at divining her rank and
condition; never was there such a travelling costume, and
although it suited perfectly the frail and delicate beauty of
the wearer, it ill accorded with the dingy "conveniency"
in which we journeyed-even to her shoes and stockings,
for I noticed these-the feet were perfect-and gloves; all
the details of her dress had a freshness and propriety one
rarely or never sees encountering the wear and tear of the
road.
The young gentleman at her side-for he, too, was
scarcely more than five-and-twenty at most-was also
attired in a costume as little like that of a traveller-a
dress-coat and evening waistcoat, over which a profusion of
chains were festooned in that mode so popular in our day,
showed that he certainly, in arranging his costume, had
other thoughts than of wasting such attractions on the
desert air of a railroad journey. He was a good-looking
young fellow, with that mixture of frankness and careless
ease the youth of England so eminently possess, in contra-
distinction to the young men of other countries; his man-
ner and voice both attested that he belonged to a good
class; and the general courtesy of his demeanor showed
one who had lived in society. While he evinced an evi-
dent desire to enter into conversation and amuse his com-
panion, there was still an appearance of agitation and incerti.
270
Modern Story-Celler.
tude about him which showed that his mind was wandering
very far from the topic before him. More thar once he
checked himself in the midst of some casual merriment, and
became suddenly grave-while, from time to time, he whis
pered to the young lady, with an appearance of anxiety and
eagerness, all his endeavors could not effectually conceal.
She, too, seemed agitated-but I thought less so than he;
it might be, however, that from the habitual quietude of
her manner the traits of emotion were less detectable by a
stranger.
*
We were alone then once more, but somehow the
interval which had occurred had chilled the warm current
of our intercourse; perhaps, too, the effects of a long day's
journey were telling on us all, and we felt that indisposition
to converse which steals over even the most habitual
traveller towards the close of a day on the road. Partly
from these causes, and more strongly still from my dislike
to obtrude conversation upon those whose minds were
evidently pre-occupied, I, too, lay back in my seat and
indulged my own reflections in silence. I had sat some
time thus, I know not exactly how long, when the voice
of the young lady struck on my ear; it was one of those
sweet, tinkling, silver sounds which somehow when heard,
however slightly, have the effect at once to dissipate the
dull routine of one's own thoughts, and suggest others
more relative to the speaker.
(6 Had you not better ask him ?" said she; "I am sure
he can tell you."
The youth apparently demurred, while she insisted the
more, and at length, as if yielding to her entreaty, he
suddenly turned towards me and said-
*
*
*
*
Ex
"I'm a perfect stranger here, and would feel obliged
if you could inform me which is the best hotel in Liverpool ?"
The White Lace Bonnet.
271
He made a slight pause, and added, "I mean a quiet, family
hotel."
"I rarely stop in the town myself," replied I; "but when
I do, to breakfast or dine, I take the Adelphi; I'm sure
you will find it very comfortable."
They again conversed for a few moments together, and
the young man, with an appearance of some hesitation, said,
Do
you mean to go there now, sir ?"
“Yes,” said I, "my intention is to take a hasty dinner
before I start in the steamer for Ireland; I see by my watch
I shall have ample time to do so, as we shall arrive full half
an hour before our time.”
Another pause, and another discussion ensued, the only
words which I could catch from the young lady being, "I'm
certain he will have no objection."
Conceiving that these referred to myself, and guessing
at their probable import, I immediately said "If you will
allow me to be your guide, I shall feel most happy to show
you the way; we can obtain a carriage at the station and
proceed thither at once.”
I was right in my surmise-both parties were profuse in
their acknowledgments-the young man avowing that it
was the very request he was about to make when I antici-
pated him. We arrived in due time at the station, and
having assisted my new acquaintances to alight-I found
little difficulty in placing them in a carriage, for luggage
they had none, neither portmanteau nor carpet-bag-not
even a dressing-case-a circumstance at which, however I
might have endeavored to avoid expressing my wonder, they
seemed to feel required an explanation at their hands; both
looked confused and abashed-nor was it until by busying
myself in the details of my own baggage, that I was
enabled to relieve them from the embarrassment the
circumstance occasioned.
272
Modern Story-Teller.
"Here we are," said I; "this is the Adelphi," as we
stopped at that comfortable and hospitable portal, through
which the fumes of brown gravy and ox-tail floated with a
savory odor, as pleasant to him who enters with dinner
intentions, as it is tantalizing to the listless wanderer
without.
The lady thanked me with a smile, as I handed her into
the house, and a very sweet smile too, and one I could have
fancied the young man would have felt a little jealous of, if
I had not seen the ten times more fascinating one she
bestowed on him.
The young man acknowledged my slight service with
thanks, and made a half gesture to shake hands at parting,
which, though a failure, I rather liked, as evidencing, even
in its awkwardness, a kindness of disposition; for so it is—
gratitude smacks poorly when expressed in trim and mea-
sured phrase-it seems not the natural coinage of the
heart, when the impression betrays too clearly the mint
of the mind.
66
Good-bye," said I, as I watched their retiring figures
up the wide staircase. "She's devilish pretty-and what a
good figure-I did not think any other than a French
woman could adjust her shawl in that fashion." And with
these very soothing reflections I betook myself to the coffee-
room, and soon was very deep in discussing the distinctive
merits of mulligatawny, mock-turtle, and mutton-chops, or
listening to that everlasting pean every waiter in England
sings in praise of the "joint."
In all the luxury of my own little table, with my own
little salt-cellar, my own cruet-stand, my beer-glass, and its
younger brother for wine, I sat awaiting the arrival of iny
fare, and puzzling my brain as to the unknown travellers.
My thoughts turned at once to their old track. “I
nave it," said I, as a bloody-minded suggestion shot through
The White Lace Bonnet.
273
my brain.
"This is an affair of charcoal and oxalic acid--
this is some damnable device of arsenic or sugar-of-lead-
these young wretches have come down here to poison them-
selves, and be smothered in that mode latterly introduced
among us. There will be a double-locked door and a smell
of carbonic gas through the key-hole in the morning. I
have it all before me, even to the maudlin letter, with its
twenty-one verses of bad poetry at the foot of it. I think
I hear the coroner's charge, and see the three shillings and
eight pence half-penny produced before the jury, that were
found in the youth's possession, together with a small key
and a bill for a luncheon at Birmingham. By Jove, I will
prevent it though; I will spoil their fun this time; if they
will have physic, let them have something just as nauseous,
but not so injurious. My own notion is a basin of this soup
and a slice of 'the joint,' and here it comes ;" and thus my
meditations were again destined to be cut short, and reverie
give way to reality.
I was just helping myself to my second slice of mutton,
when the young man entered the coffee-room, and walked
towards me. At first, his manner evinced hesitation and
indicision, and he turned to the fire-place, as if with some
change of purpose, then, as if suddenly summoning his reso-
lution, he came up to the table at which I sat, and said—
"Will you favor me with five minutes of your time ?”
"By all means," said I, "sit down here, and I'm your
man; you must excuse me, though, if I proceed with my
dinner, as I see it is past six o'clock, and the packet sails at
seven."
66
'Pray, proceed,” replied he, "your doing so will in part
excuse the liberty I take, in obtruding myself upon you."
He paused, and although I waited for him to resume, he
appeared in no humor to do so, but seemed more confused
than before.
18
274
Modern Story-Teller.
"Hang it," said he at length, "I am a very bungling
negotiator, and never, in my life, could manage a matter of
any difficulty."
"Take a glass of sherry," said I; "tr, if that may not
assist to recall your faculties."
"No, no," cried he, "I have taken a bottle of it
already, and, by Jove, I rather think my head is only the
more addled. Do you know that I am in a most con-
founded scrape? I have run away with that young lady;
we were at an evening party last night together, and came
straight away from the supper-table to the train."
"Indeed!” said I, laying down my knife and fork, not a
little gratified that I was at length to learn the secret that
had so long teazed me. "And so you have run away with
her!"
"Yes; it was no sudden thought, however-at least, it
was an old attachment; I have known her these two
months."
"Oh! oh!" said I; "then there was prudence in the
affair."
"Perhaps you will say so," said he, quickly, "when I tell
you she has £30,000 in the Funds, and something like £1,700
a year besides—not that I care a straw for the money—but
in the eye of the world that kind of thing has its éclat."
"So it has," said I, "and a very pretty éclat it is, and
one that, somehow or another, preserves its attractions
much longer than most surprises; but I do not see the
scrape after all.”
the room.
"I am coming to that," said he, glancing timidly around
"The affair occurred this wise: we were at an
evening party-a kind of dejeuner, it was, on the Thames-
Charlotte came with her aunt- -a shrewish old damsel, that
has no love for me: in fact, she very soon saw my game,
and resolved to thwart it. Well, of course, I was obliged
The White Face Bonnet.
275
to be most circumspect, and did not venture to approach
her, not even to ask her to dance, the whole evening. As
it grew late, however, I either became more courageous or
less cautious, and I did ask her for a waltz. The old lady
bristled up at once, and asked for her shawl. Charlotte
accepted my invitation, and said she would certainly not
retire so early; and I, to cut the matter short, led her to
the top of the room. We waltzed together, and then 'ad
a galoppe, and after that some champagne, and then another
waltz; for Charlotte was resolved to give the old lady a
lesson-she has spirit for anything! Well, it was growing
late by this time, and we went in search of the aunt at last;
but, by Jove! she was not to be found. We hunted every-
where for her, looked well in every corner of the supper-
room, where it was most likely we should discover her; and
at length, to our mutual horror and dismay, we learned,
that she had ordered her carriage up a full hour before, and
gone off, declaring that she would send Charlotte's father
to fetch her home, as she herself possessed no influence
over her. Here was a pretty business-the old gentleman
being, as Charlotte often told me, the most choleric man in
England. He had killed two brother officers in duels, and
narrowly escaped being hanged at Maidstone for shooting
a waiter who delayed bringing him hot water to shave-a
pleasant old boy to encounter on such an occasion as this!
"He will certainly shoot me-he will shoot you-he
will kill us both!" were the only words she could utter;
and my blood actually froze at the prospect before us.
You may smile if you like; but let me tell you, that an
outraged father, with a pair of patent revolving pistols, is
no laughing matter. There was nothing for it, then, but to
'bolt.' She saw that as soon as I did; and although she
endeavored to persuade me to suffer her to return home
alone, that, you know, I never could think of; and so, after
276
Modern Story-Teller.
some little demurrings, some tears, and some resistance, we
got to the Euston-square station, just as the train was going
You may easily think that neither of us had much time for
preparation. As for myself, I have come away with a ten
pound note in my purse, not a shilling more have I in my
possession, and here we are now, half of the sum spent
already, and how we are to get on to the north, I cannot,
for the life of me, conceive."
"Oh! that's it," said I, peering at him shrewdly from
under my eyelids.
"Yes, that's it; don't you think it is bad enough?” and
he spoke the words with a reckless frankness that satis-
fied all my scruples. "I ought to tell you," said he, "that
my name is Blunden. I am a lieutenant in the Buffs, on
leave; and now that you know my secret, will you lend me
twenty pounds? which, perhaps, may be enough to carry us
forward at least, it will do, until it will be safe for me to
write for money."
..
"But what would bring you to the north,” said I;
"why not put yourselves on board the mail-packet this
evening, and come to Dublin? We will marry you there
just as cheaply; pursuit of you will be just as difficult; and,
I'd venture to say, you might choose a worse land for the
honeymoon."
"But I have no money," said he; "you forget that."
"For the matter of money," said I, "make your mind
easy. If the young lady is going away with her own con-
scnt-if, indeed, she is as anxious to get married as you are,
make me the banker, and I'll give her away, be the bride's-
maid, or anything else you please."
"You are a trump," said he, helping himself to another
glass of my sherry; and then filling out a third, which
emptied the bottle, he slapped me on the shoulder, and
said, "Here's your health; now come up-stairs.”
The White Lace Bonnet
277
Stop a moment," said I, "I must see her alone-there
must be no tampering with the evidence."
He hesitated for a second, and surveyed me from head
to foot, and whether it was the number of my double chins
or the rotundity of my waistcoat divested his mind of any
jealous scruples, but he smiled coolly, and said, "So you
shall, old buck—we will never quarrel about that.”
Up-stairs we went accordingly, and into a handsome
drawing-room on the first floor, at one end of which, with
her head buried in her hands, the young lady was sitting.
"Charlotte," said he, "this gentleman is kind enough
to take an interest in our fortunes, but he desires a few
words with you alone."
I waved my hand to him to prevent his making any
further explanation, and as a signal to withdraw he took
the hint and left the room.
(C
Now, thought I, this is the second act of the drama-
what the deuce am I to do here! In the first place, some
might deem it my duty to admonish the young damsel on
the impropriety of the step, to draw an afflicting picture of
her family, to make her weep bitter tears, and end by per-
suading her to take a first-class ticket in the up-train. This
would be the grand parento-moral line, and I shame to con-
fess it, it was never my forte. Secondly, I might pursue
the inquiry suggested by myself, and ascertain her real
sentiments. This might be called the amico-auxiliary line.
Or, lastly, I might try a little what might be done on my
own score, and not see £30,000 and £1,700 a year squan-
dered by a cigar-smoking lieutenant in the Buffs. As there
may be different opinions about this line, I shall not give it
a name. Suffice it to say, that, notwithstanding a sly peep
at as pretty a throat and as well-rounded an instep as ever
tempted a "government Mercury," I was true to my trist,
and opened the negotiation on the honest footing.
278
Modern Story-Teller.
3
"Do you love him, my little darling?" said I; for some
how consolation always struck me as own-brother to love-
making. It is like endorsing a bill for a friend, which,
though he tells you he'll meet, you always feel responsible
for the money.
She turned upon me an arch look. By St. Patrick, I
half regretted I had not tried number three, as, in the sweet-
est imaginable voice, she said—
"Do you doubt it ?”
I wish I could, thought I to myself. No matter, it was
too late for regrets, and so I ascertained, in a very few
minutes, that she corroborated every portion of the state-
ment, and was as deeply interested in the success of the
adventure as himself.
"That will do," said I. "He is a lucky fellow-I always
heard the Buffs were ;" and with that I descended to the
coffee-room, where the young man awaited me with the
greatest anxiety.
"Are you satisfied ?" cried he, as I entered the room.
"Perfectly," was my answer. "And now let us lose no
more time; it wants but a quarter to seven, and we must
be on board in ten minutes."
As I have already remarked, my fellow-travellers were
not burdened with luggage, so there was little difficulty in
expediting their departure; and in half an hour from that
time we were gliding down the Mersey, and gazing on the
spangled lamps which glittered over the great city of soap,
sugar, and sassafras, train-oil, timber, and tallow. The
young lady soon went below, as the night was chilly; but
Blunden and myself walked the deck until near twelve
o'clock, chatting over whatever came uppermost, and giving
me an opportunity to perceive that, without possessing any
remarkable ability or cleverness, he was one of those off-
hand, candid, clear-headed young fellows, who, when
The White Lace Bonnet.
279
trained in the admirable discipline of the mess, become
the excellent specimens of well conducted, well mannered
gentlemen our army abounds with.
We arrived in due course in Dublin. I took my friends
up to Morrison's, drove with them after breakfast to a
fashionable milliner's, where the young lady, with an
admirable taste, selected such articles of dress as she cared
for, and I then saw them duly married. I do not mean to
say that the ceremony was performed by a bishop, or that
a royal duke gave her away; neither can I state that the
train of carriages comprised the equipages of the leading
nobility. I only vouch for the fact that a little man, with
a black eye and a sinister countenance, read a ceremony of
his own composing, and made them write their names in a
great book, and pay thirty shillings for his services; after
which I put a fifty-pound note into Blunden's hand, saluted
the bride, and, wishing them every health and happiness,
took my leave.
They started at once with four posters for the north,
intending to cross over to Scotland. My engagements
induced me to leave town for Cork, and in less than a fort-
night I found at my club a letter from Blunden, inclosing
the fifty pounds, with a thousand thanks for my prompt.
kindness, and innumerable affectionate reminiscences from
Madame. They were as happy as-
confound it, every
one is happy for a week or a fortnight, so I crushed the
letter-pitched it into the fire-was rather pleased with
myself for what I had done, and thought no more of the
whole transaction.
Here then my tale should have an end, and the moral is
obvious. Indeed I am not certain but some may prefer it
to that which the succeeding portion conveys, thinking that
the codicil revokes the body of the testament. However
that may be, here goes for it.
280
Modern Story-Teller.
It was about a year after this adventure, that I made
one of a party of six, travelling up to London by the
"Grand Junction." The company were chatty, pleasant
folk, and the conversation, as often happens among utter
strangers, became anecdotic; many good stories were told
in turn, and many pleasant comments made on them, when
at length it occurred to me to mention the somewhat singu-
lar rencontre I have already narrated, as having happened
to myself.
Strange enough," said I, "the last time I journeyed
along this line, nearly this time last year, a very remarkable
occurrence took place. I happened to fall in with a young
officer of the Buffs, eloping with an exceedingly pretty
girl; she had a large fortune, and was in every respect a
catch;' he ran away with her from an evening party, and
never remembered until he arrived at Liverpool, that he
had no money for the journey. In this dilemma, the young
fellow, rather spooney about the whole thing, I think would
have gone quietly back by the next train, but, by Jove, I
couldn't satisfy my conscience that so lovely a girl should
be treated in such a manner. I rallied his courage, took
him over to Ireland in the packet, and got them married
next morning."
"Have I caught you at last, you old meddling scoundrel?"
cried a voice, hoarse and discordant with passion, from the
opposite side, and at the same instant a short, thick-set old
man, with shoulders like a Hercules, sprang at me; with
one hand he clutched me by the throat, and with the other
he pummelled my head against the panel of the convey-
ance, and with such violence, that many people in the next
carriage averred that they thought we had run into the
down train. So sudden was the old wretch's attack, and so
infuriate withal, it took the united force of the other pas
sengers to detach him from my neck; and even then, as
८
64
The White Face Bonnet.
281
Never
they drew him off, he kicked at me like a demon.
has it been my lot to witness such an outbreak of wrath;
and indeed, were I to judge from the symptoms it occasioned,
the old fellow had better not repeat it, or assuredly apoplexy
would follow.
"That villain-that old ruffian," said he, glaring at me
with flashing eye-balls, while he menaced me with his closed
fist, "that cursed, meddling scoundrel is the cause of the
greatest calamity of my life."
66
"Are you her father, then?" articulated I faintly, for a
misgiving came over me that my boasted benevolence might
Are you her father?”
prove a mistake.
The words were
not out, when he dashed at me once more, and were it not for
the watchfulness of the others, inevitably had finished me.
"I've heard of you, my old buck," said I, affecting a
degree of ease and security my heart sadly belied. "I've
heard of your dreadful temper already-I know you can't
control yourself. I know all about the waiter at Maid-
stone. By Jove, they did not wrong you, and I am not
surprised at your poor daughter leaving you"-but he
would not suffer me to conclude, and once more his wrath
boiled over, and all the efforts of the others were barely
sufficient to calm him into a semblance of reason.
There would be no end to my narrative if I endeavored
to convey to my reader the scene which followed, or
recount the various outbreaks of passion, which ever and
anon interrupted the old man, and induced him to diverge
into sundry little byways of lamentation over his misfor
tune, and curses upon my meddling interference. Indeed
his whole narrative was conducted more in the staccato
style of an Italian opera father, than in the homely wrath of
an English parent. The wind-up of these dissertations being
always to the one purpose, as with a look of scowling pas-
sion, directed towards me, he said:--
282
Modern Story-Teller.
Only wait till we reach the station, and see if I won't
do for you."
His tale in a few words amounted to this. He was the
Squire Blunden-the father of the lieutenant in the "Buffs."
The youth had formed an attachment to a lady, whom he
had accidentally met in a Margate steamer. The circumstan-
ces of her family and fortune were communicated to him
in confidence by herself, and although she expressed her
conviction of the utter impossibility of obtaining her father's
consent to any untitled match, she as resolutely refused to
elope with him. The result, however, was as we have seen;
she did elope-was married-they made a wedding tour in
the Highlands, and returned to Blunden-Hall two months
after, where the old gentleman welcomed them with affec-
tion and forgiveness. About a fortnight after their return,
it was deemed necessary to make inquiry as to the circum-
stances of her estate and funded property, when the young
lady fell upon her knees-wept bitterly and said she had
not a sixpence that the whole thing was a rouse; " that
she paid five pounds for a choleric father, three, ten, for
an aunt, warranted to wear "satin;" in fact, that she had
been twice married before, and had heavy misgivings that
the husbands were still living.
66
(6
There was nothing left for it but compromise.
"I gave her," said he, "five hundred pounds to go to
the devil, and I registered the same day a solemn oath,
that if I ever met the same Tramp, he should carry the im
press of my
of my knuckles on his face to the day of his death.”
The train reached IIarrow as the old gentleman spoke.
I waited until it was again in motion, and flinging wide the
door, I sprang out, and from that day to this have strictly
avoided forming acquaintances with a white lace bonnet,
even at a distance, or ever befriending a lieutenant in the
Buffs.

<D+D+D+D
The First and Last Dinner.
a
WELVE friends, much about the same age, and fixed
by their pursuits, their family connexions, and other
local interests, as permanent inhabitants of the
metropolis, agreed, one day when they were drinking their
wine at the Star and Garter at Richmond, to institute an
annual dinner among themselves, under the following
regulations: That they should dine alternately at each
other's houses on the first and last day of the year; that
the first bottle of wine uncorked at the first dinner, should
be recorked and put away, to be drunk by him who should
be the last of their number; that they should never admit
a new member; that when one died, eleven should meet,
and when another died, ten should meet, and so on; and
that when only one remained, he should on those two days
dine by himself, and sit the usual hours at his solitary
table; but the first time he so dined alone, lest it should
be the only one, he should then uncork the first bottle, and,
in the first glass, drink to the memory of all who were gone.
There was something original and whimsical in the idea,
and it was eagerly embraced. They were all in the prime
284
Modern Story-Teller.
of life, closely attached by reciprocal friendship, fond of
social enjoyments, and looked forward to their future
meetings with unalloyed anticipations of pleasure. The
only thought, indeed, that could have darkened those anti-
cipations was one not very likely to intrude itself at this
moment, that of the helpless wight who was destined to
uncork the first bottle at his lonely repast.
1
It was high summer when this frolic compact was
entered into; and as their pleasure-yacht skimmed along
the dark bosom of the Thames, on their return to London,
they talked of nothing but their first and last feasts of
ensuing years. Their imaginations ran riot with a thou-
sand gay predictions of festive merriment. They wantoned
in conjectures of what changes time would operate; joked
each other upon their appearance when they should meet,
-some hobbling upon crutches after a severe fit of the
gout,―others poking about with purblind eyes, which even
spectacles could hardly enable to distinguish the alderman's
walk in a haunch of venison,-some with portly round bel-
lies and tidy little brown wigs, and others decently dressed
out in a new suit of mourning for the death of a great-grand-
daughter or a great-grand-son. Palsies, wrinkles, toothless
gums, stiff hams, and poker knees, were bandied about in
sallics of exuberant mirth, and appropriated, first to one
and then to another, as a group of merry children would
have distributed golden palaces, flying chariots, diamond
tables, and chairs of solid pearl, under the fancied possession
of a magician's wand which could transform plain brick and
timber, and humble mahogany into such costly treasures.
"As for you, George," exclaimed one of the twelve,
addressing his brother-in-law, "I expect I shall see you
as dry, withered, and shrunken as an old eel-skin, you mere
outside of a man !" and he accompanied the words with
a hearty slap on the shoulder.
The First and Last Dinner.
285
George Fortescue was leaning carelessly over the side of
the yacht, laughing the loudest of any at the conversation
which had been carried on. The sudden manual salutation
of his brother-in-law threw him off his balance, and in a
moment he was overboard. They heard the heavy splash
of his fall before they could be said to have seen him fall.
The yacht was proceeding swiftly along; but it was
instantly stopped.
The utmost consternation now prevailed. It was nearly
dark, but Fortescue was known to be an excellent swimmer,
and startling as the accident was, they felt certain he would
regain the vessel. They could not see him. They listened.
They heard the sound of his hands and feet. They hailed
him. An answer was returned, but in a faint gurgling
voice, and the exclamation "Oh, God!" struck upon their
ears. In an instant two or three, who were expert swim-
mers, plunged into the river, and swam towards the spot
whence the exclamation had proceeded. One of them was
within an arm's length of Fortescue: he saw him; he was
struggling and buffeting the water; before he could be
reached, he went down, and his distracted friend beheld the
cddying circles of the wave just over the spot where he had
sunk. He dived after him, and touched the bottom; but
the tide must have drifted the body onwards, for it could
not be found!
They proceeded to one of the nearest stations where
drags were kept, and having procured the necessary appara-
tus, they returned to the fatal spot. After the lapse of
above an hour, they succeeded in raising the lifeless body of
their lost friend. All the usual remedies were employed for
restoring suspended animation; but in vain; and they now
pursued the remainder of their course to London, in
mournful silence, with the corpse of him who had com
menced the day of pleasure with them in the fulness of
286
Modern Story-Teller.
health, of spirits, and of life! Amid their severer grief,
they could not but reflect how soon one of the joyous
twelve had slipped out of the little festive circle.
The months rolled on, and cold December came with all
its cheering round of kindly greetings and merry hospitali-
ties and with it came a softened recollection of the fate of
poor Fortescue; eleven of the twelve assembled on the last
day of the year, and it was impossible not to feel their loss
as they sat down to dinner. The very irregularity of the
table, five on one side, and only four on the other, forced
the melancholy event upon their memory.
There are few sorrows so stubborn as to resist the united
influence of wine, a select circle of friends, and a season of
prescriptive gaiety. Even those pinching troubles of life,
which come home to a man's own bosom, will light up a
smile, in such moments, at the beaming countenances and
jocund looks of all the rest of the world; while your mere
sympathetic or sentimental distress gives way, like the
inconsolable affliction of a widow of twenty, closely
besieged by a lover of thirty.
A decorous sigh or two, a few becoming ejaculations,
and an instructive observation upon the uncertainty of life,
made up the sum of tender posthumous " offerings to the
manes of poor George Fortescue," as they proceeded to
discharge the more important duties for which they had
met. By the time the third glass of champagne had gone
round, in addition to sundry potations of fine old hock
and "capital madeira," they had ceased to discover any
thing so very pathetic in the inequality of the two sides of
the table, or so melancholy in their crippled number of
eleven.
The rest of the evening passed off to their hearts'
content. Conversation was briskly kept up amid the usual
fire of pun, repartee, anecdote, politics, toasts, healths, jokes,
The First and Fast Dinner.
287
broad laughter, erudite disquisitions upon the vintage of
the wires they were drinking, and an occasional song
Towards twelve o'clock, when it might be observed that
they emptied their glasses with less symptoms of palating the
quality of what they quaffed, and filled them again with
less anxiety as to which bottle or decanter they laid hold of,
they gradually waxed moral and tender; sensibility began
to ooze out; "poor George Fortescue!" was once more
remembered: those who could count, sighed to think there
were only eleven of them; and those who could see, felt the
tears come into their eyes, as they dimly noted the inequal-
ity of the two sides of the table. They all agreed, at
parting, however, that they had never passed such a happy
day, congratulated each other upon having instituted so
delightful a meeting, and promised to be punctual to their
appointment the ensuing evening, when they were to cele-
brate the new-year, whose entrance they had welcomed in
bumpers of claret, as the watchman bawled "past twelve!"
beneath the window.
They met accordingly; and their gaiety was without any
alloy or drawback. It was only the first time of their
assembling, after the death of "poor George Fortescue,"
that made the recollection of it painful; for, though but a
few hours had intervened, they now took their seats at the
table, as if eleven had been their original number, and as if
all were there that had been ever expected to be there.
It is thus in everything. The first time a man enters a
prison-the first book an author writes-the first painting
an artist executes the first battle a general wins-nay, the
first time a rogue is hanged (for a rotten rope may provide
a second performance, even of that ceremony, with all its
singleness of character), differ inconceivably from their first
repetition. There is a charm, a spell, a novelty, a freshness,
a delight, inseparable from the first experience (hanging al
288
Modern Story-Teller.
ways excepted, be it remembered), which no art or circum-
stance can impart to the second. And it is the same in all
the darker traits of life. There is a degree of poignancy
and anguish in the first assaults of sorrow which is never
found afterwards. Ask the weeping widow, who, "like
Niobe all tears," follows her fifth husband to the grave, and
she will tell you that the first time she performed that
melancholy office, it was with at least five times more
lamentations than she last discharged it. In every case, it
is simply that the first fine edge of our feelings has been
taken off, and that it can never be restored.
Several years had elapsed, and our eleven friends kept
up their double anniversaries, as they might aptly enough
be called, with scarcely any perceptible change. But, alas!
there came one dinner at last, which was darkened by a
calamity they never expected to witness, for on that very
day, their friend, companion, brother almost, was hanged!
Yes! Stephen Rowland, the wit, the oracle, the life of their
little circle, had, on the morning of that day, forfeited his
life upon a public scaffold, for having made one single stroke
of his pen in a wrong place. In other words, a bill of
exchange which passed into his hands for L.700, passed out
of it for L.1700; he having drawn the important little prefix
to the hundreds, and the bill being paid at the banker's
without examining the words of it. The forgery was dis-
covered, brought home to Rowland,-and though the
greatest interest was used to obtain a remission of the fatal
penalty (the particular female favorite of the prime minister
himself interfering), poor Stephen Rowland was hanged.
Everybody pitied him; and nobody could tell why he did
it. He was not poor; he was not a gambler; he was not a
speculator; but phrenology settled it. The organ of
acquisitiveness was discovered in his head after his execu
tion as large as a pigeon's egg. He could not help it.
The First and Last Dinner.
289
It would be injustice to the ten to say, that even wine,
friendship, and a merry season, could dispel the gloom which
pervaded this dinner. It was agreed beforehand, that they
should not allude to the distressing and melancholy theme;
and having thus interdicted the only thing which really
occupied all their thoughts, the natural consequence was,
that silent contemplation took the place of dismal discourse;
and they separated long before midnight. An embarrassing
restraint, indeed, pervaded the little conversation which
grew up at intervals. The champagne was not in good
order, but no one liked to complain of its being ropy. A
beautiful painting of Vandyke which was in the room,
became a topic of discussion. They who thought it was
hung in a bad place, shrank from saying so; and not one
ventured to speak of the execution, of that great master.
Their host was having the front of the house repaired, and
at any other time he would have cautioned them, when they
went away, as the night was very dark, to take care of the
scaffold; but no, they might have stumbled right and left
before he would have pronounced that word, or told them
not to break their necks. One, in particular, even abstained
from using his customary phrase "this is a drop of good
wine;" and another forbore to congratulate the friend who
sat next him, and who had been married since he last saw
him, because he was accustomed on such occasions to employ
figurative language, and talk of the holy noose of wedlock.
Some fifteen years had now glided away since the fate
of poor Rowland, and the ten remained; but the stealing
hand of time had written sundry changes in the most legible
characters. Raven locks had become grizzled-two or three
heads had not as many locks altogether as may be reckoned
in a walk of half a mile along the Regent's Canal-one was
actually covered with a brown wig-the crow's feet were
visible in the corner of the eye-good old port and warm
19
290
Modern Story-Teller.
madeira carried it against hock, claret, red burgundy, and
champagne-stews, hashes, and ragouts, grew into favor-
crusts were rarely called for to relish the cheese after dinner
-conversation was less boisterous, and it turned chiefly upon
politics and the state of the funds, or the value of landed
property-apologies were made for coming in thick shoes
and warm stockings-the doors and windows were more
carefully provided with list and sand-bags-the fire more
in request and a quiet game of whist filled up the
hours that were wont to be devoted to drinking, singing,
and riotous merriment. Two rubbers, a cup of coffee, and
at home by eleven o'clock, was the usual cry, when the fifth
or sixth glass had gone round after the removal of the
cloth. At parting, too, there was now a long ceremony in
the hall, buttoning up great-coats, tying on woollen com-
forters, fixing silk-handkerchiefs over the mouth and up
to the ears, and grasping sturdy walking-canes to support
unsteady feet.
Their fiftieth anniversary came, and death had indeed
been busy. One had been killed by the overturning of
the mail, in which he had taken his place in order to be
present at the dinner, having purchased an estate in Mon.
mouthshire, and retired thither with his family. Another
had undergone the terrific operation for the stone, and
expired beneath the knife-a third had yielded up a broken
spirit two years after the loss of an only-surviving and
beloved daughter-a fourth was carried off in a few days.
by a cholera morbus-a fifth had breathed his last the very
morning he obtained a judgment in his favor by the Lord
Chancellor, which had cost him his last shilling nearly to
get, and which, after a litigation of eighteen years, declared
him the rightful possessor of ten thousand a year,-ten
minutes after he was no more. A sixth had perished by
the hand of a midnight assassin, who broke into his house
The First and Last Dinner.
291
for plunder, and sacrificed the owner of it, as he grasped
convulsively a bundle of Exchequer bills, which the robber
was drawing from beneath his pillow, where he knew they
were every night placed for better security.
Four little old men, of withered appearance and decrepit
walk, with cracked voices, and dim, rayless eyes, sat down,
by the mercy of Heaven (as they themselves tremulously
declared), to celebrate, for the fiftieth time, the first day
of the year; to observe the frolic compact which, half a
century before, they had entered into at the Star and Garter
at Richmond! Eight were in their graves! The four that
remained stood upon its confines. Yet they chirped cheerily
over their glass, though they could scarcely carry it to their
lips, if more than half full; and cracked their jokes, though
they articulated their words with difficulty, and heard each
other with still greater difficulty. They mumbled, they
chattered, they laughed (if a sort of strangled wheezing
might be called a laugh); and when the wines sent their
icy blood in warmer pulse through their veins, they talked
of their past as if it were but a yesterday that had slipped
by them, and of their future, as if it were a busy century
that lay before them.
They were just the number for a quiet rubber of whist;
and for three successive years they sat down to one. The
fourth came, and then their rubber was played with an open
dummy; a fifth, and whist was no longer practicable; two
could play only at cribbage, and cribbage was the game.
But it was little more than the mockery of play. Their
palsied hands could hardly hold, or their fading sight dis
tinguish, the cards, while their torpid faculties made them
doze between each deal.
At length came the LAST dinner; and the survivor of the
twelve, upon whose head four score and ten winters had
showered their snow, ate his solitary meal, It sc chanced
292
Modern Story-Teller.
that it was in his house, and at his table, they had cele
brated the first. In his cellar, too, had remained, for eight
and fifty years, the bottle they had then uncorked, re-corked,
and which he was that day to uncork again. It stood
beside him. With a feeble and reluctant grasp he took
the “frail memorial" of a youthful vow; and for a moment
memory was faithful to her office. She threw open the
long vista of buried years; and his heart travelled through
them all: Their lusty and blithesome spring,—their bright
and fervid summer,-their ripe and temperate autumn,-
their chill, but not too frozen winter. He saw, as in a
mirror, how, one by one, the laughing companions of that
merry hour at Richmond, had dropped into eternity. He
felt all the loneliness of his condition (for he had eschewed
marriage, and in the veins of no living creature ran a drop
of blood whose source was in his own); and as he drained
the glass which he had filled, "to the memory of those who
were gone,” the tears slowly trickled down the deep furrows
of his aged face.
He had thus fulfilled one part of his vow, and he pre-
pared himself to discharge the other, by sitting the usual
number of hours at his desolate table. With a heavy heart
he resigned himself to the gloom of his own thoughts-a
lethargic sleep stole over him-his head fell upon his bosom
-confused images crowded into his mind-he babbled to
himself—was silent--and when his servant entered the room,
alarmed by a noise which he heard, he found his master
stretched upon the carpet at the foot of the easy-chair, out
of which he had slipped in an apoplectic fit. He never
spoke again, nor once opened his eyes, though the vital
spark was not extinct till the following day. And this was
the LAST DINNER!

Chaz
The Cock-Fight.
A
I'
N Mexico, here is no variety of sport that produces a
more general excitement than the cock-fight. It is
not confined, as might be supposed, to any particular
class of persons. Between the generalissimo of the army
and the rawest recruit-the President of the Republic and
the humblet hind-the archbishop of the Church and the
meekest member, there is no difference. In the amphi-
theatre, side by side, stand the priest and the peasant, the
hunter and the herdsman, the shopman and the soldier. In
juxtaposition may be seen the old man, whose dangling
locks are white as the polar snows; the slender youth,
whose limbs are slowly rounding into manhood; and the
truant boy, scarce old enough to lisp his Spanish name. It
is common to every caste and condition-to every age
and vocation; and even women are sometimes the willing
observants of this barbarous sport.
The excitement of the cock-fight differs, in some respects,
from all other kinds of strife. To the course, a man carries
his prejudices and his preferences. The name or reputation
of the horse; the avor or friendship of the owner; or, if
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Modern Story-Teller.
unacquainted with either, the gait and color of the former
not unfrequently influence his wagers. His feelings once
enlisted, he abandons himself to the hope of success. His
eyes follow the swift steed in his circuitous course, as long
as he leads the race, with a manifest pleasure that is wholly
indescribable; and if he falls behind, the gloom of disap
pointment slowly settles upon his countenance, and his lips
instinctively compress to smother the swelling rage within.
But, in either case, he is seldom unprepared for the result.
The strife is not the work of a moment. There is always
ample time to note the movement of each horse, to remark
upon his speed and bottom, and to calculate the chances of
a prosperous termination.
And so it is with the bull-fight. Announced beforehand,
and for many days the common theme of conversation, the
community are filled with anticipation. Perhaps thousands
have visited the combatants, and carefully examined their
respective powers, noting the size, the color, the horns, the
hoofs, and the strength of the one, and the eyes, the nose,
the mouth, the height, the limbs, and the muscles of the
others; and they enter the arena, alike familiar with the
qualities of the bull and gladiators.
The former stands in the midst of the arena, his head
and tail elevated, his nostrils distended, and his glaring eyes.
like balls of fire-the breathing personification of astonish-
ment. Presently the latter enter through wickets, amid
the deafening shouts of the overlooking multitude, and ap-
proach the excited beast in opposite directions. He looks at
one and then at the other, and for a moment remains unde-
cided; but the waving of a red scarf determines him, and he
darts towards his provoker with the swiftness of the wind
By a dexterous movement of his person, under cover of the
scarf, the gladiator escapes the onset, and plunges his knife
deep into the body of the angry beast, which, with a rage
The Cock-Fight.
295
greatly increased by the start of the wound, turns upon
his wily adversary, "fierce as ten furies.”
But if, perchance, the second attempt is more successful,
and the gladiator is forced to the earth, his comrade
instantly flies to his relief; and though the horn of the bull
may touch the breast of the prostrate man, the slightest
noise behind usually diverts his attention. And thus the
strife continues, until the gladiators, bruised and mangled,
fly from the field, or the bull, faint from the loss of blood,
sinks down in death at the feet of his conquerors.
But very different is the excitement of the cock-pit,
where all go, the better as well as the spectator, without
predilection. For, until after their arrival, it is unknown
even to the cockers themselves, what birds will be pitted.
From a large number, always exposed for sale on such
occasions, the principal betters select, each, one, and place
them in the hands of the gamekeepers, for preparation.
These birds, having been some time previous bereft of
the weapons nature designed for their defence, are now fur-
nished with gaffles, or artificial spurs, each of which is a pol-
ished steel blade, about three inches in length, half an inch
wide at the base, curved slightly upwards, sharp at the point
and on the upper edge, and firmly fastened to the leg by
means of a clasp.
Thus armed and ready for the fight, they are carried
about the pit by the gamekeepers, who hold them aloft for
the observation of the spectators. It is during this exhi-
bition that the side-bets are made, and the fight is not
commenced until the confusion thereupon consequent has
entirely subsided.
In general, the cocks so far differ from each other in size
of body, color of plumage, or length of tail, as to be easily
distinguished. Sometimes, however, there is no perceptible
difference beyond that afforded by the help of the knife, by
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Modern Story-Teller.
which one has been previously divested of his comb and
gills; and sometimes, when neither or both have been sub-
jected to the cutting process, it becomes necessary, as a
distinction, to encumber the leg of one with a bit of white
cloth, the disadvantage to be determined by lot.
As the original betters, under the direction of the game-
keepers, usually select the finest cocks in the market, palpa-
ble inequalities are very unfrequent, and wagers are almost
universal. Indeed, so strong is the gambling propensity
among the people, that there is scarcely one who does not
avail himself of the opportunity to wager something on the
issue of the combat.
When all the bets are taken, and the crowd has become
thoroughly settled, then begins the breathless excitement
peculiar to this species of sport. The gamekeepers advance
towards the centre of the pit, until within a pace or two of
each other, when they release the cocks and retire.
These warlike birds, oftentimes before their feet have
touched the earth, fly upon each other with a violence that,
in the rebound, brings them both upon their backs. But,
as soon as they have recovered, they renew the onslaught,
and their sharp slashing strokes follow each other in quick
succession, until the contest is terminated by disability or
death.
*
*
*
*
The incident I am about to relate occurred in the city
of Saltillo. It was about nine o'clock in the morning of
the first Sunday of May of the year eighteen hundred and
forty-seven, Lieutenant Cordell and myself were on our way
to the cathedral. As we passed the head of one of the
narrow cross-streets, our attention was attracted by a large
crowd in front of a two-storied building, the lower part of
which was used for a grog-shop.
At that day, a gathering in any public place always indi-
*
*
*
*
*
The Cock-Fight.
295
cated something of an exciting character; usually a fight or
a fandango, both of which were of almost daily occurrence.
The former more frequently happened in the streets, and the
latter in the houses; but sometimes this order was reversed.
But whatever occasioned the throng, as long as the excite-
ment continued, the number increased, every passer-by stop-
ping to inquire the cause.
As our attendance at the cathedral was prompted by
curiosity rather than devotion, we quickly turned aside and
joined the crowd. On a nearer approach, we observed
Guy Winthrop, the poet of our regiment, vigorously elbow-
ing his way towards a narrow wicket in the wall. As a
lyrist, he had no superior in the army, save Captain Pike,
who wrote the " Battle of Buena Vista," at which the Arkan-
sas cavalry were present when the fight commenced. But,
with all his lyrical talents, he had a keen relish for the ludi-
crous, and was a great lover of excitement and fun; and he
managed to find out nearly every amusement, yet was sel
dom seen at an indifferent exhibition. Thus encouraged,
we also directed our efforts to the point mentioned, and, by
dint of hard crowding and the expenditure of a brace of
picayunes, at length gained admittance.
On passing the wicket, we found ourselves in a narrow
winding passage, that led to the back inclosure, in the centre
of which stood an amphitheatre: a circular building about
thirty-eight or forty feet in diameter. The walls, not less
than fifteen feet high, were built of bricks and mortar, and
carefully plastered, on both sides, with a hard cement.
Five rows of seats, one rising above another, completely
surrounded the inside of the edifice.
.
Long before our arrival, every seat was occupied, and
all the space intervening between them and the pit was
densely crowded with bystanders. By the assistance of an
old friend, who remembered a trifling service rendered some
298
Modern Story-Teller.
time previous by my companion, we obtained permission to
sit upon the top of the wall, whence we could observe all
that occurred below with entire satisfaction.
In the pit, which was formed of a wall about three feet
high, and sixty in circumference, were not less than half a
hundred boys, each with a cock under his arm. Great
rivalry prevailed among them, and they hurried from place
to place, using every means in their power to attract
attention and secure purchasers.
There was an abundant opportunity for choice among
the cocks, which were of almost every shade and variety
of color, from the blackness of soot to the whiteness of
snow; in addition to which, some were not bigger than à
woman's fist, and some were as large as a man's head; while
the prices ranged from a rial to a dollar.
A Mexican dandy was endeavoring to draw a wager
from a sutler's clerk. They appeared to have difficulty in
reconciling some trifling difference. Their conversation
was only audible to themselves, and those in their immediate
vicinity; but it was evident, from their excited manner, that
there was but little likelihood of an agreement.
In the midst of their quarrel, which might have led to
something more serious than words, the corpulent figure of
Brigadier General M suddenly darkened the entrance,
and his stentorian voice filled the amphitheatre. In a
moment all eyes were turned upon the new-comer, as he
pushed forward towards the pit, calling upon the venders
to exhibit their cocks.
The crowd, unaccustomed to such an august presence,
instinctively drew back on either hand, affording the cle-
phant an opportunity to pass through unchecked, where at
moment before the weasel must have forced his way at the
risk of his bones.
The general was closely followed by a Catholic priest,
The Cock-Fight.
299
clad in a suit of grey broadcloth, worn quite threadbare,
Over his shoulders loosely hung a blanket which had once
been very valuable, and most probably as beautiful. On
his head was a red flannel skull-cap, fantastically ornamented
with black velvet, and in shape not unlike those frequently
worn by jockeys.
At sight of the American officer, all the boys rushed
forward, holding their cocks aloft, and clamoring like as
many inmates of Bedlam. Each spoke in praise of his own,
and in dispraise of every other's; all at the same moment,
and every one at the top of his voice.
There was something ludicrous in the scene, especially
to the general, who understood not a word of Spanish. For
the first dozen seconds he was amused; but as the boys
pressed about him, and shouted in his ears, and thrust their
cocks in his face, the scene gradually lost its interest.
At
length he became impatient, and then indignant.
"Begone, you noisy scamps !" he cried, in a thundering
voice, accompanied by an angry wave of his great fat hand.
The words were uttered in English, and only understood by
the interpreter at the priest's elbow; but the gesture had a
true Spanish significance, and operated like a charm.
Those nearest the commander retired in silence, com-
pletely awed by his indignant manner. But, like Esop's
fox, that drove away the glutted flies, their places were
immediately occupied by a fresh swarm, shouting even
louder than their half-exhausted fellows. This was too much
for endurance; the general's anger was thoroughly aroused,
and he turned about abruptly and addressed the priest.
"Father Ambrose !" said he, in a resolute tone, at the
same time pulling a revolver from his breast pocket, "you
must instantly command order and silence, or I'll let off the
contents of this weapon among those noisy devils, and make
them howl for something."
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Modern Story-Teller.
Immediately the priest raised his finger and uttered a
brief remark, and all the boys, devoutly crossing them-
selves, withdrew to the other side of the pit. Here they
remained quietly until one of the gamekeepers arrived and
ordered them to be seated.
When all had taken their places, the priest entered the
pit, followed by the interpreter, the stakeholder, and the
dandy before mentioned. The general was in that peculiar
maudlin condition that always unfits a man for climbing, so
he contented himself with a seat on the wall of the pit,
between two of the venders.
On raising his eyes to the crowded seats that rose
nearly to the top of the wall of the edifice, they chanced
to fall upon my companion, with whom he was slightly
acquainted, and he immediately summoned him to his
assistance. I retained my seat, as it afforded an excellent
opportunity for observation.
"Lieutenant," said the general, extending his hand in a
Friendly manner, "I am exceedingly glad to meet you, for
I've been playing monte with that old grey friar until I'm
penniless. I want to borrow fifty dollars to bet on a cock-
fight, for I'm bound to win my money back or sink my
commission."
"General," said my friend, who clearly perceived his
condition, and wished to preserve him from the knavery of
the priest, "it would afford me much pleasure, but it is quite
out of my power. I have not got above a fourth of that
sum in my possession."
"Well, give me what you have," said the brigadier," and
borrow the balance from your chum," alluding to myself,
"or from some of those volunteers," pointing to a group of
Kentucky cavalry, who occupied seats on the opposite side
of the amphitheatre.
My friend, still anxious to thwart the crafty old church-
The Cock-Fight.
301
man, interposed several objections, but the determination
of the general bore down all opposition. The required sum
was raised without difficulty, and with a similar amount
from the purse of the priest, deposited in the hands of the
stakeholder. After which the general retired to a seat, in a
small balcony above the entrance, usually reserved for the
principal betters, leaving the matter entirely in the hands of
my friend.
From this moment the rascality of the priest was mani-
fest in every transaction. The cock that he proposed to
pit, chosen beforehand under the advice of a noted cock-
master, was immediately brought forward and placed in the
hands of a gamekeeper for preparation. Against this ad-
vantage Cordell strongly protested, but to no purpose, for
the priest was inflexible.
This reduced the matter to an alternative-to select
from among the birds in the pit, or draw the stakes and
pay the forfeit. But the General would not consent to the
latter, although his representative, who saw at a glance.
that among all the fowls present there was not a match for
the priest's, urged upon him its propriety, supported by
reasons that would certainly have influenced a sober
brain.
Compelled to make a selection, Cordell passed around
the pit, and taking the birds in his hands, one after another,
gave them a careful examination. Having accomplished the
round, he designated his choice and demanded the price, at
the same time drawing forth a long silken purse well filled
with Benton mint-drops.
The vender, whose eyes sparkled at the sight of the
gold, was about to reply, when his words were arrested by
the voice of the priest, who uttered but a single sound, his
face piously averted to heaven, and his attenuated fingers
busy with his beads. The vender quickly raised his eyes
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Modern Story-Teller.
to the master of his will, and then said, with evident reluc
tance, that his bird was not for sale.
Another selection was made, but with a similar result. A
third, fourth, and fifth followed, but with no better success.
Not less than twenty applications were made, and followed.
by as many refusals. The highest price was offered and
declined. The value was doubled and trebled, but all to no
purpose. Among all those fifty boys, so eager to sell only
a few moments before, not one could be prevailed upon to
part with his property.
By this time Cordell had become considerably excited,
and would rather have lost the wager than paid the forfeit.
He insisted on a purchase, and offered as much silver as he
could clutch in his hand, for the meanest bird within the
walls. Many eyes turned covetously upon the glittering
offer, but nobody dared make the exchange. Then he took
from his purse ten American eagles, and laid them one upon
another in the palm of his hand, and offered all for a single
Mexican game-cock. In an instant every vender was upon
his feet, and their eagerness to sell was even greater than
at the beginning.
But the last offer was simply an allurement to test their
sincerity. Before it was made, Cordell strongly suspected
a combination to defraud the General out of the forfeiture.
The ardent desire to gain possession of so large a sum of
money convinced him, and he instantly resolved not to be
overreached. To the surprise of all present, and to the
chagrin of the avaricious venders, he very quietly replaced
the eagles in his purse, and the purse in his pocket, and
with a smile at their discomfiture, turned about and ad-
dressed the priest:
"Reverend father," said he, with mock deference, "I en-
treat that you will influence some of these venders to dis
pose of their property. They dare not disobey your behests,
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303
and whatever you direct they will speedily execute. It
would be a mortification that so many well disposed people,
met together on this bright morning of the Lord's day, to
witness a little innocent amusement, should be obliged to
disperse without the gratification."
"Indeed, sir," replied the man of God, "you attribute a
power to me that I do not possess. I have no control over
these young people's actions, and still less over their pro-
perty. If they refuse to sell, I have no power to coerce
them; and if I had, have not the right.
Nor is it to me a
matter of much consequence. Of course I should prefer to
win the wager, but am not avaricious, and if needs be, can
content myself with the forfeit."
There was a sang-froid about the manner of the priest
that chafed the proud spirit of Cordell, and the more, as he
was unable to divine the cause of the strange behavior
among the venders. From his knowledge of their acquisi-
tive disposition, he felt entirely confident that some unseen
influence was exerted over them, or that they were acting
in concert for a fraudulent purpose.
I saw that he was puzzled, and hastened to explain the
mystery. From my elevated position, I could distinctly see
all that occurred within the area; and I had noticed, that
when Cordell approached the first vender, the old priest
prevented the sale by his pious ejaculations. I afterwards
observed, that on each successive application, the vender,
before he replied, looked at the priest, who, in every
instance, forbad the exchange by a significant gesture of his
long bony finger. I remarked also, that when the ten
eagles were offered, a nod of his old grey head had placed
every bird within the power of the purchaser.
When Cordell came to understand the character of the
fraud practised, he turned quietly round, and slipping his
hand under the stakeholder's blanket, fastened upon his
804
Modern Story-Teller.
coat-collar with the grip of a vice. "Now," said he,
addressing the wily old priest, "having voluntarily placed
yourself in a dilemma, you may cling to whichever horn
you prefer. One of two things you must do, and without
delay; either you must furnish a cock to complete the
match, or relinquish the stake without the forfeit."
Quite a sensation prevailed among the bystanders when
these words were rendered into Spanish. Significant looks
were exchanged by the alguazils, several of whom were
present to preserve order and quiet. The old priest,
without alluding to the charge, began at once to palaver
about the principles of honor and the rules of the cock-pit.
Meanwhile the stakeholder managed to convey the
purse with the wagers, into the hands of the dandy, who
immediately tried to escape from the edifice. Perceiving
that Cordell's object was likely to be defeated by the secret
transfer, I quietly descended from my elevated position,
and opportunely intercepted the fugitive.
Baffled on every hand, the villanous old priest, with a
most sanctimonious seeming, turned to protest his innocence
and crave the general's interference; but to his utter
amazement, the brigadier, who was sober enough to com
prehend the fraud, was standing on his feet, with his
ominous revolver aimed directly at his consecrated crown.
"You cursed old shaveling," said he, "if you don't secure
me a cock in the twinkling of an eye, I'll send your soul in
hot haste to the Devil."
These words terminated the difficulty. The holy man,
trembling in his shoes, promised to use his best endeavors.
Calling to a little ragged boy, whose arms clasped to his
breast an ungainly cockerel, not yet full grown, he directed
him to bring it forward for vendition. Cordell insisted on
the right to make his own selection, but the general, already
grown impatient in consequence of the unnecessary delay,
The Cock-Fight
305
authorized the purchase, and begged that the contestors
might be speedily armed for the fight.
In a few minutes the pit was vacated, except by the
cockers, to whom was intrusted the preparation of the com-
batants. At length everything being in readiness, the
general desired to address his champion before the strife
commenced. The request excited some mirth among the
Mexicans, but was promptly complied with by the game-
keeper. The general put forth his hand, and taking the
cockerel by the bill, turned his head to one side and address-
ed him in the following terms.
..
My good fellow," said he, with an air of sincerity, admi-
rably assumed, "the relation we sustain to each other makes
it my duty, before you enter the arena, to impress upon
your mind a proper sense of the responsibility that rests
upon you in this trying moment. By the usages that every-
where prevail among the politer states of our Republic, I
have this day become your master by solemn purchase, and
have a right to dispose of your service in whatever way
may best subserve my purposes. But I design you for an
example of my magnanimity.
"Upon the issue of the fight in which you are about to
engage, entirely depends the condition of your future exist-
ence. If you are defeated, you will be condemned to per-
petual slavery; but if you are victorious, you will be freed
from your bondage, invested with the rights of citizenship,
and adopted into the great family of American fighting-
cocks.
"In the coming contest, you are to represent the freest
and the happiest people on the face of the earth, and to
your keeping is intrusted the honor of their most glorious
nation. The result of this combat will be emblematical of
the conclusion of the war in which they are now engaged.
If you are conquered, all that Taylor has achieved in the
20
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Modern Story-Teller.
mountains, Scott will lose in the valleys; but if you are
triumphant, I shall expect to celebrate the anniversary of
our national independence over a hasty plate of soup, at the
table of the victorious general, in the palace of the Monte,
zumas.
"Go, sir, and do your duty; an 1 may the God of Abra
ham, and of Isaac, and of Jacob, and of the Thirteen United
Colonies, preserve you from defeat, and your nation from
disgrace."
When this address was concluded, Guy Winthrop, from
the opposite side of the amphitheatre, cried with a loud
voice, "Three cheers for General M." Immediately a
score of hats went up, and as many voices followed in a
concert of shouts that excited the wonderment of the whole
neighborhood. In the brief quiet that ensued, the inter-
preter gave a condensed translation of the speech, which was
received with shouts of laughter.
Presently one of the inferior alcaldes of the city made
his appearance, and the hilarity of his constituents quickly
subsided into a murmur of gratification, for he was judge of
the combat. He walked forward with a stately tread, and
ascended a flight of winding stairs, consisting of seven steps,
to a place not unlike one of the ash-hopper pulpits fashion-
able in the time of Jonathan Edwards. Having seated
himself and wiped the perspiration from his brow, he waved
his baton, and the gamekeepers forthwith placed the cham-
pions on the ground and retired.
The representative of Mexico was a full-grown, well pro
portioned, vain-glorious game-cock of the red-feather, and
as fine a specimen of his breed as was ever pitted. His
head and neck were thickly covered with a rich plumage of
crimson hue, which mingled with the yellow on his breast,
as the light blends with the shade in the mezzotinto. His
back and shoulders were purple, and also his wings, which
The Cock-Fight.
307
were lightly tipped with black. His sides and thighs, and
the under part of his wings, were scarlet interspersed with
yellow. His legs and beak were orange, and his eyes like
globules of blood. His crescent tail, which swept the ground
like the skirt of a fashionable lady's dress, was a happy
mixture of glossy black and fiery vermilion. His broad
single comb, with its sharp triangular teeth, fell gracefully
upon one side, like the waving plume of a Kossuth hat.
And his whole appearance, from the crown of his head even
unto the soles of his feet, was that of a Mexican commander
at a grand review.
Very different was the appearance of the ungainly
cockerel chosen as the representative of five-and-twenty
millions of freemen-and some slaves. He was in truth a
gawky fellow, not unlike a youth that had shot up a foot or
so beyond his years. His manner was decidedly awkward,
and his dress shabby and neglected, especially the tail,
which was in rather a tattered condition. His outer cover-
ing consisted of a thin suit of short feathers, of divers colors,
intermixed in a most peculiar manner. But there was
neither jet-black nor show-white, deep-green nor blood-red;
all were dull, and dingy, and disagreeable.
In other respects he was equally remarkable. He was
tall and slender, and carried a high head on slight supporters;
but, like many of the people he represented, what he lacked
in substance he made up in show, for his legs were of the
exact lustre of gold. Altogether, he looked as much like a
native of Pike county, as any Missourian that ever measured
six feet and three in his yellow unmentionables; and his
damaged tail strongly resembled Doniphan's men on their
arrival at Buena Vista, fresh from the wilderness.
But it must be borne in mind, that this monster bird,
upon whose glittering gaffles hung the glory of a great
nation, was only a last year's chicken. He had not yet
308
Modern Story-Teller.
attained his complete stature, nor his limbs their just pro
portions, nor his feathers their full length, nor his colors the
gloss and brilliancy of ripe maturity; even his spurs had
not yet protruded through the skin of his ankles. Never-
theless, his step was firm and his bearing fearless, and his
lustrous eyes flashed with the fire of defiance.
There was one other thing in his appearance particu-
larly worthy of mention. The many colors of his plumage,
like those of the prism, nicely intermixed, yet preserved
their distinctness. But while the casual observer saw
nothing remarkable in the spotted breast and striped back,
Guy Winthrop, his eye in a fine frenzy rolling, discovered
in the one the great canopy of stars, and in the other the
bright rainbow of promise; and by a flourish of the imagi-
nation, a poetical license that prosers know nothing about,
instantly metamorphosed the motley bird into the American
flag. It must be confessed that the resemblance was not
very striking, but the idea was happily conceived under the
circumstances, and three simultaneous shouts went up from
the volunteers for the success of the glorious stripes and
stars.
For several moments the proud champion of Mexico.
looked upon his uncouth antagonist with surprise, and after-
wards with curious scrutiny. It was very evident, if his
manner was a truthful indication, that he regarded him as
a half-fledged upstart, only worthy of his contempt. But, on
reflection, he resolved to punish him for his rash presump
tion, as Walpole did the future Earl of Chatham. Full of
this determination, he dropped his head and tail to a level
with his back, and rushed furiously athwart the pit, aiming
a death-blow at his devoted head.
Meanwhile, the champion of America, highly delighted
with his shining spurs, upon which was centred his entire
attention, fell into a foolish reverie, and quite forgot the
The Cock-Fight.
309
business in which he was engaged. It was well for his
honor and safety that a considerable space separated him.
from his adversary, else he might have bit the ground
without striking a blow for his life, and the cause he repre-
sented. But tne pompous preparation of his indignant foe
aroused him to a full sense of his danger, and the interven-
ing space saved him from immediate destruction.
There was something truly admirable in his manner, as
he raised his head and squared himself for the onset. To
all appearance, a violent collision was inevitable, and the
result was awaited with breathless anxiety. But in this
instance, as in many others of much more importance, anti-
cipation was not realized; the spectators were disappointed,
and the old warrior surprised and mortified.
His wily
adversary, like the great Washington, quietly stood upon
his defence, until the sword was raised to strike the blow,
then crouched and disappeared, leaving the victor to digest
his wonderment as best he could, while he was dealing a
counter blow, with bloody effect, in his unprotected rear.
Contrary to every one's expectation, in the first round
America escaped unhurt, while Mexico received a serious
injury. But the old cock, though he severely felt the
blow, managed to conceal the extent of the damage, by the
interposition of a fearless front and another furious attack.
This time the cockerel maintained his position, and
returned blow for blow; but after ten or a dozen sharp
strokes, dealt with the grace and skill of an adept, he was
compelled to retreat and leave the field, now stained with
blood, in the possession of his more powerful enemy.
At the distance of half a rod he came to a halt and
faced about to view the battle-ground, in the centre of
which stood the conqueror, exulting in his triumph. First
he flapped his beautiful wings, then arched his graceful
neck, then opened wide is beak, and in a clear and ringing
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Modern Story-Teller.
voice, cried " Cock-a-doodle-doo!" After the lapse of a
moment he essayed to repeat the exultation, but was unex-
pectedly interrupted by the cockerel, vho rushed upon him
just as he cried "Cock-a-," and upset him with the
"doodle-doo" in his throat.
Hereupon the struggle was renewed, and maintained
with great vigor for several seconds, but without material
advantage to either party. Then followed a succession of
feints and skirmishes, in which Fabius tried to outwit Han-
nibal, and the energies of both were well nigh exhausted.
For a few moments they stood beak to beak, to regain their
breath and recover their strength; and then fell upon each
other with a fierceness and a fury that made their previous
struggles seem as play.
In all the vast multitude who looked down upon the
combatants when they dropped from the hands of the
gamekeepers, there was not one who anticipated such a
bloody and protracted contest. The bird of Mexico was in
his prime, and inspired his friends with confidence, while
the other failed to excite even a hope in any but the breast
of Winthrop. But he was strangely impressed with a pre-
sentiment, a something that poets regard as prophecy,
that the cockerel would achieve the victory; and he clung
to the conviction throughout the combat, against every
appearance, the decision of the judge, and the approval of
the spectators.
Among the persons present on this occasion, were men
of sixty winters, who had never witnessed such a struggle
where the combatants were armed with gaffles. In less
than half the time already consumed, they had seen birds of
much better appearance than the cockerel fall to the earth,
in some instances decapitated, and in others totally disem-
bowelled. And to them it was a matter of the greatest won-
der, how he could with stand the superior force of the old
The Cock-Fight.
311
cock, whose every blow, dealt with a master's skill, scattered
the motley feathers of his breast, and spattered the ground
with his blood.
But moments nassed into seconds, and seconds into mi-
nutes, and minutes multiplied, and still the fight progressed.
At length, overcome with fatigue, they abandoned the spur
and resorted to the beak, in the use of which the younger
warrior, whose crest was low and double, had greatly the
advantage. In this manner the struggle continued, long
after the feathers were stripped from their necks, and until
the comb of the old cock was completely cleft asunder. In
the hand to hand fight he was no match for Young America,
under whose drooping wing he was at last obliged to thrust
his bleeding head for protection.
A brief respite ensued. The old bird, weary from exer-
tion, and weak from the loss of blood, seemed anxious to
suspend the strife until he had in some measure regained his
breath and strength. But the younger one, like youth in
general, was impatient for the termination, and vainly tried,
by every means in his power, to dislodge his enemy. At
length, regarding him as a cowardly skulker, and feeling for
him a thorough contempt, as he endured his blows with the
submissiveness of a spaniel or negro slave, and withal, wearied
with his fruitless exertions, he stretched forth his long feather-
less neck, and uttered a shrill cry of defiance.
Old chanticleer, who had cunningly resolved to undergo
temporary injuries that he might in the end realize perma-
nent benefits, perceiving that the anger of his foe, in his
exhausted condition, totally unfitted him for vigorous resist-
ance, suddenly darted forth from beneath the sheltering
wing, and set upon him with the fury of annihilation. Seiz
ing him by the back of the head, he dealt full half a dozen
blows upon his bleeding breast, in such quick succession that
not one could be returned. And when his hold gave way,
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Modern Story-Teller.
the cockerel staggered back a few paces, reeled from side to
side, and tumbled headlong to the earth.
Up to this moment a breathless quiet prevailed through-
out the amphiɩneatre; it was now broken by a shout from
the Mexicans, that burst upon the ear like a peal of unex-
pected thunder. But before the exultation could be
repeated, the judge raised his baton, and in the silence that
immediately followed, proclaimed the victory. To the sur-
prise of the spectators, nearly all of whom acquiesced in
the decision, Guy Winthrop insisted that the proclamation
was premature.
J
"Right, by heavens !" shouted the brigadier, springing
to his feet, greatly excited. He had begun to entertain
hopes of victory, so nobly did the young bird sustain his
part in the fight. "And sir," he added, addressing the
judge, "your decision is too hasty, for as long as life remains,
hope may be entertained, and that bird is not yet dead
You must, therefore, reserve your opinion until life is
extinct, or I have abandoned the contest."
The judge listened to this address from the lips of the
interpreter with manifest indignation, but he gave it no
notice beyond a contemptuous curl of his lip. In the further
exercise of his duty, he again waved his baton, and the
gamekeepers entered the pit to remove the combatants;
but they had scarcely crossed the walls, when Cordell leaped
before them and forbade their interference. A couple of
alguazils flew to their assistance, and a struggle would have
ensued, had not the murderous revolver of the brigadier
prevented. It was aimed directly at the breast of the
alcalde, whom he threatened with instant death if the pit
was not speedily vacated.
At that day there was no weapon so much feared by the
inhabitants of Mexico, as the American six-shooter. It was
new to most of them, and its operation a wonder and a
The Cock-Fight.
313
mystery. With the double-barrel they were familiar, and
it was frequently found in their possession. Its principles
were easily explained and understood, and with these they
were thoroughly acquainted. The running noose, or lariat,
was also in common use, and in their hands a most danger-
ous and deadly instrument. Perhaps on all the waters of
the Mississippi there was not a blackleg better skilled in the
use of the long knife, upon which they relied for safety in
close combat, under almost all circumstances. And some-
times they used the vengeful stiletto in a manner that would
not have shamed the proudest assassin of that degenerate
people from whom they derived its use, together with their
laws, language, manners, customs, fashions, religion, and the
best blood of their nation.
But the deadly revolver was a weapon only known to
them by its effects; and these were so unaccountable and
murderous, that many regarded it as an invention of the
Devil, placed in the hands of the hirsute barbarians of the
north, for the destruction of Catholics and the dissemina-
tion of the corrupting principles of Protestantism. One of
those little guns, in the hands of an American, could pro-
duce greater consternation among an assemblage of natives,
than a score of foot-guards with their bayonets fixed and
their muskets set for a charge. It was valuable on all occa-
sions; now to preserve peace, and anon to quell disturbance;
at one time to enforce law, and at another to protect life;
and occasionally, as in the present instance, to exact even-
handed justice, which was too seldom received in that
country, especially by the natives of the United States.
Terrified by the menacing attitude of the general, the
judge promised to withhold his decision until life was
extinct; another flourish of his baton arrested the progress
of the alguazils, and caused the gamekeepers to retire.
Cordell also withdrew, and the pit was again in the posses
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Modern Story-Teller
sion of the combatants, which, fortunately, were not in the
least disturbed by the events that produced so much
excitement among the spectators.
After two or three ineffectual attempts to regain his
feet, the cockerel tumbled over on his side, evidently
discouraged; but he still kept his head from the ground
and his eye on his adversary, who, at the distance of two or
three yards, looked down upon his helpless victim with the
pride of a conqueror. In this manner several minutes
elapsed, and the Mexicans had begun to manifest their im-
patience by certain low mutterings that are better omitted,
when it was observed by one of the gamekeepers, that the
old bird was gradually losing his strength, and possibly hist
life, through the rear-wound received at the commencement
of the struggle. About the same time, Guy Winthrop
noticed the blood trickling down from the long purple fea-
thers that hung so gracefully from the root of his tail, and
he rightly suspected the cause of the old priest's anxiety
after he had been spoken to by the gamekeeper.
Presently the proclaimed conqueror grew unsteady, and
staggered about the pit like a drunken man; and soon after
his head dropped upon his breast, and he fell forward to the
earth. But he immediately recovered his feet, and stood
still for a moment to muster his expiring energies, then
dropped his head and tail to a level with his back, as in the
beginning of the engagement, and rushed upon his helpless
foe, with the obvious design of destroying his life before
he himself expired.
The cockerel clearly perceived the intention, but was
unable to avert the threatened destruction. But where life
s endangered, the slightest chance for its preservation is
not to be despised; so he laid his head upon the ground
and threw up his feet to shield his body. The onslaught
was terrific, and the gaffle that struck the blow, coming in
The Cock-Fight.
315
contact with the clasp on the leg of the prostrate bird, was
snapped into pieces and scattered about the pit. But the
force of the impetuous tilter carried him several feet beyond
his enemy, where falling headlong, like Judas Iscariot, he
burst asunder in the midst and all his bowels gushed out.
Exasperated by a cruelty that would not even spare a
fallen foe, the cockerel renewed his exertions, and after two.
or three efforts regained his feet. For a moment he
remained stationary, then cautiously approached his chival-
rous victim, walked slowly round his mangled corpse, looked
with pride upon his death-wounds, and then, pausing by
his side, in a clear and musical voice chanted the hymn of
his victory.
On examination, it appeared that the old cock had died
of the blow inflicted in his rear at the opening of the war,
when the cockerel, eluding his attack by a masterly strata-
gem, crossed the Delaware on the ice, captured the Hessians
at Trenton, and dispersed the British at Princeton. It is true
that he afterwards fought bravely at Brandywine and
Monmouth court-house, and died game at Yorktown, yet he
was never able to recover from the fatal blow received at a
time and in a quarter least expected.
But the younger bird, though his neck was stripped of
its feathers, his crest picked in pieces, and his breast covered
with wounds, was still alive. He had contended against a
veteran, had been repulsed, compelled to retreat, borne to
the earth by a superior force, and reduced to extremity;
but he had survived every attack, recovered from every
defeat, drove the enemy behind his entrenchments, harassed
his marches, crippled his energies, scattered his resources,
defeated his hopes, destroyed his confidence, and, in the
end, achieved a complete victory.
"Now," said the general with a smile, addressing the
disappointed judge, "you may decide the combat, and
316
Modern Story-Teller.
award the wager. Father Ambrose,” he added, turning to
the avaricious priest, "I have retrieved my morning losses
and something over, and should be glad to have you, with
these, my friends," alluding to Cordell, Winthrop, and
myself, "dine with me at the American. You see,” he
continued, speaking to the spectators, "that neither Molina
del Rey nor Chapultepec will prevent the success of our
arms in the valley of Mexico. And to you," designating
the poet, "I will give that cock, with the hope that, if he
survives, you will carry him with you to the United
States."
Winthrop received the present with a pleasure even
greater than the general felt when he fobbed the old
priest's gold. He took immediate steps to staunch the
blood and dress the wounds; and he carried him to the
camp, and nursed him with so much care, that in a few
weeks he was entirely recovered. When the Twelve
Months' Volunteers were discharged from the service by
reason of the expiration of the period for which they had
enlisted, the poet carried the victorious champion with him
to America, and placed him on the hundred and sixty acres.
of land he had earned in his country's cause, where he still
survives, a splendid bird, striped and starred as handsomely
as the banner of liberty, the patriarch of the flock, and the
progenitor of some of the gayest cocks south of Mason and
Dixon's Line.

"l
de
Our Major's Story.
o Brown, you tell me, has been appointed exe-
cutor to Smith's will," said our major the other
day, as we were lounging together against the
low wall that divides Carlisle Terrace from the beach.
“I'll venture to say the trusts committed to him won't be
as strange as mine were the first time I was made executor.
"Some years since, I received a letter from my old
friend and comrade, Ellis of the th, telling me that hist
health had been for some time declining, that he was
about to make his will, and earnestly desiring that I would
consent to act as his sole executor,' there being,' he added,
'a trust of some importance to be undertaken, which I wish
to confide to no one but yourself.' The letter concluded
with a cordial invitation to pay him a visit at the snug cot-
tage in Devonshire to which he had retired. Now Ellis
was like myself—an old bachelor; and, except his half-pay,
was, I knew, but little burdened with this world's baggage
and accoutrements, so it never occurred to me that the
trust I was to undertake could possibly relate to anything
more important than the bestowal of legacies on his old
housekeeper and butler, or his almost equally antiquated cat
and dog. I wrote immediately to accept the invitation,
318
Modern Story-Teller.
and early the next morning I deposited myself and m;
portmanteau in the E coach, which, after a day's travel
ling, left me at my friend's abode. He was himself standing
at the garden wicket, ready to give me a cordial welcome.
There was nothing very death-like in the clear, bright glance
of his eye, or in the firm grasp of his hand; and I wondered
internally what the missive he had sent me could possibly
mean. However, I kept my thoughts to myself, and fol-
lowed Ellis into his neat little dining-room, where the
snowy tablecloth was speedily and satisfactorily covered
with a bountiful repast. Ample justice was done to the
fare by myself, and, despite of his mortuary intention, by
mine host also. After dinner he produced a capital bottle
of port, over which we discussed many of our former
campaigning adventures.
"Notwithstanding the fineness of the weather (it was in
the beginning of June), I had caught a slight cold on my
journey, which towards the close of the evening made itself
felt in the very unpleasant form of toothache; and the pain
becoming worse, I said to my host, I think I must ask
your housekeeper to-night for some flannel and camphorated
spirit to apply to my unfortunate jaw. You, happy fellow!
can't know what toothache is, your teeth look all so good.'
"Teeth!' cried my host, his countenance changing,-
'Teeth!' he repeated, shuddering: Ah! you little know-
you can't tell ————
>
"What's the matter, Ellis-what do you mean!'
“I mean that a tooth—an unfortunate tooth, has been
my ruin, and will cost me my life! And rising from his
chair, he paced up and down the room in a state of the
most violent agitation. Greatly astonished, I tried, of
course, to soothe him, and induce him to reveal the cause
of this strange excitement. Well,' he said at last, I will
read for you the will to which you have kindly promised
C
C
Our Major's Story.
319
to become executor.' I had made no promise of the kind,
but my poor friend took it for granted I had done so; and
leaving the room, he speedily returned with a folded paper
in one hand, and a very small round box in the other.
66
Laying these articles on the table, he seated himself ir.
his armchair, pushed aside his glass, and, making a strong
effort to speak calmly, began,- About two months since I
had occasion to visit the town of T on business, which
having speedily despatched, I dined at the hotel, and after-
wards set out for a stroll. I passed through the High Street,
and walked for some way along the turnpike road without
meeting any object of interest whatever. A shady green
lane opening on my right, invited me to turn into it-the
fragrant hawthorn in the hedge, and the cool fresh grass.
below, offering a pleasant contrast to the hard dusty road
on which I had been walking. I soon found that this quiet
lane led to a still more quiet and peaceful churchyard; and
threading my way amongst the rustic graves and rude
headstones, I moralized on them after my own fashion, if
not precisely according to that of Harvey. I had had at one
time a transient fancy for the study of phrenology, and still
retained a babit of inspecting the cerebral developments of
every one whom I met. It was, therefore, with some curi-
osity that I picked up a large, round, well-bleached skull
lying on the ground. What particularly interested me,
however, was the great beauty and regularity of the teeth;
they were all perfect, and as evenly ranged as if they had been
prepared to decorate the window of some advertising dentist.
Led by an idle impulse, which I could not then nor can I
now account for, I pulled out one of the grinders, put it into
my waistcoat pocket, and, carelessly throwing down the
skull, returned to the inn. Having partaken of tea, accom-
panied by some excellent muffins, I went to bed, and being
fatigued with my journey, soon fell asleep.
320
Modern Story-Teller.
"I had slept, for some time, but how long I cannot sell,
when I was suddenly awakened by the door of my room cpen.
ing. In stalked a tall figure dressed in black, with a white
neckcloth; his head was large, nearly bald, and he wore a
pair of gold spectacles. In his hand he carried a silver
candlestick, bearing a lighted candle, and advancing to
my bedside said in a menacing voice and manner, "Why
did you rob me of my tooth?”
66 6
L
My tongue suddenly became paralysed; I tried to
speak, but could not utter a word.
"""You have taken my tooth," continued the figure;
"and now take your choice. I'm not of a revengeful dis-
position; I don't want to say or do anything uncivil, but
one of two things I must have, and that instantly,—your
life, or the best tooth in your head! So look sharp and
take your choice.”
"The extremity of terror restored my voice.
"""Would it not do, sir, to restore you your own tooth
again?" I gasped.
tt
"No, no!" replied my visitor, shaking his head until
the gold spectacles slipped down to the very point of his
long nose; “I think I am a very good-natured fellow to give
you the choice; so which will you part with your life or
your tooth?”
666 66
My tooth!" I exclaimed, in agony: and instantly the
apparition, with as much dexterity as if he had been bred
a dentist, introduced a forceps into my mouth, and neatly
extracted a fine sound molar tooth. Look here,' continued
Ellis, opening his mouth, see the cavity it has left.'
"There was indeed the space where a large tooth had
been extracted, and I remarked that it was the only one
deficient in the entire range.
"Well,' continued my friend, that was not all. The
fellow pocketed my tooth, and then said-
Our Major's Story.
321
““Now you must promise on your honor as a gentle-
man, that you will preserve my tooth as long as you live, and
make provision that after your death it shall be carefully
interred with you. If you don't
And with a mena-
cing gesture, the proprietor of this departed as he came.'
"Ellis opened the little round box, and showed me, care-
fully inclosed in cotton, the redoubted tooth.
""
"I really knew not what to say; it was certainly very
difficult to refrain from laughing, but my poor friend was
so evidently in earnest, that I merely remarked,-
"It was a pity the good spectre was not satisfied with
resuming his own property, for really his tooth is so exactly
the same size and shape as your others, that I think it
would have exactly filled the cavity.'
'It was strange,' said Ellis, without noticing my remark,
that after such an agitating occurrence I fell asleep, and
slept soundly until late next morning. I awoke, feverish
and unrefreshed, and returned home as speedily as possible.
Ever since that time my health has slowly but surely
declined; not perhaps outwardly, but I know and feel that
my hour will soon come, and the dread of that fiend's ven-
geance will embitter my dying moments, unless you, my old,
tried friend, will promise to see me buried in T————— church-
yard, and with your own hand to place this miserable tooth
in my coffin.'
"What could I do but promise? The case was one of
decided monomania-argument and ridicule, both of which
I tried, only served to make poor Ellis angry, and he was
thoroughly determined not to see a physician-a measure
which I urged on him strongly.
"I remained with him for a few days, and had the
pleasure of leaving him, as I trusted, in better health and
spirits than when we met; and I hoped that his absurd
fancy, as I deemed it, would soon pass aw? v. I was there.
21
322
Modern Story-Celler.
fore greatly shocked when, in about six weeks afterwards,
I received a letter from his old housekeeper, telling me
that her master had died somewhat suddenly, but requested
with his dying breath that I should be sent for immediately.
"Need I say that I hastened to obey the summons!
Very mournful it was, certainly, to enter the silent cottage.
where I had lately met a warm welcome from my poor
friend. A physician was in attendance, and pronounced
that death had resulted from disease of the heart. He,
the clergyman of the parish, and Ellis's solicitor, were all,
at my request, present at the opening of the will. After
having disposed of his trifling property in legacies, the doc-
ument went on to request that I, whom he styled his beloved
friend, should have him decently buried in T church-
yard, and follow in all matters connected with his interment
the instructions previously given to me.
"The interment took place without the occurrence of
anything worth recording; but after it was over, I felt so
wearied and dispirited, that I resolved to take up my abode
for the night at the comfortable hotel at T——————. After din-
ner I was suddenly attacked by my old enemy-tooth-ache;
and the pain, resisting all the usual applications, became at
length so excruciating, that starting up in a sort of frenzy,
I inquired for the residence of the best dentist in the town,
and speedily found myself in his study. Whether it was the
effect of reaction after the rapid excercise I had taken, or the
well-known curative influence inherent in the atmosphere of
a dentist's house, I know not, but the pain I was suffering
gradually abated; and when the operator entered, I felt
almost inclined to make a civil retreat without putting his
skill to the test. However, on second thoughts, I consi-
dered it as well to lay my case before him, and try to obtain
some soothing nostrum which might stand me in stead on
future occasions. I therefore told him how I had been
Our Major's Story.
323
affected, and casually mentioned my having come a long jour
ney that morning, and its melancholy cause. Ah!' said the
dentist, thoughtfully, you came from Ein Devonshire.
The name of that village is associated in my mind with a
curious incident which occurred to me some three or four
months since.' Now I happen to have a decided hankering,
whether natural or acquired, after strange stories; and my
curiosity being excited, I begged the dentist to have the
kindness to satisfy it.
"Seating himself opposite to me, he immediately com-
plied, and began in these words:-
"One night, between three and four months since, 1
was aroused near midnight by a loud knocking and ringing
at the door. I was just about to step into bed, and my
servants having long before retired to their rooms, I hastily
resumed my clothes, and answered the summons. An
elderly gentleman with a military air and address entered.
There was an odd, staring look in his eyes, but he told me
in a perfectly coherent manner, that he was suffering from
dreadful toothache, and wished to have one of his grinders
extracted immediately. Of course, I ushered him into this
room, placed him in the patient's chair, and proceeded to
examine his jaws. I don't think I ever saw a finer or more
regular set of teeth,—not a vestige of decay could I perceive
in any of them—and the one which he pointed out as the
offender seemed to me perfectly free from disease. How-
ever, he insisted so strongly on having the tooth pulled out,
declaring that his comfort, nay, his very life, depended on its
being done, that I consented, though most unwillingly, to
perform the operation, and in a twinkling the tooth was out.
Having paid me my fee, the patient deliberately wrapped ny
his tooth, put it into his pocket, rose, and wishing me.
good-night, was about to depart, when a suspicion which
arose in my mind caused me suddenly to thrust a lighted
324
Modern Story-Teller.
candle close to his eyes. They never blinked: the pupils
were fixed and distended: in fact, to cut the story short
my visitor was fast asleep, and in a fit of somnarabulism had
left his bed, and caused me to extract his excellent tooth.
As he still continued in the trance, and it would have been
dangerous to arouse him suddenly, I prevailed on him to
allow me to accompany him home. He made his way with
unerring accuracy to the hotel; and the gates happening to
be open for the reception of the occupants of a night-coach,
I saw him to his room without attracting observation.
"On inquiring after him next morning, I heard that he
had left by an early conveyance for E, in Devonshire.'
“‘I looked attentively at the dentist: he was a tall man,
dressed in black, with a white neckcloth; his head was large,
nearly bald, and he wore a pair of gold spectacles, which
had a trick of slipping down to the point of his long nose
whenever he shook his head, which he did pretty frequently.
"Did you ever ascertain,' I asked, 'the name of your
visitor?'
"Yes,' replied the dentist. He took the blank part
of a letter from his pocket, and tore off the corner to wrap
up his tooth; the remainder he dropped on the carpet, and
it bore the address :-
"Capt. H. Ellis,'-th Regiment,
C E- Devonshire.'
2
"Here then was the explanation of my poor friend's
monomania. He actually died the victim of somnambulism.
And such was my first adventure as exec itor of a will.”

CO
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure on
the Duke's Moors.
M
AJOR O'SHAUGHNESSY Was of ancient Milesian
origin; his descent was as irreproachable as his
honor; his rank was taken from a militia regi-
ment, the South Cork, in which he had served with distinc-
tion, and acquired that profound knowledge of men and
manners for which throughout life he was so remarkable.
Six feet high, broad-shouldered, and of athletic frame, the
major was a bold rider, and an unerring shot. His stud
was the admiration of the whole county, and he had a
breed of bull-terriers not to be matched in Ireland. There
were few men of his time whom he was not able to walk
down, still fewer whom he could not drive under the
table; generous, brave, and hospitable, even to a fault.
Every description of field sport was a pleasant pastime to
him-he delighted and excelled in them all. But the
darling passion of his life was grouse-shooting.
It came to pass, one fine evening towards the end of
autumn, that the major, who, accompanied by his friend,
Tom Wildman, had been making a tour of the Highlands,
326
Modern Story-Teller.
arrived at the village of D- It was their intention to
have proceeded some miles further, but a brief deliberation
with the driver having satisfied them that the accommoda-
tions which the place afforded were tolerably comfortable,
they agreed to halt for the night, and bivouacked at the
Cat and Bagpipes, a hostelrie which stood at the further
extremity of the village. The scenery was such as Scotland
alone can produce in perfection-hills, blooming with
purple heather, rose in gentle undulations on every side;
a fine stream, now foaming over rocks, now eddying into
deep still pools, swept along in its course to the sea, which
might be descried sparkling in the distance. The hamlet,
consisting of a few scattered houses, lay snugly sheltered in
a quiet nook; the hills by which it was environed forming,
as it were, the base of a continuous range of lofty moun-
tains, that sloped westward. To those who look with a
painter's or a poet's eye upon the beauties of nature, it
would have been difficult to present a landscape more inte-
resting, or more abounding in varied charms, than that
upon which the travellers gazed as they wandered forth to
loiter away the tedious half hour preceding dinner. But
the major cared little for scenery, however picturesque,
nor, to his shame be it spoken, was he a lover of the fine
arts in the very least; so as his eye roved abroad over the
wide expanse of purple heather, the low stunted coppice.
wood, and the patches of corn land jotted about at inter-
vals like the squares of a chess-board, his whole soul was
filled with quite another admiration, intense enough after
its kind, which will be best explained by the following
exclamation, that burst as it were involuntarily from his
lips:
"By Jove, Tom! what splendid shooting there must
be on those hills!"
"Likely enough," replied his companion, who was not
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure.
327
a man of many words, but uncommonly fond of fly-fishing
(in which he was an adept), of smoking tobacco, and other
amusements suited to a contemplative nature.
"Fine river, too-eh, Tom? Look at the tail of that
pool; if there's a salmon in all Scotland, he's there, waiting
for his dinner, as we are."
"Claret-colored body, pheasant's wing, red hackle
underneath-that's the color would ' tickle his fancy.”
"Here's the color for us, Tom!" the major said, as,
after the lapse of some short time, which the pair spent in
lounging upon the bridge, he observed a waiter signalling
to them from the door of the village inn.
Nothing could have been better than the dinner which
they found awaiting their return; delicious salmon that an
hour ago had been swimming in the silver lustre of his
prime; delicate mountain mutton, washed down by amber
ale, which it was a pleasure to look at as well as to drink,
formed a repast to which both did ample justice. The
major felt supremely happy and comfortable; and, as he
lighted a cigar, said to his companion-
"Suppose, Tom, we have up the landlord, and ask if
it's possible, for love or money, to get a day over those
mountains ?"
"With all my heart," replied Tom Wildman, who was
addressing himself to the manufacture of a bowl of punch.
The proprietor of the Cat and Bagpipes, being sum-
moned accordingly, soon made his appearance, and a few
minutes sufficed to satisfy the major that the object of his
aspirations was one, apparently, impossible of attainment.
The mountains, it appeared, belonged to the Duke of
B; they were the best preserved in the kingdom,
no one ever drawing trigger upon them except his grace,
and such intimate friends as were occasionally partakers of
the ducal hospitality The keeper, a certain Sandy Mac
328
Modern Story-Teller.
pherson, was of tried integrity-the terror of all poachers,
cockney tourists, and trespassers of every kind; money
could not bribe, nor menace, even followed up by assault
and battery, dismay him; he had refused with scorn ten
golden guineas, offered by a sporting gent from London,
and had thrashed, single-handed, three Oxford under-
graduates, who had tried to force a passage through a
certain portion of the dominions intrusted to his care.
"It don't look very promising, eh, major ?" Tom
Wildman said, when the door had closed upon the de-
parted host.
"Not very; nothing could be more unsatisfactory: so
we shall have to fall back upon the salmon, if we remain
here a day or two; and we will, Tom, for I know your
heart is set upon trying your favorite claret body with the
red hackle."
The quaint old Izaac Walton himself could scarcely have
desired a more propitious day for the exercise of his gentle
craft than that which succeeded. Tom Wildman having
screwed together his rod, issued forth, accompanied by his
friend with a landing net. Passing over the bridge, they
strolled leisurely along the river's side, in the direction of a
mountain glen åt no great distance, with the intention of
fishing downwards to the bridge, in the first instance,
before they proceeded to investigate that portion of deeper
water which flowed between the village and the sea.
They had not proceeded very far upon their voyage of
discovery, when a nice, snug house, standing in a quiet,
out-of-the-way spot, among the hills, was descried at a
little distance. It had the appearance of one of those old-
fashioned comfortable farm-houses seldom seen out of
Scotland; a tract of highly cultivated ground lay behind it,
skirted by a belt of Scotch firs, which seemed to thrive like
hardy denizens of these mountain solitudes. While our
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adbenture.
329
friends were engaged in making these observations, a man
was seen rapidly descending a long stubble field, which
sloped from the house down to the river's side.
"I shouldn't at all wonder, now, Tom, if this were the
redoubtable keeper himself; there's something sporting in
his trim, ain't there?" said the major.
And so there was, nor would it be easy to find a better
specimen of his class than he who was now approaching
them. Sandy Macpherson, for the major was right in his
conjecture, looked the very beau-ideal of a gamekeeper;
his figure was tall, but active and sinewy; the well pro-
portioned limbs, and light springy step, were those of a
man used to breast the mountain sides; a face, bronzed by
exposure to the sun and wind, was lighted up by eyes
twinkling with shrewdness and intelligence; huge red
whiskers met underneath his chin, almost covering his
neck, which was unconfined by any kerchief; his attire
consisted of a velveteen jacket with gaiters and leggins,
and his head was covered by a Scotch bonnet. A glance
from the major, which took in all these outward signs, con-
vinced him that any one who calculated upon taking the
smallest advantage of Sandy, would, as the saying is, have
to get up early in the morning.
"Fine day, gentlemen," said he whom we have just
described.
"Beautiful," replied Tom Wildman.
"Ye hae leave in writin' from the duke to come on
these grounds, otherwise my orders is verra strict,” the
keeper said, in a civil tone.
"We have no leave whatever, nor did we know the
river was preserved," replied Tom Wildman.
"Nae mair it is, until ye come upon the heather. His
grace doesna fash himsel' about the fishes, but he's unco
particular for fear o' the birds bein' disturbed."
330
Modern Story-Teller.
ct Well, we must turn back again, that's all; and
perhaps you'll be good enough, for I suppose you
are the duke's keeper, to show us whereabouts is the
boundary, which we shall take care not to pass for the
future."
The honest keeper pointed to a turn in the river, where
the moorland terminated, and was about to take his depar-
ture, when the fisherman requested to have the benefit of
his advice as to what flies were best suited for the river,
and whether his favorite claret-colored body would be
likely to please the taste of the trout. This produced an
inspection of the book of flies, as well as a discussion upon
the various topics connected with the art. The piscatorial
opinions of the keeper were listened to with the utmost
respect and deference by the two sportsmen, who made
themselves in short so agreeable to their new acquaintance,
that when they parted, it was upon the condition he would
look in when the day's sport had concluded, and inspect
some fishing gear of a novel construction.
The river did not belie the expectations its appearance
had created the trout rose merrily. The fisherman filled
his creel; evening came; and as the major, with his friend,
sat after dinner in the little parlor, speculating if the
keeper would make his appearance, a knock was heard at
the door, and the subject of their contemplations entered
the apartment. Tom Wildman insisted upon his taking a
chair, filled him a huge bumper of punch out of the bowl
which steamed upon the table, and opened his repository
of flies, while the Major was not behindhand in civility,
and requested their guest to pronounce an opinion upon a
new box of choice cigars. The punch was good; the
tobacco was better; what Scotchman, what mortal man,
could long withstand the combination of their genial influ-
ences? so, by imperceptible degrees, the reserve of Mr.
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure.
331
Macpherson thawed away, he was quite at his ease, and
grew not only communicative, but loquacious, and as he
swallowed tumbler after tumbler of the inspiring liquor, he
launched forth into praises of the nobleman, his master, his
own dogs, guns, and all the paraphernalia appertaining to
his calling.
The major, with that intuitive sagacity for which, in
common with his countrymen, he was eminently remarkable,
arranged at once within his own mind a plan of operations.
which he fondly trusted would lead to success;
he saw
with how shrewd a gentleman he had to deal, and although
Mr. Macpherson was, to all outward appearance, perfectly
off his guard, and thoroughly warmed by the generous
influences to which he was exposed, the major could at
times detect a shrewd glance, which looking quite through
him, showed an intelligence which all the liquor in the
world could neither cloud nor baffle; he affected therefore
a total and entire ignorance of all matters relating to field
sports, hinted delicately that he delighted in picturesque
scenery, and occasionally occupied his leisure hours by
taking rough sketches, while he carried the landing-net for
his piscatorial companion.
"Gran' views are verra weel in their way, verra weel,
but hech, sirs, to my mind there's nae sic sight in natur', as
to see twa weel broke setters on a pack o' grouse!" and
as he spake the keeper's features glowed with the enthu-
siasm of his calling.
"I have seen a bull terrier worry a rat, but I can't say
I liked it much," replied the major, with an effrontery
which did credit to his powers of face.
"Worry a rot! dang it, mon-beg pardon, sir-but
dang it, is that a' ye ken? ye dinna think we kill grouse
by catchin' them, and worryin' them like stots!"
"What's the use of dogs, then, what do you do with
332
Modern Story-Teller.
them ?" the major said, lighting a fresh cigar, and smiling
with the apparent guilelessness of an infant.
Sandy Macpherson thus addressed, looked first at Tom
Wildman as if to see what he thought of his friend's
lamentable ignorance, but that gentleman's countenance
affording no index whatever as to the nature of his cogita
tions, he turned then to the major, who regarded him with
an air of innocent surprise most comical to behold. The
worthy keeper could control himself no longer, and gave
vent to his feelings in a burst of laughter, so sudden, loud,
and continuous, that the glasses danced upon the table.
“What amuses you, my friend?" the major said.
Hech, sir, to think o' a gentleman come to your years
an' never heerd tell o' settin' a grouse; I canna believe it,"
and Sandy laughed till the tears stood in his eyes.
"It would make a pretty picture, I suppose."
"Pictur", sir, hech!"
But the result of the dialogue may be told in a few
words. The ignorance assumed by the major was so admi-
rably acted, that the suspicions of Mr. Macpherson began
gradually to die away, in proportion as he warmed under
the genial influences of the punch and cigars. Thus it
came to pass, when the deepening shadows warned him it
was time to bend his steps homewards, he gave his hosts to
understand that, having occasion on the following morning
to procure some grouse to send up to London, he would
be extremely happy if the major could make it convenient
to take a walk along with him, in order that he might have
an opportunity of satisfying himself by personal observa-
tion, that grouse were killed in a scientific and sportsman-
like fashion, and not, as he supposed, worried "like rots."
That night the major slept but little; his brain, fertile
in expedients, was occupied in revolving by what means it
was possible for him to attain his wished-for object. He at
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure.
333
length hit upon a device, so extraordinary, that it was
little wonder the keeper looked at him from head to foot
with genuine amazement, when they met on the following
morning, for never in his experience had he seen a gentle-
man similarly attired for an excursion on the moors.
In a
blue dress coat with gilt buttons, a white waistcoat, fawn
colored jean unmentionables, spotless white stockings, and
shoes of varnished leather, had the major carefully arrayed
himself—a well brushed white hat was stuck jauntily on his
head; in one hand he bore a French cane with a gold top,
in the other a small sketch-book.
tr
"Ye dinna mean to say ye're for travellin' the moors in
sic a dress as yon ?" Mr. Macpherson said, when his asto-
nishment had sufficiently subsided to enable him to speak.
Why, as I told you yesterday evening, I don't know
much about these matters, and the fact is, I've always
been accustomed to hear of grouse-shooting as an amuse-
ment, partaken in by noblemen and great people, so I
thought a man should dress for it, as if he were going to a
ball."
"Weel a weel, ha'e a care o' the quaighs, that's all,
ye'll be in the de'il's ain pickle afore ye're mony hours
older. I wadna gi'e a siller saxpence for the hail claes on
yer back when ye come hame at e'en, that's sure at any
rate,” replied the keeper. But the major, who would wil-
lingly have bought success at a much higher rate than the
price of a suit of clothes, was quite prepared for the trifling.
sacrifice, so they went on their way rejoicing; the keeper's
boy, a red-legged young Celt, with a huge creel strapped
on his back, casting many an admiring glance at the
gorgeous apparel of the strange gentleman, about whose
legs Flora, the red setter, kept sniffing, as if she greatly
desired a taste of their quality for her morning's meal, her
master muttering to himself:
334
Modern Story-Teller.
"A weel, I ha'e seen some strange sights in my day,
but de'il tak me if ever I saw a chiel come out to walk the
moors in dancin' shoon afore."
A stiffish walk of some miles over the heather, which
by no means added to the brilliancy of the major's costume,
brought the party to a beautiful mountain glen, round
which lay a wide expanse of ground, broken into undu-
lating little knolls, which the experienced eye of the major
saw at a glance was splendid feeding ground for birds.
Nor was he deceived; the dogs had not been very long
uncoupled, when it was manifest they were on game.
"Ho, Don! steady! ha'e a care, good dowg," whis-
pered the keeper, as Don, throwing back his fine head,
began to proceed with more caution; the crafty major,
repressing as well as he could his admiration, said, in an
alarmed tone,
'
Why, what's the matter with the animal? he has got
his tail as stiff as a poker; he ain't going mad, I hope? If
you think so, shoot him! for heaven's sake, Sandy, shoot
him at once."
"Wheest!" replied the keeper, opening his eyes with
amazement, and cocking both barrels. "Look at Flora
there, may be she's mad too.”
The training of the dogs was perfect. Flora lay motion-
less behind the setter, who now stood stock-still, every hair
on his back bristling up like porcupines' quills; the red-
legged attendant had lain down on the heather, whence
the top of his head alone was visible.
66
Noo, then! keep a wee bit behind me, or them fine
colors o' yours will do mischief; I can see the old birds
glancin' through the heather," whispered Mr. Macpherson,
adding softly, "Go on, Don; go on, good dowg!"
The setter, at his master's bidding, crept quietly for-
wards, and up at their very feet sprang a magnificent pack
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure.
335
of grouse, the old cock leading the van, and crowing lus
tily-whirr! whirr! whirr! the major thought they would
never stop.
Sandy Macpherson's brown barrels glanced for an
instant in the sun, flash! down went the old cock with a
heavy "thud" on the heather, a whole shower of his
feathers floating in the morning air. Pop! and over went.
a brace of his companions, a wave of the keeper's hand,
and motionless as stones lay the dogs, while their master
proceeded to load.
Much as Major O'Shaughnessy had admired the training
of the dogs, as displayed in their first performance, their
subsequent conduct was beyond all praise, and he confessed
to himself that anything more perfect than their pointing,
or than the shooting of their master, he had never seen.
The flat tract of ground had abundance of game-each
single bird, as it got up, was knocked over with a precision
that never erred; but it was in disposing of a pack that
the keeper's coolness and steadiness of hand were dis-
played to the greatest advantage; he never threw away a
shot, but singled out the old cock, picked him off with his
first barrel, reserving the second to intercept the flight of
any unlucky straggler who lingered behind his fellows.
Not a word was spoken-the dogs and master understood
each other perfectly. When the brown barrels were
raised and fired, up went his hand, and down went the
setters, never attempting to stir until he had reloaded.
Then the click of the hammer, as he cocked his piece, was
sufficient signal for them; they understood it at once, and
went off quartering their ground as before. By the time the
long flat tract of heather had been thoroughly beaten, the
spoils being collected by the red-legged urchin, were found
to amount to twelve brace,
Weel, sir, what do you think o' grouse shooting?
336
Modern Story Teller.
nice sport, ain't it ?" inquired the keeper, depositing him-
self at full length beside the major, and laying his gun
down on the heather.
"Uncommonly interesting, but by no means comfort-
able," replied the major, casting a rueful glance at his
nether man, which had suffered not a little. The var-
nished shoes were rent in twain, the white stockings and
nice jean pantaloons were plastered with mud, and the
whole aspect of his companion so miserable, that the com-
passion of Sandy Macpherson overpowered his more risible
indications. The roughest day will, however, wear to a
close. After some further shooting, the keeper declared
the sport to be over; he had enough, he thought, for his
purpose. The spoils being counted were found to amount
to twenty-five brace of magnificent grouse, and the party
prepared to bend their steps homewards.
"Ha'e ye e'er tried a shot yer ainsel, noo ?" inquired
Mr. Macpherson, with some interest, as they were descend-
ing a steep brae.
"Yes, of course I have," replied the major, boldly.
"Birds ?" inquired the keeper.
"Yes; birds, certainly."
"Paitrich, maybe; or pheasant; a cock pheasant's a
braw easy shot!”
"Twas at a cock-robin I fired," replied the major, with
cool effrontery, "and by Jove I missed him into the
bargain."
"Like to try your chance, sir, on a grouse now? he's
a bigger mark,” said the keeper, with a hearty chuckle.
"If I could only catch him sitting, and get near
enough, I'd pepper him, by Jove I would !" the major said.
"That would be just clean murder, outright; if ye'd
only let him up, and take time, and hold the gun straight,
ye couldna miss him."
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure.
337
"Gad, I think I'd like to try, any how," replied the
major.
"Verra weel, and so ye shall when we're down this
hill; I'll let Don awa' by himsel'; he'll nae be lang afore
he finds ye a bird. Dang it, sir, I would like just to sce
ye tumble an auld cock for the fun o' the thing," said Sandy
Macpherson.
The party had not proceeded very far over the flat
ground which lay at the foot of the hill they had just tra-
versed, when the red setter, released from his four-footed
companion, dropped slowly on the brow of a gentle
eminence.
"Noo," whispered the keeper, "here'll be a braw
chance-stan' yer ground quietly until I load; will ye ha'e
the twa barrels? I think the ane will be enugh."
"Wouldn't I have a better chance with the two ?"
inquired the major, shuddering nervously, as if he had
been seized with a fit of the ague.
Sandy Macpherson smiled grimly as he loaded his favor
ite brown barrels, put on the caps, cocked the piece, and
handed it to the trembling gentleman at his side.
There probably never was an erring mortal more sorely
tried than the major at this moment; the whole enthusiasm
of his sporting nature was astir within him, as he felt the
gun in his hand, the heather under his foot, and saw the
fine setter motionless as a rock before him. How I could
astonish Sandy, if the pack be a strong one, he thought to
himself; but no, I'll play the game out, it has cost me
trouble enough already; he advanced a few steps, and up
got a tremendous pack of grouse, all round him.
"Lord save us!" shouted the major, as if terrified out.
of his senses.
"Noo, man! noo! noo's the time; dang it they'll be
awa," said Sandy.
22
338
Modern Story-Teller.
The major shut his teeth, and having previously closed
his eyes, pointed the muzzle to the firmament, pulled both
triggers simultaneously, and dropped on his nether end on
the heather, as if he had been shot himself, while Sandy
burst in a guffaw of laughter, that made the echoes ring.
"How many's down ?" inquired the sportsman.
"Nane but yer ain sel'; the de'il a feather ha'e ye
touched; there gaes the auld cock crawin', as if he was
daft; he's laughin', an' nae wonder," the keeper said.
In a word, the acting of the crafty old campaigner was
so good, that he thoroughly deluded his companion into
the belief he was as ignorant of the mysteries of grouse-
shooting as if he had been a shopman's apprentice, and
never off the flags of London; so, after dinner, which Mr.
Macpherson had been persuaded to remain and partake of,
at the Cat and Bagpipes, when the punch had circulated
pretty freely, the conversation turned of course upon the
exploits of the morning, which the Scotchman narrated
with great humor. The major took occasion to insinuate,
that the fault lay not so much in his shooting as in the gun,
which had kicked him so tremendously, he said, that he
was unable to hold it straight!
This was too great a trial of the keeper's patience, who,
of course, stoutly maintained the reputation of his favorite.
brown Bess, asserting, with a force of logic which was
difficult to overcome, that when he could kill with the
piece himself, it could not be her fault if, in other hands, a
like result did not follow.
..
Ah, Sandy, you cannot persuade me of that! A gun
that kicks, hurts a fellow's shoulder, and knocks him down,
can never be a good gun, say what you will," persisted the
major.
"Whatna piece is there that wunna kick if a chie.
pu' baith triggers thegither? and as for knocking a mon
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adbenture.
339
doon, why, that's the fault o' the mon-no' o' the gun,”
said Sandy.
“Well, well, when I go home again, I'll take lessons.
I'll be able to shoot grouse as well as you, Sandy, before I
die."
"Na, na, sir! some folks would ne'er ken the knack;
ye're a gey stout-built gentleman to look at, but ye ha'e na
nerves, nane whatever," replied the keeper, shaking his head.
"If I had been only by myself, with no one to look on,
I could have shot him, I'm sure I could," said the major, as
if asserting an abstract proposition, the truth of which was
indisputable.
"Shot wha; no the auld cock, surely?" inquired Mr.
Macpherson.
"Yes, the old cock; I'd have done for him."
"Na, ye wouldna shoot a haystack."
"I'm blessed if I couldn't," interrupted the major.
"I'm d-d if you could," shouted the keeper, slapping
his huge hand upon the table, until the glasses danced.
The major smiled a smile which was peculiar to him,
such a smile as might have played over the Great Captain's
iron visage when he saw the decisive moment had come,
and he said,
"I'll bet you ten guineas I do it.”
"What! shoot a grouse ?" inquired the keeper,
eagerly.
"Shoot a grouse-one, two, three, aye, four of them,"
shouted the major, thumping, in his turn, the table with
his fist.
(6
Sittin', if Dick 'll put salt on their tails," replied Sandy,
with a grin of contempt.
"No, flying."
"Hoot awa', mon, ye wadna do't in a twalmonth.
needna fash yersel' to stake yer money."
Ye
340
Modern Story-Teller.
"Ten guineas I do!" thundered the major, flinging, as
he spoke, the coin on the table.
"Ten pun', four grouse, flyin', and a' in the ane day;
done, sir, I'll tak' ye up," said Mr. Macpherson, clutching
the tempter's hand.
"Done," replied the major, returning the pressure.
"But I must go out quietly by myself; you'll have to lend
me a dog too; you see I have learned something by the
morning's lesson; my friend here will, I have no doubt,
stand the loan of an old gun he carries about with him."
"Dowg!" said the keeper, musingly, "I dinna ken how
we'll manage about that; I wadna trust the dowgs we had
in the morn to any ither than my ain sel'; but stap, I ha’e
it; there's an auld pointer ayont, a gey good beast he was
in his day; ye shall ha'e him, an' Dick too, if ye like, to
carry hame the birds," he added with a grin.
"Lots of powder and shot, too—eh, Sandy ?”
"A sack fu', if your honor pleases. I'll tell ye how
we'll manage on Saturday morn I'm goin' to a fair, a
gey piece off; you can just slip quietly out up the glen; you
ken whar you met me—I'll ha'e Dick wi' the auld pointer
waiting for you there; but, for the Lord's sake, sir, it must
na be tauld to a living cre'tur. If it came to the duke's
ken I'd lose my place."
The major having given a solemn pledge of secresy,
Sandy Macpherson took his departure, not a little elated at
the prospect of winning ten guineas, and perfectly satisfied
that there was no danger whatever, except, perhaps, to
Sancho, the old pointer.
Saturday morning came in due course, and a finer
autumn day never dawned; there had been a slight frost
during the night, but the air, though bracing, was not so
keen, and a gentle breeze swept the heather, as Major
O'Shaughnessy, determined to be in good time, drew near
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure.
341
to the keeper's lodge; when, who should come full upon
him but that functionary himself, jogging along on a High-
land shelty.
"Gude mornin', ye'll ha'e a braw day any how; but,
Lord save us, wha's this!" and the countenance of Mr.
Macpherson, as his eye fell upon the major, underwent a
considerable alteration; and well it might, for a man of
another fashion than the over-dressed blundering compa-
nion of his former excursion stood before him now. The
major, who had calculated that the keeper would have
taken his departure for the fair long before his own arrival
at the lodge, had arrayed himself in the accurate sporting
costume he usually wore when equipped for the moors-a
loose, single-breasted jacket of brown tweed, dark grey
linen trousers, and well greased brogues, formed his ap-
parel; a silver dog-whistle hung suspended from his button-
nole; a light "wide-awake" covered his head, and poised
upon his shoulder was an old Joe Manton, which had evi-
dently seen service: upon the whole there was a certain
something in the air and carriage which caused an uneasy
sensation about the keeper's heart. The travelling artist
looked like a man who could do mischief; but there was
no help for it now, so Sandy Macpherson took his depar-
ture, consoling himself with the reflection, that even if the
major could, by any possibility, kill a grouse, Sancho was
about the last dog in the world likely to facilitate such an
operation. He was an old pepper and salt colored pointer,
with a remarkably short tail, dull bleared eyes, which
looked as if he slept a great deal more than was good for
him; he was lame into the bargain; and, upon the whole,
as unlikely looking an animal to be of use, except for "cat's
meat," as any the major had ever seen. But he was not
the man to be deterred by difficulties; so having pulled out
a handful of bright new shillings, brought with him for the
342
Modern Story-Teller.
purpose, he showed them to the young Celt at his side, and
promising to reward him richly for every pack of grouse
to which he introduced him, Major O'Shaughnessy trudged
cheerfully on, resolving that if whipcord could enlighten
Sancho as to the responsibilities of his situation, he should
have it in abundance.
A smart walk of a couple of miles brought the party to
a beautiful range of quiet hills, whose sides were covered
nearly half way up with heather-green-pasture land lay
along the top-no trace of human habitation, save an old
dismantled sheep-fold, was in sight, and the occasional
tinkling of a sheep bell in the distance, was the only sound
that broke the silence. Far as the eye could reach lay a
wide expanse of heather, the tops and brooms of which
waved to and fro in a fresh westerly breeze, affording
abundant promise that the task of finding birds would be
one of easy performance.
"Here be the ground, sir, that maister always brings
the quality folks to; there's a sight o' grouse along them
hills," the red-legged boy said.
"Very well, then, Dick, you may let the old dog go."
Away accordingly scampered Sancho, evidently in a
state of high excitement, his stump of a tail wriggling to
and fro, and his whole deportment affording abundant
proof that he knew perfectly well where he was. In his
more juvenile days, he had upon the same stage probably
acquitted himself with credit; but to do anything with
credit, except eat, drink, and bite beggars, was an exploit
with which Sancho had long ceased to be familiar; so on
he went, poking and snuffing among the heather, until he
sprang a fine pack of grouse, and then his conduct was
indecorous in the extreme; for not content with nearly
capturing the old cock, he began to bark like a terrier, and
chased each bird in succession as it rose from the heather,
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure.
343
with an agility which could scarcely have been expected in
a dog of his years.
"Ho! I'll cure you of that presently, my boy," the
major said, as he knocked over a brace of birds, right and
left.
Sancho, by the aid of the young Celt, was soon caught,
and a flagellation inflicted which astonished him, as well as
some sheep grazing in the distance, whom the howls of the
unlucky culprit sent scampering off across the hills.
The dog, released, rolled himself on the heather, and
trotted off gay as a lark, as if his faculties had been re-
freshed by the discipline he had undergone.
66
'By Jove, he's on birds again!" said the major.
"Deed, an he just is; ye had best keep close up to
him," whispered the boy.
"Have a care there!" roared the major, whose mouth
the words had hardly escaped, when up got another
pack. Bang! bang! right into the middle of them went
both barrels, and a shower of feathers descended upon
Sancho, who behaved, if possible, worse than before, for
seizing upon one of the fallen birds, he proceeded very
deliberately to tear it to pieces.
"Catch him, Dick! get hold of the bird, or the brute
will eat it, feathers and all!”
Sancho was caught, this time not without difficulty, and
a second flogging liberally administered, which seemed to
recall the dog to some of his senses, for he went on rather
more cautiously than before, no great way, indeed, before
it was evident there was something more in the wind, for
after a short time he came to a very tolerable point. Up
got a fine hare; off went Sancho, the major's gun just
touched his shoulder and over went pussy, crunkling out a
full length in the heather. At the same moment, started
by the noise, another pack of grouse rose, into which the
344
Modern Stery-Teller.
contents of the major's second barrel went with fell pre-
cision.
"Now, Dick! be alive, pick up the birds, look sharp;
at this rate you'll be rich before night," said the major,
reloading as quickly as he could.
The place was literally alive with game. The coolness
and precision of the sportsman made amends for the obsti-
nate perversity of the dog. The major's blood was up, he
scarcely missed a shot, and the red-legged boy was stag-
gering with the weight he carried, long before the day
was over. Alas! could the deceived and deeply injured
Sandy Macpherson have only known what devastation was
going on among his grouse he could scarcely have been so
hard upon the grazier, with whom he was chaffering about
the price of a heifer; nor, his bargain being concluded,
would he have jogged home with that cheerful expression
his countenance wore when he alighted from his shelty,
towards nightfall, at the door of the Cat and Bagpipes.
"Ha'e ye the ten pun' ready for me ?" he inquired,
with a pleasant smile, as he opened the door of the parlor,
where the major was seated at dinner.
"No, Sandy, but you have brought it from the fair for
me, I hope,” replied the major, laughing.
"Na, na, de'il a bit, that winna do; ye couldna shoot
a grouse if yer life depended on it-ye ha'e nae nerves.”
"Take a chair, Sandy, you must stay to dinner; but
before you sit down just lift that cloth, on the side-board;
you'll see something there that'll give you an appetite for
the mutton."
The poor keeper did as he was bid, and a sight was
indeed revealed to his astonished gaze which for many a
long day he bitterly remembered. There, ranged in due
order, were about forty brace of the duke's finest grouse,
not to mention several hares, and sundry head of black
Major O'Shaughnessy's Adventure.
345
game. Confusion, horror, surprise, and wrath struggled
for a moment in his countenance, and seemed to deprive
him of all power of utterance.
"Hech, sirs! I'm a ruined man, that's all," he said at
last, with an execration we need not stay to mention.
"Deuce a bit, Sandy; keep your own counsel, and I'll
keep mine, you may be certain of that."
“An' with that auld dowg, that I thocht didna ken a
grouse frae a gander. An' my ten pun' into the bargain.
Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!" groaned the unhappy keeper,
wiping the perspiration off his forehead.
"Never mind that, Sandy, I can afford to let you off
the bet; the day's sport is worth the money, and more
too," and the major, as he spoke, slipped a few sovereigns
into the keeper's hand.
"Aweel! aweel! wha'd ha'e thocht it, wi' that auld
deef pointer. De'il tak' me but if ever I see a chiel on the
mountains again wi' a blue body coat an' dancing shoon,
I'll slip the dowgs at him, dang me if I don't !"
"Never mind; Sancho is no great things of a dog, but
his master is a right honest fellow, and a staunch sports-
man into the bargain. Scotchman as you are, you cannot
be expected to be a match for a man who has hunted with
the Faugh a Ba laghs.' But if ever you come to Ireland,
Sandy, you shall be right welcome at Badger Hall.”
6

A Cock-Fight in the Havana.
NE bright morning in the month of December, a
few years ago, the Ohio lay swinging to-and-fro,
under the guns of the Moro Castle, in the harbor
of Havana.
Rising and falling on the breast of the billow, like a
beautiful thing of life, with her tall masts tapering to the
sky, her half-clewed sails hanging gracefully in the sun, and
her bristling port-holes showing a row of teeth almost as
formidable as the castle itself, she was a thing both to be
admired and to be feared.
The beautiful quarter-deck shone like a well-polished
table; the brass mountings of "long Tom," a respectable.
sixty-four pounder, glistened like gold, when contrasted
with his black muzzle; and beneath the belaying-pins lay
sundry well-tarred ropes, coiled up like snakes preparing for
a spring.
A slight breeze rippled the water, gently wafting to
leeward the smoke which issued from the cigars of a few
officers, who, dressed in the gay uniform of our navy, sat
discussing the merits of the combatants in a certain cock-
fight, which was to take place on the island that day, and
A Cock-Fight in the Habana.
347
to which they were to be conveyed in the captain's gig,
which had been ordered to be got ready for that purpose.
It was a bright Sunday morning, the day generally chosen
by the Creoles for their exhibitions of bull-fights, cock-
fights, and similar rational amusements, and great anxiety
was manifested on this occasion to witness the sport, in con-
sequence of the enormous bets which had been staked by
the Spaniards and Creoles upon their favorites, and because
it was so arranged that the field was open to competitors.
of all classes.
Symptoms of impatience were becoming evident in the
countenances of the officers at the non-appearance of the
gig, when they observed a knot of sailors congregated
around the capstan, and in a few minutes, "Will Glover,"
the boatswain, a fine specimen of an American sailor,
approached them, and touching his cap, requested permis-
sion to take them ashore in the yawl instead of the gig.
The request occasioned some surprise, as it was rather
an unusual one, and the captain was upon the point of refus-
ing, when the first lieutenant whispered in his ear:
"There is a lurking devil in Will's eye, which shows
that there is mischief in the wind; so let's see what it is
about."
The quick-witted boatswain, however, had seen the
impending refusal, and before it had time to leave the cap-
tain's lips, he had told him "that the boys had brought out
in the vessel a great fighting-bird, which they wanted to
match against the best game-cock on the island, being
desirous of proving the superiority of the Americans in
chickens, as well as in everything else."
"Besides," continued he, "these yellow devils win our
money all the time with their marked cards and loaded
dice, and we are burning to have our revenge.”
"But what kind of a bird have you got there ?" said the
348
Modern Story-Teller.
captain; "you cannot hope to fight one of the half-bred
game-cocks which we have at home against the splendid
birds which these Creoles devote their whole time to breed-
ing and training, and which are perhaps unequalled in the
world."
"Never mind that, captain," answered Will; "we have
a bird here that is known all over the United States, and
which has never been whipped yet, although he has had
worse enemies to encounter than these bilious-looking
Spaniards."
"Well, I do not know what mischief you are after,”
replied the captain, good-naturedly; "but if you will give
your word on behalf of these men, that you will behave
yourselves properly while on shore, and not taste a drop of
liquor, you may go."
Will touched his cap again, and in a minute disappeared
down the hatch, while the officers stood wondering at the
implicit reliance which he seemed to have in the powers of
his bird, yet at the same time confiding fully in the well
known shrewdness of the fellow, which they had often seen
put to the test.
The yawl was soon lowered, a dozen sailors sprang into
it, and swinging round to the gangway, sat silently waiting
for the officers; but a knowing smile might have been seen
playing about each man's face, which broke into a cheer, as
the sturdy boatswain appeared on the monkey-rail with his
precious bird in a sack, and seizing the painter, swung him-
self lightly into the boat.
By this time the officers had become as much interested
in the proceedings as the men, and as soon as they were
seated, demanded to see the contents of the bag.
But Will assured them that the bird would fight so much
better if kept in the dark until the hour of combat, and
pleaded so earnestly against taking him out, that they at
A Cock-Fight in the Habana.
349
last yielded the point, and contented themselves with listen-
ing to an interesting but entirely fabulous history of "The
Unknown," which the boatswain related with a seriousness
that would have done credit to a funeral sermon.
As they approached the shore, he concluded by saying:
"I have good reason for wishing to preserve my bird's
secret until the last moment, and although you will discover
it the moment it is pitted, I hope your honors will keep
your thoughts to yourselves, and not betray us. We have
raised all the money we could on the ship, and have got a
good purse to put against the best cock that ever crowed
in the Havana, and if your honors would like to do a little
betting, you can do it with perfect safety on this bird, or
my name's not Will Glover; for their picayune chickens
will stand no more chance with him than one of these fel-
lows themselves would with me, and I never saw any three
of them yet that I couldn't whip in a free fight."
Having finished this modest assertion, his eye glanced
slightly at his powerful frame, as if to say, "judge for your-
selves;" and indeed it required little judgment to perceive.
that if the bird resembled his master, he would prove a for-
midable antagonist; for Will's clear blue eye, broad fore-
head, and bright, handsome countenance gave promise of
more than ordinary intelligence and resolution, while his
thick, brawny neck and huge arms looked perfectly capable
of performing in a "free fight," even more than had just
been claimed for them.
In a few minutes, the party had landed and separated,
the officers having gone to a livery-stable to procure a con-
veyance, and the stalwart form of the boatswain could be
seen rolling up the street, at the head of a body of men,
whose appearance was such as to render them little likely
to receive interruption from the majority of peaceably-dis
posed citizens.
350
Modern Story-Teller.
In about half an hour, they had reached the inclosure
which contained the pit, and they soon found themselves in
the midst of a motley assemblage, who were chattering and
yelling in a manner worthy of the gallery of a third-rate
theatre in the United States.
Women of every shade of color, from ebony to dirty
white, were seated around the outer side of the wall, with
tables or trays displaying oranges, bananas, sugar-cane, alli-
gator-pears, mangoes, bell-apples, sapadilloes, and various
other tropical fruits, while men and boys were seen parading
about with every variety of that officious bird which always
insists upon announcing the break of day, when nobody
cares about hearing it.
The pit was surrounded by a large amphitheatre, capable
of holding an immense number of persons, and there, seated
upon benches, raised one above the other, sat the beauty
and chivalry of the Havana. There
"Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell!"
but nevertheless old and young, rich and poor, seemed bent
upon enjoying the sport, and the "soft eyes" above alluded
to seemed quite willing to divide their favors equally be-
tween their cavaliers and the chickens.
Whenever a fine bird was exhibited and matched
against another, the ladies were seen betting with as much
vivacity as the men, although their stakes were more mode-
rate than the immense sums which some of the old Dons
displayed upon little tables around the edge of the ring, and
which they won and lost with a nonchalance worthy of a
better cause.
Glover and his companions, on entering the amphi
theatre, took their seats near the door, and shortly after the
A Cock-Fight in the Habana.
351
officers of the Ohio arrived, and obtaining places a short
distance from the men, were soon engaged in making trifling
bets with those around them, on such birds as happened to
excite their admiration.
Gallant birds they certainly were, and worthy of all ad-
miration; but unless history is to be disbelieved, they were
guilty of most extraordinary anachronisms.
Time, place, and facts were utterly disregarded in the
scenes there enacted, and the very dead were brought from
their graves to fight for the amusement of the inconsiderate
spectators.
Julius Cæsar was there picking a quarrel with the Duke
of Wellington; Plutarch was strutting about with a large
red comb in his head; Lord Byron, with bare legs and steel-
spurs, was seen running away from Christopher Colum-
bus; and Mark Antony was heard pronouncing an ex-
tremely tautological oration over the dead body of Don
Quixote.
It is true that the eloquence of this Mr. Antony was not
quite equal to that of another of the same name, who once
began an address by making the unreasonable request that
his "friends," as well as the "Romans and countrymen,"
would "lend him their ears;" but his style was certainly
more terse and laconic, for his preface consisted of "cock-a,"
his story of "doodle," and the conclusion of "doo." Such
brevity should certainly have ranked with the "veni, vidi,
vici" of olden times, and the "Sebastopol est pris" of our
day. But to return to our unfortunate bird, who had been
covered all this time with sack-cloth, if not with ashes, and
who had been kept entirely in the dark with regard to these
proceedings. Various contests had taken place, many a
gallant bird had fallen a victim to his bravery, and the inte-
rest of the audience was beginning to flag, when a Creole
stepped into the ring, and offered to match a splendid bird
352
Modern Story-Teller.
which he held under his arm, against anything that had
wings, on the island.
No one answered, as the bird was the most celebrated
one in the Havana, and the owner's efforts to find an anta-
gonist seemed likely to prove futile.
Signor Amigo's black game cock, "Satan," was known
to every one in the town as having whipped the best birds.
the island had produced, and being still in his prime, no
one cared about losing a fine bird by matching him against
this "Cœur de Lion" of roosters. Incensed with the idea
of winning neither money nor renown with his favorite bird,
he at last offered to stake a hundred doubloons against
fifty, and no one accepting his challenge, he was preparing
to leave the ring, when our boatswain sprang up, and in
very bad Spanish, a smattering of which he had acquired in
his wanderings, asked him if he was willing to match him
against a curious-looking bird which he had with him in a
bag.
"Against anything that has wings is my challenge,"
proudly replied Amigo; "produce your bird, sir."
Without further parley, Will untied the bag, and pro-
duced, to the astonishment of the officers and the rest
of the assembly, the most curious-looking specimen of
the feathered tribe that had ever graced or disgraced a
cock-pit.
It was a bird about the size of a large rooster, with no
tail, no comb, and no steel gaffles. Comb it seems he never
had had, and as for tail, if he had ever been blessed with
such an appendage, the ruthless sailors must have "clipped
it short and driven it in," for not a vestige of it remained;
and to add to the disfigurement, he was smeared with a
mixture of grease and blacking, until his original color had
been entirely lost. A loud shout of derision arose from the
spectators at the impudence of the Yankees, in offering so
A Cock-Fight in the Habana.
353
miserable a creature as the antagonist of "Satan,” the pride
of the Havana, and as they doubtless thought, the hero of
a Hemisphere.
But to the experienced eyes of the officers of the Ohio,
the secret was now revealed, and beneath the grease and
soot, in spite of the clipped wings and chipped feathers, they
perceived the eye of an old bald eagle, and the terrible
beak and claws, which the sailors had almost managed to
conceal by covering them with feathers, taken from the
chickens of some by-gone dinner.
The officers now regretted that they had permitted the
men to come ashore, as they were fearful that the artifice,
if discovered, might lead to blows; and the determined.
character of the men rendered them very dangerous when
excited.
Matters, however, had now proceeded too far to be
stopped, and they had to content themselves with relying
on the prudence of Glover. Although they knew that he
was a perfect devil when his blood was up, they still knew
him to be a man of his word, and that he would not make a
disturbance if he could help it; so hoping that their pre-
sence would have its influence with the audience, they drew
still closer to the boatswain, and then quietly awaited the
issue. But their fears were unnecessary; the sailors had no
intention of getting into a fight, and as their chief object
was to make up their losses by winning a pile of gold from
the Habaneros, they quietly staked all the money they had
among those around them, generally contriving to get
heavy odds in their favor. Besides the money which the
men had brought with them, Glover had collected on the
ship about thirty doubloons, twenty-five of which he staked
against the fifty of the Signor's, who had graciously conde-
scended to reduce the amount of the bet one-half, in consi-
deration of the poverty of "Los Americanos," and the
23
354
Modern Story-Teller.
other five he had managed to place advantageously, at the
rate of about one to three, among the audience, all of whom
seemed anxious to have an opportunity of "turning an
honest penny," by fleecing the ignorant Yankees.
Even the officers themselves at last caught the infection.
Unable to resist the pressing offers of those around them,
knowing the power of their champion, and feeling a gallant
pride in sustaining the character of their national bird, they
bet the last dollar they had with them, until the amount
staked by officers and men exceeded a hundred doubloons,
and the odds given by the Cubans had amounted to nearly
three times this sum.
Before proceeding further, it was arranged that the
birds were to be placed in the ring, and then both the Sig-
nor and Will were to retire, while the actual death of a
bird was alone to decide the victory.
The birds were accordingly set down a few feet from
each other, and amid the acclamations of the Habaneros,
the instant that "Satan" touched the ground, he threw
himself into an imposing attitude, and uttered a crow of
defiance, which rang through the building, and was imme-
diately answered by a dozen of his neighbors outside the
walls. Black as a raven's wing, a more beautiful bird had
never delighted the eyes of the Cubans. He wore on his
neck a natural ruff, which looked like that once worn by
Mary, Queen of Scots, while his blood-red comb looked still
redder when contrasted with the jet-black hue of the rest
of his body. His tail fell gracefully to the ground, and it
was very evident to discriminating spectators that he
would never "show the white feather," because he did not
happen to possess any of that description.
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" was all that he said, and then
looking round to see who he could pick a fight with, he
espied the American bird cuddled up in a heap, as if very
A Cock-Fight in the Habana.
355
much annoyed at the embarrassing position in which he
found himself placed.
But if astonishment was ever depicted on the brow of
a chicken, it certainly was depicted upon "Satan's" at this
moment. More than once he extended his long neck, as
if to obtain a nearer view, and convince himself that he
was not deceived, and then puffed out his breast, as if he
considered it morally impossible that he, the descendant
perhaps of a race that had crowed over Granada with Alha-
mar, or who possibly had even displayed their valor before
Euric and his Goths, could be pitted against such a dirty
specimen of the "canaille" as now stood before him. Had
there been an aperture in the wall of the ring sufficiently
large to have enabled him to stalk majestically away, it is
probable that this scion of Granada would have declined
the contest, in the same manner that we might suppose the
"Chevalier Bayard" would have declined to sully his repu-
tation by an encounter with a common prize-fighter; but
there was no chance of escape, and conscious that both the
nobility and democracy of Havana were awaiting his move-
ments, he concluded to kill his antagonist at once, and extri-
cate himself from the unpleasant predicament. He could
not shout "a Bayard!" or a Satan to the rescue!" for his
voice was only adapted to saying that eternal "cock-a-doodle-
doo,” and he had no lance to couch; so instead, he lowered
his head and tail to a level, in imitation of one, and then
precipitated himself with unerring precision on his adver-
sary, making the feathers fly, as he struck him a savage blow
with his sharp steel gaffs.
(
Had Mr. Pickwick heard an insinuation against his cou-
rage; had a Yankee peddler been discovered in the act of
selling honest nutmegs; had Macdonald surrendered at
Wagram without a blow; had Napoleon's "Old Guard"
deserted him at Waterloo; or had "Old Hickory" been
356
Modern Story-Teller.
seen scampering away at New-Orleans; had anything in
fact utterly impossible happened to anybody, anybody
could not have been more completely thunder-struck than
was our dilapidated old eagle at the impudence of this
vicious chicken.
The few battles that the eagle had heretofore indulged
in had always been conducted on the wing, and consisted
merely in his pitching into somebody with a kind of flying
artillery, so that he was about as much used to this kind of
fighting as one of our city-brigade inspectors would be if
he found himself dodging Camanche rifle-balls in a Mexican
swamp. It would be natural to suppose that "his eagle eye
now lighted up," and that the rash chicken would instantly
have paid the penalty of his folly, but he did not do any
thing of the kind.
As the cock struck him, he slightly elevated his wings,
as elderly gentlemen elevate their eye-brows when they
hear of the mad freaks of younger members of the family,
ducked his head like a goose entering a barn-door, twisted
his neck into a most uncomfortable position, to take a bird's-
eye view of the matter, and then calmly walking away from
the irascible individual who had insulted him, drew himself
into as spherical a position as possible, and waited to see
what would happen next.
His curiosity upon this point, however, was destined to
be very soon gratified, for "Satan," having once tasted
blood, waived all difference of rank, and flew at him again
like a fury.
Three times did the eagle receive these unwarrantable
assaults without giving way to his temper, and although
his feathers were flying about and the blood trickling down
his breast, he still seemed indisposed to fight. Every time
that "Satan" struck him, a yell of delight broke from the
Cubans, and to them the fate of the nondescript seemed
A Cock-Fight in the Habana.
357
inevitable; but Glover and his companions maintained an
imperturbable silence, their only fear being that an unlucky
blow of the spurs might reach a vital part before the eagle
had awakened to a sense of his danger.
But the time had now arrived when America was to
assert her majesty, and the Habaneros were to learn the
danger of trifling with her eagle.
The last blow the gallant cock was ever to strike had
been struck, and as the blood spurted from a deep wound
made by the gaffs, the eagle, raising himself to his grandest
height, extended a claw, and seizing the brave but doomed
bird by the back, pinned him to the earth as if he had been
nailed there.
For an instant he gazed upon his fallen enemy—
"With that stern pride which warriors feel
In foemen worthy of their steel,"
and then-I blush to tell it with his other claw, delibe-
rately pulled his head off!
Do not smile, reader; it is a very serious thing to have
one's head pulled off, even if one is a chicken; and when
we take into consideration what a chivalrous chicken this
was, that was so unceremoniously decapitated, and how
contrary such a proceeding was to the usual courtesies of
the cock-pit, the subject becomes a grave one. Such a foul
innovation upon the rules of propriety was heretofore
unknown among chickens; and although it is true that
"Satan" had only received what he had so often dealt out
to others-death-yet he had always killed his adversaries.
in a high-bred, chicken-like manner, and had never con-
ceived the horrible idea of pinning his enemy to the ground,
and then pulling his head out of its socket, as a dentist.
would pull a tooth.
O Cruikshank! why were you not in that vicinity then?
358
Modern Story-Teller.
520
Why has not that picture been faithfully portrayed by your
truthful but sarcastic pencil?
Collins might have written another ode on the passions
there displayed, or John Bunyan filled another "Pilgrim's
Progress" with personifications from that scene. Death was
there in the form of a headless chicken; victory in the shape
of a burly boatswain: malice in the sinister looks of the
enraged Creoles; while dismay, chagrin, and vexation were
faithfully represented by the discomfited Signor, as he stood
with the body of the deceased in one hand and the head in
the other, looking "first upon this picture and then upon
that." But besides these beautiful images-to the disgrace
of the waggish sailors-there was a sad transposition of an
emblem that they were bound by every tie of duty to have
preserved intact.
A modern poem, which has been made trite by its
beauty, tells us that once upon a time Freedom
"From his mansion in the sun
Had called her eagle-bearer down,
And given to his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land:"
and yet, without the slightest regard for all this, the said
eagle had been tarred and feathered until "the majestic
monarch of the cloud" had been converted into a creature
which, instead of soaring to heaven as the presager of
liberty, was running about a cock-pit, looking very much
like an old school-girl in pantalettes with wide ruffles, or
even more like one of those strong-minded females who
pass their declining years in asserting "women's rights"
and "higher laws," and who generally become "Bloomers”
about the time they cease to bloom. Nevertheless, the
girlish attire and innocent unconsciousness of the old eagle
were not sufficient to appease the wrath of the backers of
A Cock-Fight in the Habana.
359
1
"Satan ;" and if they had been fallen angels themselves,
they could not have looked more ready to avenge the death
of his Satanic Majesty than they did to avenge the death of
his namesake.
The cry of "unfair, unfair!" arose from all sides, and
symptoms of a row were quite prevalent, when Glover
sprang into the ring, and snatching up his bird, roared out
with a voice of thunder, "that his comrades were willing,
to abide by the decision of the judge, and that they wanted
nothing but what was right," adding, however, parentheti-
cally and "sotto voce," that "if the judge did not know
what right was, he would probably receive some instruction
upon the subject before they left."
Fortunately, for the sake of peace, the matter was too
plain a one to admit of much dispute. "Satan" had been
fairly pitted against the nondescript, and if the nondescript
preferred pulling his head off, to the more laborious method
of killing him by spurring and pecking at him, he had a
perfect right to do so.
Whether the judge had overheard the conclusion of
Will's remarks; whether he had perceived a curious fat-
looking pistol, with six holes in it, which the fellow had con-
trived to leave sticking out of his pocket; and whether
either had any influence in bringing his mind to a just deci-
sion, are points which, like many other gentlemen on the
bench, he reserved to himself; but his decision was certainly
given promptly in favor of the American bird, and both
officers and men immediately received from the stake-
holders the full amount of the bets. Still, notwithstanding
the favorable decision of the ermine, Cuba had now become
to the sailors what England became to the regicides of the
seventeenth century-quite a warm place of residence, or,
to speak more plainly, "too hot to hold them.”
The regicides had beheaded a king of England, and they
360
Modern Story-Teller.
had only beheaded a king of the cock-pit; but the Cubans
were as likely to avenge the one as the Stuarts had been to
avenge the other, and therefore, like the man who was
pitched out of a second-story window, they "concluded
that it was time to leave."
Not that the tars were really pitched out, however; for
although pitch and tar are almost synonymous terms, yet
there is a kind of American tar which does not get often
pitched about by anybody except old "Poseidon," the chap
that carries a trident—an article, by the way, that reminds
us either of a cow-stable or our grandmother's toasting-fork.
And to this class our sailors belonged.
Had a due sense of propriety governed their actions, it
is probable that we should have now seen them
"Fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away;"
but they had kept quiet a marvellously long time for
sailors; so waving their hats above their heads, they gave
three tremendous cheers, which fairly shook the building,
and then forming in line, marched out, straight through a
crowd of men, who had collected at the door, as if for the
purpose of impeding their exit, but who, when they found
themselves in actual contact with the sturdy tars, con-
cluded to let them strike a "bee line" in any direction they
preferred.
The officers soon followed the men, and in a few minutes
the yawl was bounding over the water, flying back to the
ship like a gull to its nest.
Many a bottle was cracked to the health of the Ameri-
can bird in the cabin of the Ohio that night, and it is sup-
posed that "brandy-smashes" to a considerable amount,
to say nothing of "gin cock-tails," were consumed in the
A Cock-Fight in the Habana.
361
forecastle at the same time, for the laudable purpose of
assisting the sailors to sing the praises of their champion.
History, with culpable negligence, has not transmitted to
us the future fate of the bird; but if sailors ever die solvent,
which is doubtful, or if they ever make wills, which is more
so, depend upon it that as "Vogelweide, the Minnesinger,"
once did for the birds of Würtzburg's towers, they will
leave a considerable sum to be invested in government
securities for the maintenance of that gallant old eagle.

^

6
Angelica Staggers.
BY AN OLD BACHELOR.
J
'm not a sentimental man now. I have passed that
state of existence long since, as a man whose whiskers
have got bushy, while the hair on his crown has got
thin, and whose eyes are surrounded by little nascent
crows' feet, decidedly ought to have done. I confess that
I prefer a good dinner to the most enchanting of balls,
claret to polkas, and a jolly bacchanalian ditty to the pretty
small talk of the most dainty damsel that ever floated
through a quadrille in ringlets and clear muslin.
"Horrid wretch!" I hear some lady reader exclaim, as
she peruses this confession, and prepares to throw down the
book in disgust. Stay one moment, fair lady, I beseech
you, and you shall have a little genuine sentimental remi-
niscence of my "days of auld lang syne”—and then-then
you may throw down the book if you please, and call me a
“horrid wretch” if you can.
What a pretty, little, gauzy, fairy-like creature was
Angelica Staggers, when first I met her? The very recol-
icction of her at this moment makes a faint vibration of my
Angelica Staggers.
365
heart perceptible to me, while then the sound of her name
would startle me like the postman's rap at the street door.
Bill Staggers (it isn't a pretty name, Staggers—but then,
Angelica!) was a schoolfellow of mine. Schoolboys don't talk
much about their sisters, because they get laughed at if they
do: so that I knew little more than the bare fact that Stag-
gers had a sister. In after years when we left school, and
Staggers went into his father's counting-house in the city, and
I into my father's office in Gray's Inn, the matter was different.
Staggers introduced me to his family. This consisted of
his papa, a pompous old fellow who always wore a dress
coat in the street as well as at home, and whose pendant
watch-seals would certainly have drawn him under water,
if he had ever had the misfortune to tumble overboard from
a Margate steamer; of mamma, who was a lady of vast
dimensions, with the usual superfluity of color in her cheeks.
and cap ribbons on her head; of a sister of Mr. Staggers,
senior, who might have been agreeable if she had not given
you the idea of being pinched everywhere-pinched in her
waist, pinched in her nose, pinched in her mouth, and pinched
in her views of things in general; and, lastly, of the daugh-
ter of the house-the divine Angelica herself.
How shall I describe Angelica as I first saw her one fine
summer's day, about two o'clock in the afternoon, dressed
in the most charming of muslin negligée dresses, reclining
in a large easy-chair, and embroidering on a frame a pair
of worsted slippers for her papa? How shall I ever give an
accurate picture of her beautiful, light, golden hair, that
literally glittered in the rays of the sunshine, that made
their way through the half-drawn green venetian blinds of
the window by which she sat, in the drawing-room of that
delightful villa at Peckham, that looked out on to the
smoothly shaven lawn, with the large washing basin of a
fish-pond on it, containing ever so many shillings' worth of
364
Modern Story-Teller.
gold and silver fish? I can't do it. I have let all my poetry
run to seed, and I feel myself as incompetent to do justice
to the charms of Angelica as a sign-painter would be to
copy a Madonna of Raphael, or a street ballad screamer to
sing the "stabat mater" of Rossini. I must give up the
attempt: but cannot the reader help me out of the diffi-
culty, by imagining something very fair, pink and white,
very slight, very animated, and very ethereal-looking alto-
gether? Of course he can ;-then there is Angelica Stag-
gers before his eyes directly.
From the moment I saw her I felt that my doom was
fixed, and my heart trans-fixed. I admired, I loved, I
adored her, and the very atmosphere that surrounded her
(I don't mean the smell of roast duck that was steaming up
from the kitchen) seemed to breathe of paradise. Accord-
ingly, as a very natural consequence of this feeling of mine,
I behaved very sheepishly-blushed and stammered, and
tore off the buttons of my gloves, stuck my legs into absurd·
positions from not knowing what the deuce to do with them,
stumbled over an ottoman as I took my leave, and to save
my own fall caught at a china card-tray and smashed it—
effecting my retreat at length in a state of tremor sufficient
to have brought on a nervous fever.
My friend Staggers quizzed me:-
"Why, Jones, I never saw you so quiet. I always
thought you such a devil of a fellow among the ladies.
You've lost your tongue to-day: what is it ?"
What is it! As if I were going to tell him what it was.
Supposing I had told him that his sister was an angel, the
fellow would have grinned and thought I was mad. Men
never do believe in the divinity of their sisters; they are
almost as incredulous as husbands touching their wives.
The last man in the world I would select as the confidant
of my love affairs would be the brother of my adored one.
Angelica Staggers.
365
I should know that he would annoy me by the most anti-
romantic anecdotes of his sister's childhood, and tease her
to death by frightful stories of myself. And so I invented
excuses about being "out of sorts," and that sort of thing,
to account for my unwonted taciturnity and embarrassment
at this my first interview with Angelica Staggers.
I was soon a very frequent visitor at the Peckham Villa,
and I had reason to suppose that I was a welcome one.
The old gentleman was very civil; mamma was pressing in
her invitations; the "maiden aunt" affable in the extreme;
and Angelica always received me with a smile, that I valued
at a higher price than California and Australia together
could pay.
The Staggers family led a quiet life, with the exception
of Bill, who haunted theatres and cider cellars, and harmonic
meetings, and passed as disreputable an existence as a city
clerk well could. I seldom met any one at the Peckham
Villa but the family, and occasionally a Signor Fidilini, who
was Angelica's music and singing master, and was some-
times invited to tea in the evening, that he might delight
Papa Staggers by playing and singing duets with Angelica.
I can't say I liked his doing so myself, and I always con-
sidered his double-bass growl spoiled the silvery notes of
his pupil's voice; and then I had a great objection to see-
ing his jewelled fingers hopping about and jumping over
Angelica's on the piano, in some of those musical firework
pieces they played together. But he was a very quiet,
gentlemanly fellow, and remarkably respectful in his man-
ner to Angelica, so that there could be no real cause for
jealousy-but!—the word seemed quite absurd to use in
such a case.
My father pronounced me the idlest clerk he ever had.
I am not sure that he was quite wrong, but he little sus-
pected the cause. While I ought to have been drawing
366
Modern Story-Teller.
abstracts of title, I was drawing fancy portraits of Angelica;
while I should have been drawing brief-sheets, Angelica's
form was engrossing my thoughts; instead of studying
declarations at law, I was cogitating a declaration of my at-
tachment. To plead well my own cause with herself and her
father was the only sort of pleading I cared for; while the
answer I might get to my suit was of ten thousand times
more consequence in my eyes than all the answers in all the
fusty old Chancery-suits in all the lawyers' offices in the
world. As for reading, Moore and Byron supplied food to
the mind that ought to have been intent on Coke and
Blackstone. Apollo, God of Poetry, and Venus, deification
of Love, answer truly!-is there a more wretched being, a
more completely fish-out-of-water individual than a lawyer's
clerk in love?
After long and painful watching, I became convinced, in
spite of a lover's fears, that Angelica was not insensible to
my attachment. The little bouquets I bought for her at
Covent Garden Market were received with a look that
thrilled through my very soul. (I hope that is a proper
expression, but my poetry having grown rusty, as I before
mentioned, I am in some doubt about the matter.) There
was, or I dreamt it, a gentle pressure of the hand as we
met, and as we parted, that could not be accidental, and
could not be that of mere friendship. There was a half
timidity in the tone of her voice as she addressed me, dif-
ferent from the self-possession she displayed in conversation
with others. In short, there were a thousand of those little
signs, visible though indescribable, that Angelica Staggers
knew that I loved her and was gratified by the fact.
Now most men would have thrown themselves at her
feet and made their vows, in such a case; but I was doubt-
ful whether that was the most safe course to pursue in
order to secure the prize. It struck me that her father
Angelica Staggers.
367
was just one of those crusty old gentlemen that look on
a young fellow as little better than a pickpocket, who dares
to gain a daughter's affections without first asking her
papa's permission to do so. On the other hand, I was quite
aware that young ladies don't like to be asked of their papas
before they are asked themselves; there is too much of the
Mahometan and Continental style in such a proceeding to
please our free-born island lasses. Still, I might get over
that difficulty by explaining how hopeless I believed it to
be to secure her father's consent at all, unless I got it first.
I was right; and so I resolved to have an interview with
Mr. Staggers, and explain my sentiments.
Did any one of my readers ever drive in tandem two horses
that had never been broken to harness! Did he ever let off
a blunderbuss that had been loaded for ten years? Did he
ever walk through long grass notoriously full of venomous
snakes? Did he ever ride a broken-kneed horse over stony
ground? Did he ever take a cold shower-bath at Christ-
mas? Did he ever propose the health of the ladies in the
presence of the ladies themselves, and before he had at all
"primed" himself? Did he ever walk across a narrow
greasy plank placed across a chasm some hundreds of feet
in depth? If he has done all or any of these feats, I can
bear witness to the fact that he has had some experience
of nervous work; but if he has never been back-parlored
with a grave, pompous old father, of whom he is about to
ask his daughter's hand, then, I say his experience of real,
genuine, "nervous work" is but infantile after all. Mak-
ing a declaration to the lady herself is nothing to it, thougE
a little embarrassing too; but then you know that the fair
one is in as much trepidation as yourself, and not watching
you with a cold calculating eye, weighing your expressions,
and drawing conclusions perhaps prejudicial to your repu
tation for sense or honesty. I declare that I would not go
368
Modern Story-Teller.
through that ordeal again for the wealth of the Antipodes
(that's the last new phrase): and, between ourselves, that is
the very reason why I remain to this day a ;-but
stop-I am anticipating.
I cannot give an account of my interview with Old
Staggers, because, even half an hour after it was over, I had
but a confused recollection of what took place at it. I only
know that it haunted my dreams like a nightmare for nights
after. I was eternally jumping up in my bed in a cold
perspiration, with my hair half thrusting my night-cap off
my head, in the midst of "explaining my intentions."
However, a great point was gained—Mr. Staggers agreed
to offer no opposition to the match, provided my father con-
sented also.
<<
"I shall call on him to-day, my young friend," he said:
so dine with us at Peckham at six, and you shall know the
result. I don't forbid your going there earlier, if you feel
inclined to do so."
This was handsome. I expressed my gratitude as well as
I was able, and at once took a Peckham omnibus, and hast-
ened to Angelica.
"Missus is out, sir; and so's Miss Staggers: but Miss
Angelica's in the drawing-room, sir.”
(C
Very well. I'll go there-you needn't show me up.”
So saying, I sprang lightly upstairs, and was in the
drawing-room in an instant. A sudden shriek-a short,
quick, half-stifled one-met my ears as I entered, and I saw
Signor Fidilini move his arm very hastily, as if it had been
in far closer proximity to the waist of Angelica, who was at
the piano, than I should have considered at all necessary in
an ordinary music lesson.
"Oh dear, Mr. Jones! how you did startle me,” cried
Angelica, blushing terribly, as she rose to shake hands with
me. "I didn't hear you coming at all, I assure you."
Angelica Staggers.
369
I didn't need that assurance, and I believe I said some-
thing of the sort.
"Mees Angelica so feared, dat I put out my arm to stop
her fall off from the stool," said Fidilini ; and he looked so
perfectly truthful and unembarrassed as he spoke, that my
dreadful suspicions began to be allayed.
''
"I feel quite nervous at this present moment," said
Angelica. "Indeed, Signor, you must not ask me to take
any more music lessons to-day.”
Signor Fidilini bowed gracefully his assent, and I cast a
delighted look at Angelica; for was she not getting rid of
that tiresome music-master for my sake? Fidilini packed
up his german-sausage roll of music, and, bidding us good-
day, bowed himself out of the room.
We were alone! We looked uncomfortable, and we felt
so—I am sure of it in her case as well as my own.
"Angelica!" I exclaimed.
She started, and looked surprised.
'
Angelica, I love you-you know it: but you do not
know how deeply and how devotedly," &c. &c. I suppose
it is quite unnecessary for me to give the remainder of the
declaration, because no one can be ignorant of the usual
form of the words in these cases. It is as "stereotyped "
as an Admiralty Secretary's letters-but I suppose it means
a little more, or what a deal of fibbing lovers must be guilty
of when they come to the grand scene of the domestic
drama of "love!"
Angelica hung her head, and blushed, and panted. I
felt she was mine, and I seized her hand and began to cover
it with kisses, when she snatched it from me in such haste,
that her diamond and pearl ring scratched my finger. I
was amazed!
“Mr. Jones, I can listen no more. I assure you I must
listen no more."
24
370
Modern Story-Teller.
66
1.
Why so? Your father will not oppose my wishes,
for-"
"It is not that, sir: it is that I cannot reciprocate
the attachment you profess for me."
"Oh! do not say so-do not-
""
"If you have any generosity in your heart, Mr. Jones,
you will cease this strain at once. You have mistaken my
feelings altogether."
"It's that cursed Fidilini!" I cried in a rage, forget-
ting my good breeding.
"I beg, sir, that you will not use such language in my
presence, especially with reference to a gentleman for whom
I entertain a feeling of "
"Love," I said, with a stupidly indignant laugh, and an
attempt at an air of tragedy. "But I care not. I will
shoot him within twenty-four hours, or he shall shoot me;"
and I started to my feet with a thorough determination to
call out Fidilini without an hour's delay.
"For heaven's sake, don't speak so," cried Angelica.
"There will be murder; I know he'll fight, and you might
kill-"
"Thank you; I might kill him—yes: you don't seem to
have any fears lest he should kill me. However, he shall
have a chance," and I strode towards the door.
"Stay," cried Angelica: and she scized my arm: "stay,
you shall have my secret, and then I throw myself on your
generosity. IIe is my husband!"
"Fidilini ?—the devil!" I exclaimed.
"We are privately married," said Angelica, "but for
the present do not let "
Here we were interrupted by the arrival of Mrs. and
Miss Staggers, who entered the room, to our great discom-
fiture. Angelica, with an appealing look towards me,
hurriedly left the room.
Angelica Staggers.
371
If ever a poor wretch felt himself in an uncomfortable
position, I did at that moment, and during the rest of that
evening. Mr. Staggers brought home a city friend with
him, obviously to avoid a tête-à-tête with me after dinner,
but he took care to inform me, in a whisper, that his nego-
tiations with my father had failed. I dare say he was very
much surprised at the cool indifference with which I received
this piece of information, for he little knew how worthless
were the consents of the papas in the present instance.
Of all the artful little hussies that ever lived, decidedly
that girl is the most complete! thought I, as I watched the
quiet and composed manner in which Angelica behaved dur-
ing dinner, and the evening which followed. She played
and sang as freely as ever, and even expressed her sorrow
that Signor Fidilini was not present, that she might sing
one of her papa's favorite duets. If he had been present, I
believe I should have strangled the fellow against all resist-
ance.
How I passed that night, I wont say, but I did not sleep.
Next morning I was at the office as usual, and really
trying to work hard to keep my thoughts from dwelling on
Angelica. About ten o'clock my father rushed into the
room where I was seated at the desk, in company with Mr.
Staggers.
“Villain!” cried Staggers, to me.
"You young scoundrel!" screamed my father.
I was really alarmed, for I thought that both those
respectable elderly gentlemen must have gone mad. I
stared, in open-mouthed astonishment.
"Where's my daughter ?" bawled Staggers.
Answer, sir!" shouted my father, as I looked, if
ble, still more surprised.
"I don't know," I replied.
"You lie, sir," cried Staggers.
possi
372
Modern Story-Teller.
"You are quibbling, sir," added my father; "we don't
ask where she is at this very moment; you know what we
mean."
"Is she married?" said Staggers: "answer that.”
"Really, I-"
"Answer plainly, sir, and without shuffling," cried my
father.
"I believe she is," I answered.
"Believe! why, you young villain, when you know
whether you have married her or not, how dare you talk
about what you believe ? »
"I marry her! I'm not married to her!" I cried, in
surprise.
"What the does all this mean?" exclaimed my
father, losing all patience. "Miss Staggers has run off from
her father's house-with you, it's suspected."
"Indeed!" I exclaimed, interrupting him; "then I
suppose I may tell the truth; no doubt she has gone with
her husband, Fidilini."
Never shall I forget old Staggers' rage and surprise
when he heard my simple story; nor his savage indignation
when my father (thinking only of his own son being out of
a mess) exclaimed:-
"I'm deuced glad of it."
*
**
*
*
**
I am going to the christening of Madame Fidilini's seventh
child to-morrow. They like an old bachelor for a godfather
sometimes because he has no other children than god-chil-
dren to provide for. Grandpapa Staggers will be there,
and so will grandmamma and grand-aunt; and the latter will
be very attentive to me, but she's more pinched than ever,
and looks like a dried herring in figure and complexion. I
shall dine with old Staggers afterwards, and he has some
superb claret, much better stuff than-well, never mind, I
have done!
*
**

200
SOX
The Fall of the Janissaries.
467
66
IN
HO is this that cheapens pistols, when he
rather needs a coat of mail ?"
On hearing these words, pronounced in a
low, significant tone, the handsome young soldier turned
quickly, and beheld near him two female figures shrouded
in dark-blue mantles, and long yashmaks, or veils of white
muslin. One of them, however, chanced to be in the very
act of adjusting her veil, and thus allowed the yuzbashi,
or captain-for such his scarlet pelisse, and the golden
star embroidered on his jacket, bespoke him-to catch
a glimpse of a youthful face of ravishing beauty. The eyes
were fixed on the ground, and a deep blush suffused the
rounded cheeks. In another instant the veil was replaced,
and the two muffled figures moved on and mingled with the
throng, leaving the soldier in a state of extreme astonish-
ment and perplexity.
The principal bazaar of Constantinople presented that
day, as usual, a scene of great brilliancy and animation.
The numerous arcades, with rows of shops on either hand,
were crowded by people of all classes and every race of the
East. Grave Turks, in flowing robes and turbans of various
hues, shuffled slowly along, followed by slaves who carried
374
Modern Story-Teller.
their masters' purchases; Persian and Arab traders,
Bedouin chiefs, Armenian merchants, Greek islanders,
Arnauts from Albania, Mangrebihs from Northern Africa,
Toorkomans, Khoords, Tartars, and now and then a Frank
of some western nation, all added, by their varied cos-
tumes, to the picturesque liveliness of the shifting pano-
rama. Women, whose large languishing eyes were alone.
visible from within the muffled folds of their vestments, flit-
ted incessantly from shop to shop, displaying quite as much
fondness as their western sisters for the delightful trouble
of bargaining. Rich young Osmanlis, mounted on hand-
some steeds, with splendid housings of velvet and gold,
rode slowly along in the central avenues; and an araba, or
carriage, like a huge cage, all lattice-work and gilding,
occasionally stopped to allow one or two shrouded figures
to issue forth and join the moving throng.
One customary element of variety, however, was want-
ing, the absence of which excited no little remark. Very
few of the Janissaries-whose crimson pelisses, white tur-
bans, red shawl-girdles, and silver-mounted weapons, usually
made a conspicuous appearance, as they swaggered through
the crowd-were now to be seen. The cause of their
absence was no secret. This was the 14th of June, 1825, a
year and a day memorable in the annals of the Ottoman
empire. On the previous day the grand-vizier Selim
Mehmed Pasha, and the celebrated Aga Pasha Hussein,
commander of the forces, had assembled the Janissaries in
their great square-called the Etmeidan, or "Place of
Meat," because they there received their daily rations of
soup-and had announced to them the new regulations to
which they would be required thenceforth to submit. These
regulations, which affected not merely their organization,
but also their pay and perquisites, their dress and their
weapons, were all of a nature to be highly distasteful to
The Fall of the Janissarics.
375
the members of that lawless and intractable corps. The
precautions of the sultan and his ministers, who had pre-
viously gained over or put out of the way many of the lead-
ing and most dangerous characters, prevented any open
expressions of feeling. The Janissaries listened in sullen
silence, and retired quietly to their kislas, or barracks, when
the ceremony was over. The grand-vizier beheld this
apparent submission with great satisfaction, and congratu-
lated his fellow-minister on the easy success of their master's
favorite project. But the aga pasha, better acquainted
with the character of his old comrades, shook his head and
said, "It will not be done without much blood."
This day, the 14th, was appointed for the first drilling
of the new companies which were to be drawn from each
orta, or regiment of Janissaries, and placed under Egyptian
officers of the army of Mehemet Ali. Those of the corps
who were not in the companies were collected either in the
Etmeidan, or in their barracks, anxiously discussing the
nature and probable effect of the new regulations, and the
course to be pursued by the body at the present crisis.
Thus it was that very few of them made their appearance
that day in the bazaar; and their place was but poorly sup-
plied by the soldiers of the regular troops-the seymeus
(infantry), tobjees (artillery), bostanjees (seraglio-guard),
and galionjees (marines), who were present in considerable.
numbers, and in their ungraceful summer uniforms of white.
cotton jacket and trousers, with the red cloth fez or scull-
cap, and leathern belt, made anything but a pleasing appear-
ance in the eyes of the Mussulman beholders. Their officers,
however, in their embroidered jackets, and the scarlet
mantles which they were allowed to retain, were seen to
more advantage. Of this number was the young soldier
who has been already mentioned, and who was at once
known by his uniform to be a captain of the corps of gun-
376
Modern Story-Teller.
ners. Nor did those who were familiar with the various
races of the East fail to perceive in the tall and well-set
figure, the bold military bearing, the keen blue eye, chest-
nut locks, and classically-moulded head and features, the
marks which denoted his Circassian or Georgian blood.
'Who is this that buys a bridle when he more requires
a spur ?"
The voice was the same that had before struck his ear;
and on turning, he again beheld the lovely face, over which
the yashmak was just falling. This time the large dark
eyes were fixed on him for a moment with an expression of
timid anxiety. The soldier stood and gazed at the retreat-
ing forms with still greater astonishment than before. The
women were evidently of the higher class; and the words
which had been uttered seemed to imply some knowledge
of and interest in him. Yet he had been but four months
in Constantinople, and of that time the greater part had
been spent in his barracks at Tophana, out of which he had
hardly an acquaintance. If it were a mere frolic of two
laughter-loving damsels making their sport of the foreign
soldier, why did she who partially unveiled her face assume
an expression so little akin to mirthfulness? And why did
her companion, who he felt assured was the one that had
spoken, keep her countenance carefully concealed?
While pondering upon this mystery, and pretending to
be absorbed in the examination of some Farangee shawls,
which were displayed upon the stall of an Armenian mer-
chant, he caught sight of two muffled figures, whose
approach caused his heart to beat with a kind of instinctive
presentiment. This time his hand was slightly touched, and
a soft voice murmured beside his ear, "To-night before the
mosque of Raghil Pasha." The figures passed slowly on,
and the soldier followed at a little distance, until he saw them
enter a carriage, which immediately drove away. The
The Fall of the Janissaries.
377
young man, however, easily kept it in sight, until it passed
out of the gate of the bazaar. Here a number of Jew
porters were seated, waiting to offer their services to any
one who might seem to require them. Dropping a coin
into the hand of one of them, he said, "Tell me, Jew, know
you whose carriage it was that just now passed the gate.”
"Truly, effendi," replied the Jew, "I know it well, for
it is one often seen in the bazaar. It is the araba of the
Chorbajee Osman, of the seventeenth orta."
"Osman, a chorbajee* of Janissaries," said the soldier
to himself, as he drew his mantle about him, and moved
slowly away.
"I have heard of him as a favorite leader
among his comrades, and a violent partisan of the old insti-
tutions. But how can I have become known to any in his
harem? There is some mystery, and I will not renounce
the adventure until I know more. At all events, there can
be no harm in spending an hour or two before the mosque
of Raghil Pasha."
Thus meditating, the young man was proceeding in the
direction of the Etmeidan, when he encountered a brother
officer, who was hastening rapidly towards the port. "How,
Soujouk Saduk," said the latter, "are you not for Tophana?
have you not heard the news ?"
"What! Have the Janissaries risen ?”
(ર
"Not yet," replied the other: "but the Etmeidan is all
in commotion. An Egyptian officer has struck one of his
men in his company, and all the rest have thrown down
their arms and torn off their new uniforms. The ortas are
assembling; and there will be burning and bloodshed if
something is not quickly done to appease them. I am going
to inform the tobjee-bashi."+
* An officer answering nearly to our colonel; the word, however
means literally, "master of rations," or soup distributer.
+ Chief or general of the artillery
378
Modern Story-Teller.
"I will wait and learn more," returned Saduk, “and wil
follow you in a few hours."
With these words he took leave of his companion, and
directed his course through the most unfrequented streets
leading towards the mosque of Raghil Pasha, which was
beyond the barracks of the Janissaries. It was now sunset,
and he made a wide circuit, in order to allow the night to
close in before he reached the place of rendezvous. The
few persons whom he met on his way hurried by with looks
expressive of fear and agitation. He could not doubt that
some calamitous event was apprehended; and knowing
that an outbreak of the Janissaries was almost always pre-
ceded or accompanied by extensive conflagrations, he easily
understood the anxiety of the citizens.
On reaching the mosque, he took post in an obscure
angle within its shadow, and remained there motionless for
two or three hours. At length, just as he was about to
quit the spot, with the conviction that he had been the sub-
ject of a very annoying practical jest, a veiled female fig-
ure hastily approached the mosque, and, after a moment's
hesitation, came towards him. Uncovering her face suffi-
ciently to let him perceive that she was an Abyssinian slave,
the woman inquired, "Are you the yuzbashi who buys
pistols and bridles, as though he were still a rider on the
hills of Atteghai ?"
"I am he whom you seek," replied the young man, much
surprised at the latter part of the question.
"Then," continued the negress, "I am sent to bid you
follow me to the presence of a daughter of Atteghai."
Atteghai is the name which the natives of Circassia
give to their country. Saduk at once concluded that some
female of his nation, the slave or perhaps the wife of the
Chorbajee Osman, desired to speak with him, for the pur-
pose of making inquiries respecting the friends whom she
The Fall of the Janissarics.
379
had left in her native land. With this idea, and excited by
the hope of once more seeing the face of the beautiful
young houri whom he had met that morning, he bade the
messenger lead on without delay. The negress obeyed,
and after a walk of some length, through several narrow
by-streets, she stopped before a small postern door. Open-
ing this with a key, she introduced him into a low dark
passage, and producing a small lantern from beneath her
mantle, directed him to move forward as noiselessly as pos-
sible. In this way they passed through several rooms, and
at length the slave, drawing aside a curtain, said, "Enter,
effendi, for the mistress awaits you."
Saduk advanced and found himself in a small apartment,
furnished in a costly and luxurious style. A divan of crim-
son velvet encircled three sides of it; on this, and on the
Persian carpet, were heaped numerous cushions, covered
with red cloth and morocco. The ceiling was painted in
fresco; and from the centre hung a lustre of four lights,
which illuminated the apartment. A veiled figure was
seated at the upper end of the room, and a voice-the
same that he had heard in the bazaar-said in Turkish,
"Khosk geldin, Cherkess"-("You are welcome, Cir
cassian.")
Before he could reply, the veil was drawn aside, and
the soldier beheld, to his astonishment, what he would
have said was the same face that he had seen in the bazaar,
but with the addition of fifteen or sixteen years to its age.
The features and expression were the same. The eyes were
as large, dark, and languishing; but the sparkle of youth.
was gone.
The cheek was as beautiful in its outline, but
without the glow and smoothness of early years. Was it
possible that his momentary glimpse could have so much
deceived him?
As he stood thus embarrassed, the lady, who seemed
380
Modern Story-Teller.
rather to enjoy his perplexity, said with a smile, in the Cir
cassian tongue, "Sit, my friend, while I speak a few words.
on a subject near to my heart. You are a son of Atteghai,
of the family of Soujouk, and the tribe of Natukaitsa.
This I have heard from those who have made inquiries
respecting you."
"It is true, lady," replied the young man, "however
you have learned it."
"I, too, am a child of Atteghai," continued his hostess,
"of the tribe of Shegakeh. Yours is a great tribe, and a
noble family, but mine is obscure and poor. Yet perchance
you may have known the Dar Khaldeer of Malskoy ?”
Unhappily," replied the young man, "I know too
little of my native land. When I was a boy of fifteen, the
Muscov* and Cossacks crossed the Kouban, and ravaged
all the neighboring valleys. The Natukaitsa assembled,
and drove them back over the river; but my father and
my elder brother were killed in the battle, and I was
wounded, and taken prisoner. They carried me with them
to Tscherkask, where my wound was healed, and after
wards I was sent to the military college to receive the edu
cation of a Russian officer, in the expectation that I would
do them good service in the war against my own country.
Seven years I remained in the college and in the Russian
army, and at length I was sent to fight against my brethren
of Atteghai. But I laughed at the beards of the Muscov,
and escaped, and fled to the army of my own people, and
fought among them until our enemies were driven once
more from the land. But when I returned home, my heart
was heavy, for there were none to welcome me. My
mother and my brothers were dead, and our uncles had
taken or sold our property; so, rather than make ill-blood
* Muscovites, or Russians proper.
66
The Fall of the Janissaries.
381
4
and dissension in the family, I said to myself I under-
stand the science and the discipline of the Franks: I will go
to Stamboul, and offer myself to the sultan, to serve in his
new army. Perhaps I may find favor, and rise to honor, as
many others of my countrymen have done.' So I came
hither four months ago, and presented myself before the
padishah; and when he heard my story, and especially that
I knew the art of founding cannon, he was greatly pleased,
and made me a yuzbashi at once. This is my history,
hanoum;* and thus it is that I know so little of my coun
try, and cannot inform you respecting your friends, for
which misfortune I am greatly grieved."
"So be it," said the fair Circassian, with a sigh:
"they
are under the protection of Allah. If it be their fate to be
well and prosperous, they will be so; and if not, who can
alter it ?" With this philosophic reflection her disappoint-
ment seemed to be assuaged, for she proceeded in a differ-
ent tone: "Tell me, my young friend, did you see my
daughter's face in the bazaar when I bade her put aside
her yashmak? And did she please you ?”
"Was she your daughter?" asked the young man.
"Truly she is a houri-the loveliest of maidens. I bave
never seen her equal. Happy will be the man who shall
possess such a light of his harem!"
"Can you not guess, my friend," asked the lady with a
smile, "what a mother means when she allows her daughter
to uncover her face before a man ?"
"Is it for me that you intend this happiness ?" asked the
youth, at once astonished and delighted. Then, as the
thought of his situation occurred to him, he continued in a
despondent tone, "But, alas! what can I say to the chor-
bajce? What shall I offer as the dowry of his daughter?
* Lady.
382
Modern Story-Teller.
—I, a poor yuzbashi, with nothing but my mantle and my
sabre ?"
"You are rich in the favor of the sultan," replied the
lady. "Think you not that all these matters are known in
the harems of Stamboul as well as in your barracks at
Tophana? You have the knowledge of Frank arts of war,
which the sultan prizes above everything else. In a year
you will be a bin-bashi (a colonel of artillery); in five years
you will be a bey; in ten years, inshallah-please God-
a pasha. I will answer for it, that when your messenger
comes to the chorbajee, he will send back words pleasant to
your heart. Even now, you can do more to win his friend-
ship than if you could offer him the dowry of a pasha's
daughter. You know that the evil advisers who surround
the sultan, and pervert his mind, have persuaded him to
take away the ancient privileges of the Janissaries, and alter
their laws and customs, which were established by the great
and wise Sultan Urkham, and the holy dervish Hadji Bec-
tash. But the Janissaries are strong, and will maintain
their rights in spite of traitors and evil counsellors; and
when they meet in their ortas, with their camp-kettles borne
before them, and require the restitution of their old laws
and privileges, and demand the heads of their enemies, be
assured that they will obtain both the one and the other.
Whether they will prevail without much fighting and blood-
shed, is another matter. Allah only knows. But this, dear
Saduk, is what I would teach you, that you may know how
to win the favor of the chorbajee. Of all the troops of the
nizam djedid, there are none which are not as dust, as bosh
(nothing) in the eyes of the Janissaries, save only the artil
lery. Most of these, as you know, were formerly Janissa
ries, or friends of the Janissaries, and will be loath to fight
against them. It is their officers alone who are strangers
and enemies to the Janissaries. If now there could be
The Fall of the Janissarics.
383
found one officer of the tobjees-one yuzbashi—whɔ, in the
hour of conflict, would say to his men, 'Do not fire upon
your brethren, the children of Hadji Bectash,' they would
all obey at the word, and the victory would be secure to
the good cause without more blood. Surely, Saduk, dear
.friend, child of Atteghai," she said, bending forward, and
looking imploringly into his darkened face, "you will not
fire upon my husband-upon the father of my daughter
Shereen."
"This is a snare!" exclaimed the soldier, rising hastily
from his seat, and gathering his mantle about him. "What
dust is this that you would have me eat? Shall I dishonor
my father's grave? Shall I break my oath to the sultan
for a handsome face? Is this becoming the daughter of
Atteghai, to mislead her countryman to disgrace and ruin?
Know that for seven years I have carried my life in the
hollow of my hand, ready to throw it away at the first
warning; but my faith I have kept secure, holding it a
thousand times dearer to me than life. This is the law of
Atteghai. Have you never heard the history of Mehemet
Gherrai, my ancestor, how he gave himself up to death to
redeem his word? Farewell, hanoum; I truly believe that
your daughter knows nothing of this deception, else she
would have been with you. For her sake, and the sake of
our common blood, I pardon you this evil design, and may
hereafter do you good.”
So saying, before the dame could recover from her con-
fusion, he hastily thrust aside the curtains which concealed
the entrance to the room, and seizing the slave by the arm,
drew his poniard, and bade her show him the way to the
door. The terrified negress obeyed without hesitation, and
Saduk presently found himself in the street. Taking, as
near as he could judge, the direction of the port, he hurried
forward until he reached the aqueduct of Valens. Here,
384
Modern Story-Teller.
while he stood concealed in the shadow of an arch, he heard
the tramp of a body of men approaching, and presently
about a hundred soldiers in the Janissary uniform, com-
pletely armed, passed at a rapid pace within a few feet of
him. From the course which they pursued, he had no
doubt that their object was to surprise their aga, who was.
especially obnoxious to them, from the part which he had
taken in favor of the new regulations. This, then, was the
commencement of the insurrection. As soon as they were
out of hearing, he turned and hurried in another direction
towards the Ayazmah landing. On arriving, he roused a
boatman from his slumbers, and bade him row as rapidly as
possible to Tophana. Twenty minutes brought them thither;
and the young man hastened directly to the quarters of his
commander, the tobjee-bashi. The latter had directed his
slaves to awaken him on the arrival of any important intel-
ligence, and Saduk was quickly ordered before him. When
the commander heard his statement, he said, "You bring
great news, yuzbashi. This must go directly to the padishah.
We will proceed to Beshiktash together in the caique which
brought you hither. Beybars," he continued, turning to hist
orderly in waiting, "tell Kara Jehennem to make sure that
his gun-carriages are in good order, and that his men are
staunch. I foresee," he added, "a day of bloody work, in
which we tobjees shall have to bear the heaviest share.”
So saying, he proceeded with Saduk to the landing, and
put off in the caique for Beshiktash. They were half an
hour in reaching the palace, where they found that the sul-
tan, as became a sovereign whose empire was trembling in
the balance, had been up all night, engaged in close con-
sultation with his ministers. The grand-vizier, the mufti,
the aga pasha, the Janissary aga, the capudan pasha, and
other great officers of state, were present in the council.
The tobjee-bashi was admitted at once, and Saduk was
The Fall of the Janissaries.
385
He found
presently summoned to the council-chamber.
the sultan sitting on a pile of cushions at the upper end of
the apartment, while his ministers stood near him on either
hand. Mahmoud's dark-blue eyes glittered with vindictive
pleasure, and his naturally sallow cheek was flushed with
joyful excitement. "Ha!" he exclaimed, as Saduk
approached, and made his military obeisance, "it is
You
the Cherkess who has brought the good news.
have done well, yuzbashi: it shall not be forgotten. At
what hour did you see these dogs of Sheitan, and how
many were there of them ?”
"Asylum of the world!" replied the Circassian, "it
was shortly after midnight, when your servant saw about
a hundred of the rebels, on their way seemingly to the
dwelling of his lordship the aga.”
"The curs! the miscreants!" exclaimed Mahmoud.
"You did well, aga, to remove your harem in time, for
nothing will be sacred to these wretches. You are all wit-
nesses, pashas, that it is they who have begun the conflict,
and not I. This day shall decide who is to govern hence-
forth in Stamboul-the sultan or the Janissaries. If it be
these dogs, I will retire to Asia, and leave the city and the
western empire to them. But wherever I am, there I
will be king. Come, pashas, now that the work is com-
menced, our place is in the city. Let every one perform
his part, according to the plan which we have sanctioned."
With these words the council broke up. The sultan
and his principal ministers proceeded immediately to the
seraglio, and walked from thence in solemn procession to
the imperial mosque of Sultan Ahmed, near the ancient
Hippodrome. Here a ceremony of great importance took
place. The Sandjak Shereef, or sacred standard of Islam-
made, it is said, of the apparel of the Prophet, and only
produced on the most momentous occasions-was brought
25
386
Modern Story-Teller.
out from the treasury, in which it had lain for fifty years,
and set up on the pulpit. Standing beneath it, the mufti
and the ulemas-the three heads of the Mahomedan faith
-pronounced a solemn anathema upon the rebels, and
devoted the whole body of the Janissaries to destruction.
The news of this proceeding quickly spread through the city,
and produced a decisive effect. The mass of the population
had previously been wavering between their devotion to
their sovereign and their ancient sympathies for the rebel-
lious troops.
But when the influences of religion were
enlisted in favor of the former, there was no longer any
hesitation; the great majority of the citizens came forth in
a tumultuous throng, and swelled the number of the forces
which were advancing from all sides against the in-
surgents.
The latter, after sacking the palaces of the Janissary aga
and the grand-vizier, and making an ineffectual assault
upon the seraglio, had retired to their square, the Etmei-
dan; and there having inverted their camp-kettles, accord-
ing to their usual custom when in a state of revolt, they
appointed a deputation to lay before the sultan their
demands-namely, the restoration of all their ancient privi-
leges, and the death of the four ministers whom they consi-
dered their chief enemies. But while thus engaged, they
neglected, with unaccountable infatuation, to take any pre-
caution against the approach of the various corps of regular
troops which were gradually occupying every avenue lead-
ng to the Etmeidan. Thus, when the Janissaries received
the positive refusal of their demands, together with the
alternative of submission or instant destruction, they found
themselves hemmed in on all sides by the hated troops of
the nizam djedid. A sense of their dangerous position
then first seized upon them, and they made a furious and
simultanec us effort to break down the living barrier which
The Fall of the Janissaries.
387
inclosed them, with the intention of spreading themselves
through the city, and setting fire to it in every quarter.
The principal rush was directed towards a narrow street,
occupied by a body of flying artillery, with two guns loaded
with grape. The leader of this body was an officer noted
for his great size and strength, his swarthy and forbidding
countenance, and his relentless determination, all of which
traits had procured him the appellation, by which he was
usually known, of Kara Jehennem, or the "Black Infernal."
It was supposed that the dread and respect which the tob-
jees entertained for him would serve to counteract their
well known sympathies for their former comrades. Thus far
the expectation had been fulfilled; for the men had fought
with vigor in repelling the attack of the Janissaries upon the
seraglio. But now, when the mighty mass came rolling
towards them, calling on the sacred names of the Prophet.
and Hadji Bectash, and shouting to the gunners the watch-
words of their ancient fellowship, the hearts of the latter
failed them, and they drew suddenly back from their guns,
carrying their officers with them. In another moment the
picces would have been in possession of the insurgents. It
was the crisis, if not of the Ottoman empire, at least of the
reign of Mahmoud. Kara Jehennem, who stood in front of
his troops, with his yataghan in one hand and a pistol in the
other, when he found himself thus left alone by their retreat,
took his resolution with the unhesitating boldness of his cha-
racter. He shook his sabre, with a terrible imprecation,
at his recreant soldiers, and then, springing to one of the
guns, fired his pistol over the priming. The Janissaries
were close upon the piece when it was discharged, and the
effect of the grape upon their dense column was tremen-
dous. The whole mass recoiled in confusion, which the dis-
charge of the second gun, by another hand, turned to a
headlong flight.
388
Modern Story-Teller.
''
"Aferin, Cherkess !"-("Well done, Circassian !"--
exclaimed Kara Jehennem; "that shot has made you a
colonel. Come on, dogs, cowards, sons of burnt fathers ! "
he shouted to the tobjees. "Your guns to-day, or the
bowstring to-morrow.”
The gunners needed no further menace to make them
return to their duty, and the guns were quickly manned
and brought forward to take part in the deadly shower of
grape and musketry which was now pouring, with fearful
effect, upon the rebels in the Etmeidan. Presently a cry
was raised among the latter, "To the kislas-to the bar-
racks!" The barracks of the Janissaries adjoined the
Etmeidan, and the revolted troops, now taking refuge in
them, defended themselves there with desperate resolution.
The aga pasha sent to inquire of the sultan if he should
endeavor once more to make terms with the insurgents
before proceeding to the last extremity. The answer was
brief and decisive-"Set fire to the kislas ! "
The stern command was unhesitatingly obeyed. In a
few moments the barracks were enveloped in flames; but
not even the prospect of the dreadful and inevitable death
which awaited them could induce the Janissaries to sue for
the mercy which they had before rejected, and which they
probably felt would now be refused them. They fought on,
with the fury of despair, until the greater number were
buried in the burning ruins. A portion of them sallied
forth, and attempted to cut their way through the line of
their enemies. In the conflict which ensued, Kara Jehen-
nem fell with a bullet through his hip. "Die, dog!"
shouted an old chorbajee, rushing towards him with up-
lifted yataghan; "down to Jehennem, where you be-
long!"
"Not yet, uncle Osman," replied the "Black Infernal;"
and raising himself on his left elbow, he fired his pistol at
The Fall of the Janissarics.
389
the Janissary, saying, "Take that, old friend, for your good
wishes."
The chorbajee stopped suddenly, and struck his hand to
his side; then springing like a tiger upon the ranks of the
tobjees, be cut down two men by successive blows of his
yataghan, and fled swiftly up the street towards the mosque
of Raghil Pasha, closely pursued by a party of the soldiers.
All resistance was now at an end, but the work of destruc-
tion did not cease. Every Janissary who was found within
the walls of Stamboul, whether concerned in the late revolt
or not, was put to death without mercy. The bowstring
and the Bosphorus completed what the cannon and the
sabre had begun; and within twenty-four hours, that for-
midable body, which for four centuries and a half had been
by turns the bulwark and the scourge of the Ottoman
empire, was utterly annihilated. Its very name was made
accursed, and a heavy penalty denounced upon any one
who should utter it. Twenty thousand men are supposed
to have perished in consummating this brief but sanguinary
revolution, for such its objects and its consequences entitle
it to be called.
During the conflict, Saduk had distinguished himself
both by his courage and presence of mind. But he felt no
disposition to take part in the massacre which followed,
and was about to withdraw from the scene, when a sudden
recollection flashed upon him, and caused an immediate
change of purpose. Collecting a few of his men, he hastened
towards the dwelling of the Chorbajee Osman, which he
had no difficulty in discovering. He arrived just in time.
The old Janissary, mortally wounded by the pistol-shot of
Kara Jehennem, had fled to the privacy of his harem to die.
In ordinary times, even the executioners of the law do not
venture to violate this sacred refuge; but the solemn ana-
thema pronounced upon the rebels removed all scruples of
390
Modern Story-Teller.
this nature, and Osman's pursuers had just broken into the
apartment, where the affrighted women were clustered in
speechless horror about the dying man. Saduk's appear-
ance saved him from the last indignity of the bowstring,
and preserved the females from insult. In gratitude for
this service, the old chorbajee, by a will pronounced upon
the spot, as the Moslem law allows, bequeathed to the
young man all his wealth, on condition that he continued
to extend his protection to Shereen and her mother. This
condition being anything but an onerous one, the trust was
promptly accepted by the youthful soldier. The will, it is
true, as made by a rebel who had forfeited his property by
his guilt, would have been of no avail but for the favor of
the sultan, who not only confirmed it, but also bestowed
upon the Circassian the rank which Kara Jehennem had
promised him. Shereen, it is hardly necessary to add,
became the wife of the fortunate adventurer; and her
mother, with the third of her late husband's ample fortune,
was able to fulfil a long-cherished vision, of returning in
splendid state to the land of her nativity.


Leaves from the Diary of a Law
Clerk.
T
HE reader must not expect any artistic finish or color-
ing in such brief transcripts as I can furnish of
by-gone passages in my clerkly experience. Law-
writers and romance-writers are very distinct classes of
penmen, and I am consequently quite aware that these
sketches have no other claim to attention than that they are
genuine excerpts,-writ large, from a journal in which
the incidents of the day were faithfully noted down at the
time of their occurrence. Their accuracy, therefore, does
not depend upon memory, which certainly I do not find to
be as virile and tenacious at seventy as it was at seventeen.
No one will feel surprised that I should, in my vocation,
have turned over several startling leaves in the darker
chapters of our social history; and some of these, I have
thought, may prove even more interesting to a numerous
class of minds, when plainly and unpretendingly set forth,
than if tricked out in the showy varnish and false jewels of
romance and fanciful invention.
On the evening previous to the day, Mr.
-sup-
pose, for convenience sake, we call him Mr. Prince, he was
one in many respects, on the evening, then, previous to the
392
Modern Story-Teller.
day Mr. Prince, a barrister, whose clerk I had been for
about three years, intended setting out for the second
time on the Western Circuit, a somewhat unusual circum-
stance, or rather couple of circumstances, occurred. I
must premise that Mr. Prince had at the previous assize
made a great hit at Salisbury, by a successful objection to
an indictment framed under 30th Geo. 2, which charged a
respectably-connected young man with stealing a sum of
money in bank notes. Mr. Prince contended that bank
notes were not "moneys, wares, goods, or merchandise,”
within the meaning of the statute, an opinion in which the
judge, Mr. Baron Thompson, after much argumentation,
coincided, and the prisoner was acquitted and discharged.
This hugely astonished the horticultural mind of Wiltshire:
a lawyer who could prove a bank note, then a legal tender,
not to be money, was universally admitted to be a match,
and something to spare, for any big-wig on the circuit, and
a full share of briefs would, it was pretty certain, thence-
forth fall to Mr. Prince's share.
And now, to return to the circumstances I was speaking
of. I was waiting at chambers in the Temple on the even-
ing in question for Mr. Prince, when who should bustle in
but old Dodsley, the attorney, of Chancery Lane. Many
persons must still remember old Dodsley, or at all events
his powdered pig-tail, gold eye-glass, tasseled hessian boots,
and everlasting pepper-and-salt pants. This visit surprised
me, for the spruce and consequential antique had not
hitherto patronized us, we not having as yet, I supposed, a
sufficient relish of age about us to suit his taste.
"Mr. Prince," he said, of course goes the Western
Circuit? To be sure, to be sure. Is he retained in the
Salisbury case of the King on the prosecution of Gilbert
against Somers ?"
I knew perfectly well he was not, but of course I replied
Teabes from the Diary of a Tub Clerk.
393
that I would look, and passed my finger slowly and delibe
rately down the page of an entry-book. "No, he is not,"
I said, on reaching the foot of the leaf.
"Then here is a retainer for the defence." Dodsley
placed a one pound note and a shilling on the table, and, as
soon as I had made the usual entry, added,
"I am acting
in this matter for Cotes, of Salisbury, who, as the case is of
some importance, will deliver the brief, handsomely marked,
I believe, and with a good fee to clerk, at Winchester;
good-by!"
A quarter of an hour afterwards, the great Mr. Pen-
dergast, solicitor, of Basinghall Street, ascended the stairs,
and presented himself. He had a brief in his hand,
marked "Fifty Guineas." This I saw at a glance: indeed,
of all the characters on the back of a brief, the figures,-
the fee,-by some magnetic attraction or influence, invaria
bly caught my eye first.
"Mr. Prince proceeds on the Western Circuit ?”
"Certainly."
“And is not, I conclude, retained in the Crown case
against Somers for larceny ?"
"Mr.
"The deuce! well, this is odd!" I exclaimed.
Dodsley left a retainer for the defence not above ten minutes
ago."
"You don't say so!" rejoined Mr. Pendergast, pee-
vishly; "dear me, dear me; how unfortunate! The
prosecutrix is anxious above all things to secure Mr. Prince's
services, and now-dear me! This is a kind of business
not at all in our line; nor indeed in that of the respectable
Devizes firm who have taken the unusual course of sending
the brief to London, although relating only to a simple
matter of larceny ;-dear me, how unfortunate! and the
fee, you see, is heavy."
66
Surprisingly so, indeed! The prosecutrix must be
394
Modern Story-Teller.
wonderfully anxious to secure a conviction," I replied with
as much nonchalance as I could assume, confoundedly vexed
as I was. It was not at all likely, for all old Dodsley had
hinted, that the brief in defence of a prisoner committed for
larceny would be marked at a tenth of fifty guineas: how-
ever, there was no help for it, and after emitting one or two
additional “dear mes!" away went Mr. Pendergast with
brief, fifty guineas, and no doubt proportionately handsome
clerk's fee, in his pocket. I was terribly put out, much
more so than Mr. Prince, when he came in and heard of
what had happened, although fifty guineas were fifty guineas
with him at that time. "I have seen something of the case,"
he said, “in the newspapers; it has curious features. The
prisoner is a female of great personal attractions, it seems.
We must console ourselves," he added with jocose famili-
arity, "it is something to be the chosen champion of
beauty in distress." To which remark I perceive the word
"Fudge," in large capitals, appended in my diary. "Hum-
bug" would have been more forcible, but that expressive
word had not then been imported into the English voca-
bulary, or it would, I doubt not, have been used.
Mr. Prince of course travelled by post-chaise with a
learned brother, and I reached Winchester by coach, just
as the sheriff's trumpets proclaimed the arrival of my lords
the judges in that ancient city. Our Wiltshire fame had
not yet reached Winchester, and although the criminal
business of the assize was heavy, very few cases were con-
fided to Mr. Prince. Cotes arrived on the second day, with
the brief in the Salisbury case, marked, I was astonished to
find, "Twenty Guineas," and the old fellow behaved, more-
over, very well to me. Mr. Prince was in court, and I had
full leisure to run over the matter, and a very strange, out-
of-the-way, perplexing business, as set forth in Mr. Cotes's
instruction to counsel, it appeared to be. Divested of sur-
Leubes from the Diary of a Taw Clerk.
395
plusage, of which the brief contained an abundant quantity,
the affair stood about thus:-Mr. Hurdley, a wealthy per-
son, who had resided many years at Hurdley Villa (then so
called, but now, I hear, bearing another appellation, and
not very distant, by-the-by, from Bowood, the Marquis of
Lansdowne's country seat), had died three or four months
previously intestate, and Hurdley Villa was now inhabited.
by a Mrs. Gilbert, the deceased's sister-in-law, and her son,
Charles Gilbert, the heir-at-law, but who yet wanted some
ten months of his majority. The day before his death Mr.
Hurdley despatched James Dakin, an aged and confidential
servant, to bring home one Emily Somers from Brighton,
where he, Mr. Hurdley, had placed her some fourteen years
previously in a first-rate school. He told the mistress of
the establishment, a Mrs. Ryland, that the child, then about
five years old, was the orphan daughter of a distant rela-
tive, a statement discredited as she grew up by the evi-
dence of her features, described as presenting a beautiful
and feminine but still surprisingly accurate reflex of those
of Mr. Hurdley. This remarkable resemblance not only
gave rise to calumnious rumors, but appeared greatly to
impress Mr. Hurdley himself, at the last and only interview
he ever had with the young girl since he consigned her to
Mrs. Ryland's care. This was about six months before he
died, and on his return home he gave Mr. Cotes directions
to prepare a new will, by which he bequeathed twenty thou
sand pounds to Emily Somers, and divided the residue,
about double that amount, amongst his nephew, Charles
Gilbert, and other more distant relatives. This will was
drawn out and executed, but was subsequently destroyed
under the following circumstances:-The instant Mrs. Gil-
bert heard of the serious illness of her wealthy brother-in-
law, she hastened with her son to Hurdley Villa, and imme-
diately set to work, tormenting the dying gentleman into
→
396
Modern Story-Teller.
tt
annulling his will. Wearied out at length, it seemed, by
Mrs. Gilbert's importunities, he yielded the point, and the
will was burnt in the presence of Cotes, the attorney, a
medical gentleman of Devizes, Mrs. Gilbert, and the
housekeeper, a Mrs. James. "You persist, Charlotte,"
said Mr. Hurdley, feebly addressing his sister-in-law, "that
Emily Somers ought not to inherit under this will ?" "I
do, indeed, my dear Robert; you may be sure she will be
sufficiently provided for without the necessity of your
bequeathing her such an enormous sum as twenty thousand
pounds." "Are the two letters I gave you sent to the
post ?" asked Mr. Hurdley of the housekeeper. The woman
hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Oh yes, certainly;
some time since." A strange expression, something like
mockery or malice, Cotes thought flickered over the pale
face of the dying man as he said, addressing the attorney,
"Then I authorize and require you, sir, to burn that my
last and only existing testament." This was done, and
everybody except the medical gentleman left the room.
Mrs. Gilbert vanished instantly her wish was accomplished,
following sharply upon the heels of her housekeeper.
Mr. Hurdley died on the following day. He was already
speechless, though still conscious, when Dakin returned.
from Brighton with Emily Somers, upon whom his fast-
darkening eyes rested whilst yet a ray of light remained,
with an intense expression of anxiety and tenderness. The
wealth, I may here state, of which Mr. Hurdley died pos-
sessed, was almost entirely personal, Hurdley Villa and
grounds being, indeed, the only reality, and was lodged in
British securities. It was the intention, Mr. Cotes believed,
of Mrs. Gilbert and her son, the instant the latter came of
age and could legally do so, to dispose of those securities,
and invest the produce in land: that time was, however, not
yet arrived.
Teabes from the Diary of a Law Clerk.
397
Matters went on smoothly enough at Hurdley Villa for
some time after Mr. Hurdley's death; Mrs. Gilbert was ex-
ceedingly civil and kind to Emily Somers;-her son, from the
first, something more; and it was soon apparent that he was
becoming deeply attached to the gentle and graceful girl
bequeathed to his mother's and his own generous care by
her deceased protector. These advances, evidently at first
encouraged by Mrs. Gilbert, were by no means favorably
received,-why, will presently appear, whereupon that lady
worked herself into a violent rage, both with her son's folly
and the intolerable airs and presumptions of Emily Somers,
who had forthwith notice to quit Hurdley Villa, accom-
panied by an intimation that an annuity of fifty pounds a
year would be settled on her. This scandalous injustice.
roused the spirit of the young girl, acquainted as she was
with the burning of the will, and a violent altercation ensued
between her and Mrs. Gilbert, in the course of which some-
thing was said or hinted that excited Mrs. Gilbert to down-
right frenzy, and she vowed the insolent, audacious minx
should not sleep another night in the house. This scene
occurred just after breakfast, and a chaise was ordered to be
in readiness by two o'clock to convey Emily Somers to
Devizes. About half-past twelve Mrs. Gilbert went out for
an airing in the carriage, and was gone about an hour; her
passion had by this time cooled down, and the servants.
thought, from the irresolute, half regretful expression of her
countenance, that a conciliatory word from Miss Somers
would have procured her permission to remain. That word
was not spoken, and Mrs. Gilbert, with a stiff bow to the
young lady, who was already equipped for departure, saile 1
grandly away to her dressing-room. In about ten minutes.
a terrible hurly-burly rang through the house: Mrs. Gilbert's
diamond necklace and cross was declared to be missing from
her jewel case, and a hurried search in all possible and
398
Modern Story-Teller.
impossible places was immediately commenced. Miss
Somers, distracted as she said by the noise and confusion,
intimated that she should walk on and meet the chaise,
which could not be far distant; and " as Mrs. Gilbert," she
added with bitter emphasis, "insists that every trunk in the
house shall be searched, I will send for mine to-morrow."
So saying she left the apartment, and a minute afterwards
the house. The post-chaise was not far off, and she had
reached it, and seated herself, when a footman came running
up with a request from Mrs. Gilbert that she would return
immediately. Miss Somers declined doing so, and ordered
the postillion to drive on. Seeing this, the footman, a
powerful fellow, caught hold of the horses' heads, exclaim-
ing, as he did so, "that it was a matter of robbery, and the
young lady should return." The chaise was accordingly turn-
ed round, and the now terrified girl was in a manner forcibly
taken back to Hurdley Villa. There it was proposed to
search her. She vehemently protested against being sub-
jected to such an indignity, but Mrs. Gilbert peremptorily
insisted that she should, and a constable having been actually
sent for, she, at length, reluctantly submitted. The search was
fruitless, and Mrs. Gilbert, taking up the young lady's muff,-
it was the month of January,-which was lying in a chair,
tossed it contemptuously towards her, with an intimation that
"she might now go!" The muff fell short, and dropped
on the floor. A slight sound was heard. "Ha! what's that?"
exclaimed Mrs. Gilbert. Quickly the muff was seized, felt,
turned inside out, ripped, and the missing diamond neck-
lace and cross were found carefully enveloped and concealed
in the lining! Miss Somers fainted, and had only partially
recovered when she found herself again in the chaise, and
this time accompanied by a constable, who was conveying
her to prison. The unfortunate young lady was ultimately
committed for trial on the charge of stealing the jewels.
Teabes from the Biary of a Law Clerk.
399
Miss Somers's refusal to entertain the suit of Mr. Charles
Gilbert, and the large fee marked on the brief in defence,
were explained by the fact that a Lieut. Horace Wyndham,
of the artillery service, then serving in Ireland, had, when at
Brighton, contracted an engagement with Emily Somers,
fully sanctioned, Cotes believed, by the late Mr. Hurdley.
This young officer remitted a considerable sum to the attor-
ney, with directions that no expense should be spared; and
further stated that he had applied for leave of absence, and
should, the instant it was granted, hasten to Wiltshire.
This was the tangled web of circumstance which it was
hoped the ingenuity of counsel might unravel, but how, Mr.
Cotes, a well-meaning, plodding individual, but scarcely as
bright as the north star, did not profess to understand.
Mr. Prince took great interest in the matter, and he speedi-
ly came to the conclusion that it was highly desirable Miss
Somers should be directly communicated with. The
etiquette of the bar of course precluded Mr. Prince from
himself visiting a prisoner, but I, though it was rather out
of my line of service, might do so, by permission of Mr.
Cotes. This was readily accorded, and the next day I and
the attorney set off for Salisbury.
We had an interview with Miss Somers early on the
following morning. All my clerkish bounce was thoroughly
taken out of me by the appearance and demeanor of the
young lady. There was a dignified serenity of grief im-
printed on her fine pale countenance, a proud yet tempered
scorn of the accusation and the accuser in her calm accents,
so different from the half-swaggering, half-whining tone and
manner I had been accustomed to in persons so situated,
that my conviction of her perfect innocence was instantane-
ous and complete. She, however, threw no light upon the
originating motive of the prosecution to which she was
exposed, till, after refreshing my memory by a glance at the
400
Modern Story-Teller.
notes Mr. Prince had written for my guidance, I asked her
what it was she had said on the occasion of her quarrel
with Mrs. Gilbert that had so exasperated that lady? “I
merely ventured," she replied, "to hazard a hint suggested
by an expression used by Mr. Hurdley in a letter to-
to a gentleman I have reason to believe Mr. Cotes will see
to-day or to-morrow, to the effect that I might after all
prove to be the rightful heiress of the wealth so covetously
grasped. It was a rash and a foolish remark," she added
sadly, her momentarily crimsoned cheeks and sparkling eyes
fading again to paleness and anxiety, "for which there was
no tangible foundation, although Mrs. Gilbert must, it seems,
have feared there might be."
This very partial lifting of the veil which concealed the
secret promptings of the determined and rancorous prose-
cution directed against our interesting client, rendered me
buoyantly hopeful of the result, and so I told Cotes
on leaving the prison. He, however, remained like old
Chancellor Eldon, permanently "doubtful," and moreover,
stared like a conjuror, which he was not, when, after again
consulting Mr. Prince's memoranda, I said he must let me
have two subpoenas for service on Mrs. James and Mr.
Dakin at Hurdley Villa.
"Nonsense!" he exclaimed; "what will be the use of
calling them?"
"I don't know; a great deal of use, it may be; but at
all events the subpoenas will give me an excuse for seeing
them both, and that I must do as early as possible."
He made no further objection, and by eleven the next
day I was at the hall door of Hurdley Villa, blandly request
ing to speak with Mrs. James. I have always piqued
myself upon not having the slightest odor of law or parch-
ment about me, and I was only gratified, therefore, not
surprised-ahem!-at overhearing the servant who an
Teabes from the Diary of a Law Clerk.
401
swered the door assure Mrs. James that the person inquiring
for her " was quite the gentleman." This was, moreover,
only a fair return for the compliment I had paid the damsel's
blooming checks. I was immediately ushered into the
housekeeper's room, where, as soon as the door was closed,
I handed the astonished woman a strip of parchment and a
shilling. She hopped back as if suddenly confronted by a
serpent.
"A subpoena, Mrs. James," I said, "commanding you,
in the name of our Sovereign Lord the King, to attend and
give evidence on the trial of Emily Somers."
"I give evidence!" she replied, much flurried; "I know
nothing of the matter; I wash my hands of the whole busi-
ness."
"That will require, my dear lady, a very profuse and
judicious use of soap and water, or the damned spots will not.
out, as the lady says in the play."
(C
Oh, don't bother me about the lady in the play," she
retorted angrily. "I can give no evidence, I tell you,
either for or against Miss Somers. I did not accuse her of
stealing the necklace!"
"That I am sure, Mrs. James, you did not. You are, I
know, too just and sensible a person to do anything at once
so wicked and foolish, but you must tell the judge how it
was the two letters-ha! you begin to perceive, do you, that
more is known than you imagined."
"Letters—what letters ?" she muttered with pale lips.
The words which had so startled her had been suggested
by a surmise of Mr. Prince, and a remark which dropped
from Miss Somers, implying that Lieutenant Wyndham had
been expecting a promised explanation from Mr. Hurdley
when the news reached him of that gentleman's death. The
woman's tremor convinced me that I had struck the right
trail, and I determined to follow it up boldly.
26
402
Modern Story-Teller.
"I will tell you, Mrs. James," I replied, "but first, and
for your own sake, ascertain that we are entirely alone."
She looked into the passage, reclosed the door, and said with
fast-increasing agitation, "Quite, quite alone; what can you
mean ?"
"This: the two letters intrusted to you by Mr. Hurdley,
the day before his death, you had neglected to forward as
you ought to have done."
"I-I meant no harm," she huskily gasped; "as I live
and breathe I meant no harm!"
"I believe you; and it was after the will was burned
that Mrs. Gilbert, who followed you out of the sick room,
obtained possession of them."
She did not answer in words, and it was not necessary
that she should; her scared looks did that sufficiently.
"Do you remember either of the addresses of the letters,
Mrs. James," I presently continued, “or shall I refresh your
memory? Was not the first syllable of one of the names
Lieutenant Wyndham—”
"Ha!"
"Now don't make a noise, there's a good woman. To
whom was the second letter addressed? Answer that
question, or you will be in custody before ten minutes have
passed; answer it truly, and you will not be in the slightest
degree molested;-come, out with it!"
"The Reverend Mr. Ridgway, Yeovil, Somerset."
'
Very good. And do you know anything about this
Mr. Ridgway, whether he was related to, or in any way
connected with, the late Mr. Hurdley ?"
"As I hope for mercy, I do not.”
(6
Very well now pay attention to what I am about to
say. Mrs. Gilbert must not be acquainted with what has
passed between us."
"Oh, no, certainly not; on no account whatever," she
Teabes from the Diary of a Law Clerk.
403
quickly replied. "She strictly forbade me to mention the
circumstance."
"No doubt. As she is sure, however, to hear that I
have been here, you had better admit that I have served
you with a subpoena. Good day," I added, taking her hand,
which was cold as ice," and remember-SILENCE! or it
will go ill with you.”
66
Come, George," I mentally exclaimed on emerging
with exultant step from Hurdley Villa, "come, George,"
my name is George-"you are getting along in first-rate
style, my boy; and there is nobody I wish half so well as I do
you. I am heartily rejoiced at it. Old Dakin is at Devizes,
it seems; well, I don't know that it's worth while waiting
to see him, so I'll e'en be off again back at once."
The news I brought which, well managed, would in all
probability lead to important results, put quite a varnish ou
old Cotes's mahogany phiz, and it was needed, for Lieutenant
Wyndham, who had arrived at Salisbury shortly after I had
left, had kept him in a state of terrible anxiety and harass
ment from the first moment he entered the office. He was
a fine dashing young fellow, by Cotes's account, sudden and
fiery as a rocket, and at first seriously purposed to send a
bullet through young Gilbert's head, as the only fitting
answer to the atrociously absurd accusation against Miss
Somers. Convinced at last that ball practice, however
sharp and well directed, would avail little against a "true
bill" for felony, he bounced off to procure permission to visit.
the imprisoned lady. This could not be for the moment
granted, "and," added Cotes, "he has been tearing in and
out of the office for the last hour and a half like a furious
maniac, threatening to write immediately to the Home
Secretary, nay, the Prince Regent himself, I believe, and
utterly smash every gaoler, sheriff, and magistrate in the
county of Wilts ;-oh, here he is again!”
104
Modern Story-Teller.
The youthful soldier certainly was much excited and
exasperated, but I found no difficulty in so tar calming him
that he listened with enger attention and interest to what I
had to relate. "I cannot do better," he exclained, the
instant I ceased speaking, "than start immediately for Yeo-
vil, and ascertain what the Rev. Mr. Ridgway knows of
Em-of Mr. Somers or Mr. Hurdley." We agreed that it
was highly desirable he should do so, and in less than ten
minutes he was off in a post-chaise from the "Antelope" for
Yeovil.
The next day, Saturday, as I and Cotes were busy, about
noon, drawing a fresh brief for counsel, a horseman, followed
by a mounted groom, alighted in front of the attorney's
house, and presently a small clerk threw open the office door
and announced-"Mr. Gilbert!"
The appearance of this young gentleman was somewhat
prepossessing, albeit he appeared to be suffering from illness
of body or mind, perhaps of both; and there was a chang-
ing flush on his brow, a quick restlessness in his eyes, and a
febrile tremor, as it were, in his whole aspect and manner,
which, read by the light of what we knew and suspected,
had a deep significance.
"You are the attorney for the defence, I understand,
in "-he hesitatingly began,-"in the unfortunate affair of
the diamond necklace?"
"I am,” replied Mr. Cotes, "and what then ? "
"Your clerk has served a subpoena upon Mrs. Gilbert's
housekeeper; what may that mean?"
"A silly question, sir, you will pardon me for saying:
we lawyers are not generally in the habit of making con
fidants of those opposed to us."
There was a silence for some time; Mr. Gilbert crossing
his legs, tapped the toe of his boot with his riding-whip,
and passed his right hand fingers several times through
Teabes from the Diary of a Law Clerk.
405
the thick brown locks that fell over his forehead, his irreso
lute, wavering glance all the while shifting from Cotes's
face to mine and back again.
"Would it not be better," he at length said, "that this
unhappy business were accommodated? There is a means—
one,” he added, flushing intensest scarlet, "whereby that
desirable result may be accomplished. I must be frank
with you, for I cannot otherwise communicate with the-
the prisoner; it is this,-if Miss Somers will accept my
hand, the prosecution is at an end.”
Cotes was about to speak, but I pinched him with such
sudden force that he sprang to his feet instead, and the first
attempted word broke into a shriek of pain.
"Is this proposition made with Mrs. Gilbert's consent ? "
I hastily interposed.
"Yes, certainly ;-yes."
"Mrs. Gilbert consents, does she, that her son shall wed
a fortuneless girl accused of the disgraceful crime of theft,
her character unvindicated, her-"
Stay, sir, a moment. I speak of course in confidence.
If my proposal be accepted, I will say that I placed the
necklace in the muff in jest, or as a present.”
"Do you say, Mr. Gilbert," I exclaimed, "that it was
you, not your mother, that placed the jewels in the lining of
the muff?"
(6
Ha! ha! That shaft, I saw, found the joint in his
armor. He started fiercely to his feet.
"What do you
mean by that, fellow ?"
66
Precisely what I said, sir. Mr. Cotes," I added, “you
can have nothing more to say to this person.”
રા
Certainly not," snapped out the attorney, who was
limping about the room, and rubbing one particular part of
his left thigh with savage energy.
The young gentleman, finding that his conciliatory mis
106
Modern Story-Teller.
sion had missed fire, began to bully, but that failing also he
went his way, muttering and threatening as he went. And
I soon afterwards departed, after very humbly apologizing
to Mr. Cotes for the extreme liberty I had taken with his
still very painful leg.
On Monday, the day the Commission was opened at
Salisbury, Lieutenant Wyndham brought us the Reverend
Mr. Ridgway. What he had to say was this:-Mr. Hurdley
had married privately, for fear of his father's displeasure,
Emily Ridgway, the reverend gentleman's sister, at Bridge-
water. The marriage was a most unhappy one; a cause-
less, morbid jealousy possessed the husband to such an
extent that he believed, or affected to believe, that the
child, a girl, baptized Emily, in giving birth to whom her
mother died, was not his; but this child, so Mr. Hurdley
wrote to the Reverend Mr. Ridgway, died at the age of
four years.
The reader is now quite as wise as the wisest in the con-
sultation held at Mr. Cotes's on the Tuesday morning, when
it was known that the grand jury had returned a "true bill”
against Emily Somers. The announcement that our case
would probably be called on almost immediately, broke up
the council, and away we all departed for the court, Mr.
Prince, of course, who was in costume, walking up Catha-
rine street with the gravity and decorum which so well
becomes the law; I and the lieutenant walked faster.
"A queer fish," said the anxious and irate artillery
officer, "that master of yours: he listened to everybody, it
is true, but said nothing himself, nor did anything, for that
matter, except rub his nose and forehead now and then."
"Never mind; wait till it is his cue to speak. I have
no fear, unless, indeed, luck should run very contrary."
The small, inconvenient court was crowded to excess.
Mr. Justice Rook presided, and the Earl of Pembroke, with,
Teabes from the Diary of a Talo Clerk.
407
if I mistake not, the present Earl Radnor, then Lord Folke-
stone, was on the bench. Immediately a trifling case was
disposed of, Emily Somers was brought in and arraigned.
A murmur of sympathy and sorrow ran through the crowd
at the sad spectacle, in such a position, of one so young, so
fair, so beloved,-aye, so beloved, as all could testify who
witnessed the frightful emotion depicted in Lieutenant
Wyndham's countenance when the prisoner was placed in
the dock. It was a speechless agony, and so violent, that
I and the Reverend Mr. Ridgway caught hold of his arms
and endeavored to force him out of the court. He
resisted desperately; a deep sob at last gave vent to the
strangling emotion which convulsed him, and he became
comparatively calm. The leading counsel for the prosecu
tion, there was a tremendous bar against us, as if that
could avail!-opened the case very temperately, and the
witnesses, previously at the request of Mr. Prince ordered
out of court, were called seriatim. The first were servants,
who merely proved the finding of the necklace, as before
described, and Miss Somers's anxiety to be gone before
the chaise arrived; they were not cross-examined. Char-
lotte Gilbert was next called. At the mention of this name
the crowd undulated, so to speak; a wave seemed to pass
over the sea of heads, and all eyes were eagerly, the great
majority angrily, bent upon the person of a lady about fifty
years of age, splendidly attired in satin mourning. She
was a fine woman, and ordinarily, I should have supposed,
of imperious, commanding aspect and presence, but not
now: she had, it was clear to me, undertaken a task beyond
her strength, and every fibre in my body pulsated with
anticipated triumph.
She answered, however, the few questions put to her by
the prosecuting counsel distinctly, though in a low tone,
and without raising her eyes. The necklace produced was
108
Modern Story-Teller.
hers, and she had seen it found in the prisoner's muff et
cetera. Mr. Prince rose amidst the profoundest silence;
"Will you have the kindness, Mrs. Gilbert, to look at me ?"
he said. The witness raised her eyes for a moment, but
utterly unable to sustain his gaze, they were instantly
cast down again.
"Well, never mind, we must excuse you; but listen, at
all events. The letters addressed to Lieutenant Wyndham
and the Rev. Mr. Ridgway, which you purloined the day
before Mr. Hurdley died,-where are they ?"
A faint bubbling scream, she vainly strove to entirely
repress, broke from the quivering lips of the witness. "The
letters!" she feebly gasped.
"Aye, the letters informing those gentlemen that Emily
Somers was in truth Emily Hurdley, and the legitimate
heiress to the writer's wealth."
There was no attempt to answer, and Mrs. Gilbert
clutched tightly at the front of the witness-box.
"Your
witness is fainting," said Mr. Prince to the counsel for the
prosecution; "has no one a smelling-bottle ?" One was
found, and the terrified woman appeared to partially revive.
The cross-examination was resumed.
"When you placed the diamond necklace in the prison-
er's muff, you—”
A piercing shrick interrupted Mr. Prince, and when we
looked again towards the witness-box, it seemed empty,—
Mrs. Gilbert had fallen, utterly insensible, on the floor. She
was borne out of court, and Mr. Prince addressing the
opposite side, said in his blandest tone, "You had better,
perhaps, call another witness; the lady may presently
recover." This was acceded to, and the name of Charles
Gilbert was bawled out once-twice-thrice. The attorney
for the prosecution left the court to seek for the unanswer-
ing Charles Gilbert. He had been gone a considerable
Teabes from the Diary of a Fab Clerk.
409
time, and the judge was becoming impatient, when he
re-entered, looking very pale and agitated. "My lord," he
said, "the prosecution is abandoned! Mrs. Gilbert and her
son have driven off in their carriage."
The tempestuous hubbub that followed this announce-
ment, the exclamations in a contrary sense,-maledictions.
on the prosecutrix, congratulations of the accused,—could
not be for some time repressed. At length order was
restored, a quasi explanation ensued between counsel, and
Mr. Justice Rooke, turning towards the jury, said, "I con-
clude that after what we have just witnessed and heard,
there can be no doubt of what your verdict will be." An
acquittal was instantly pronounced by acclamation; the
triumphant shouts of the audience were renewed, and I
could just distinguish through tears that almost blinded me,
Emily Somers carried off in the rapturous embrace of Lieu-
tenant Wyndham.
You and Mr. Cotes," said Mr. Prince, as soon as I
could listen to him, "must instantly follow to Hurdley
Villa; there is important work to be done yet." There
was, no doubt, but it was easily performed. Utterly panic-
stricken, bargaining only for personal safety, Mrs. Gilbert
and her son gave us all the information, acquired by them
from the purloined explanatory letters, which was necessary
to establish the legitimacy of Emily Somers,—properly
Emily Hurdley; and a joyous triumphant finale concluded
the at-one-time menacing and troubled drama I have, I fear,
very imperfectly depicted.

Lith
The Golden Guillotine.
J
PASSED part of the year 1824, and nearly the whole.
of 1825, in France. I was then more than a boy,
though not quite a man—that is, I was able to
observe everything, without having attained the full power
of reasoning upon what I saw. Above all, my memory was
more retentive than it has ever been since, for I have
remarked that the pictures drawn upon the retina of the
mind do not become fastened by after processes. As they
first impinge, so they remain, all the more distinctly and
permanently from having been traced upon a delicate and
virgin surface. Youth employs itself little with the images
it stores within its memory. They are kept for after use—
a use that wears them out.
One over-clouded afternoon, having just had my fencing
lesson, and finding it quite impossible to remain within doors
any longer without getting hopelessly into the blue devils,
I sallied forth into the street of Tours (the town in which
we then resided), without any very definite idea of the next
thing to be done. There were two ways, of course, to
choose between-one to the left, up the Faubourg, past the
The Golden Guillotine.
411
Fabrique de Passementerie, the Pensiin, and the ancient
stone, on which was inscribed the record of some ancient
inundation of the Loire, "jusqu' ici," stopped by the visible
interposition of St. Anthony. But, then, in that direction.
lay the abattoir, and the bare idea of a sanguine gush from
within the archway and down the kennel whilst I was tra-
versing its brink, was enough to decide me. I turned to
the right.
This led me to the more ancient parts of the town, and
the congenial vicinity of the great Cathedral of St. Gatien.
The echoes of the deep bells swept over the roofs of the
houses, and chimed in with the sombre tone of my contem-
plations. At a particular break in this ridge of roofs, I
caught a sight of the massive towers, staring over omi-
nously upon me from the region of tempest, while two or
three ravens seemed to be blown out of them ever and anon
by the gusts, slowly and perseveringly returning with each
lull to the shelter of the ragged tracery near their summits,
and forcibly reminding me of those evil thoughts which,
when expelled, return again and again to find shelter in
some rent of our ruined organization. It was not without
a certain sensation of awe that I found myself thus under
the archiepiscopal shadow, for I had learned thus early to
succumb to the genius of great structures, and to suffer
myself to be bestridden by these dark embodiments of
mediæval influences.
Suddenly I observed indications of the avenue coming to
an end. Grass started greenly between the stones, and the
street appeared untrodden by man or beast. A few steps
further, and a heavy gate stood opposite me, under the
skeletons of large timber trees, barring all further advance.
I now cast about me for some means of exit, other than by
retracing my steps, which somehow or other conveyed to
me a sense of humiliation; and I did contrive to make out
412
Modern Story-Teller.
at the right a low archway, through which a paved alley
sharply descended, I knew not whither, but apparently a
public thoroughfare. Down this, after a moment's hesita
tion, I plunged, and found myself, as soon as I had emerged
into the light at the rear of the buildings, in a deserted
plot, which seemed to stretch away in one direction, com-
fortless and grass-grown, nearly to the inner face of the
town walls.
Long as I had resided in Tours, I had never seen or
heard of this place. Where was I?-what was it? I
determined to find out. Besides, it was sheltered from the
wind, which was getting keener every moment, as the
short day began to close in. I knew not what it was that
urged me on, but I felt a forward impulse, and followed the
path for some distance, until a slight bend removed alto-
gether from my view both the buildings I had left behind,
and the distant town wall, and brought me to the foot of an
ancient terrace.
The solitude was impressive. The storm, which roared
among the leafless great trees on the terrace overhead, as
through the cordage of a ship, could not get down to where
I was, except in an occasional gust and eddy, striking a
bare branch against a bare stone, as if bent on killing what
the winter had robbed; and the soft, moist black loam about
me I could fancy to partake of the genius of the place, and
derive its richness from accumulated relics of mortality.
Here I paused, marvelling at the Cyclopean proportions.
of the stones of which the terrace wall was composed.
Surely, said I, they were giants who fashioned and put
together these huge masses! But what is this? Why, the
terrace looks as if it was undermined?
This exclamation was forced from me by my coming
suddenly upon a breach, similar to what the waves some-
times make in a sea-wall-that is, the lower courses for some
The Golden Guillotine.
413
distance appeared to have been removed outwards, the
upper remaining hanging together by their own weight, so
as to give a cavelike appearance to the aperture.
I had not time, however, to speculate upon the cause of
what I saw, for at that instant I perceived, just within the
shadow of the opening, the figure of a man kneeling. There
is always something startling in stumbling upon the hidden.
devotions of another. If you add to this, in the stranger's
appearance, a stern melancholy of countenance spread over
the rigid prominence of protruding bones, scarcely covered
by the sallow flesh, and the peculiar expression of eyes, the
balls of which seemed, instead of swelling outwards, to hol-
low inwards, as you look into a rock crystal, some idea of
my first sensations may be realized. I felt my heart throb,
and drew a step back, in hopes I had not been observed;
but the stranger, without turning his eyes in the direction
in which I stood, bent towards the sound, and held up one
hand, with a motion which seemed to warn me not to go, as
well as not to advance.
I obeyed, as if under the spell of a mesmerizer, and
stood there for three or four minutes, during which the
great bells of the cathedral came down upon us ever and
anon, like puffs of smoke. They were, I now for the first
time remarked, tolling solemnly-a mournful peal. Pre-
sently they ceased; and then the stranger rose, and came
out into the entrance of the grotto, towards me. I bowed
respectfully, and, in such French as I could muster, apolo-
gized for having intruded, however unconsciously, upon his
devotions. I now saw that that peculiar expressionless look
I had at first remarked could give place to a more searching
one. He drew his eyes, as it were, to a focus by an instan-
taneous effort, and set them burning upon me like a lens;
then again retracted them within himself and said, calmly,
and almost mournfully-
414
Modern Story-Teller.
"The archbishop died an hour ago. I had a prayer to
say for his soul as well as the rest. They prayed before the
High Altar-I before Heaven. Where should I pray but
here?"
"You knew him, perhaps?" I rejoined, scarcely know-
ing what to say.
(
"I have known many people, young man.
It is not for
that alone I knelt under this ruin. But come, sit down
here; you, I see, are a stranger-so am I, though a French-
man. We have thus a bond between us.
You are young
-I am old. That, too, is a bond. You are guiltless of the
last century. Sit down-we can have a word with each
other."
The quiet self-possession with which he addressed me, an
utter stranger, surprised me. I could only account for it as
the result of that one intense, concentrated gaze, by which
I fancied he bad satisfied himself as to my character. But
such a man, so nervous, energetic, and decided, must be of
no common stamp. Indeed, young and inexperienced as I
was, I scarcely needed more than a moment to read thus
much.
Whatever it was-whether fear or confidence, or the
youthful love of adventure that prevailed with me, I made
no demur, but seated myself beside him upon one of the
blocks of stone.
"Let us know each other a little better," said he, "and
we shall be more at our case. I ask no particulars of you.
I will not hear them; for you are too young to be master of
your own secrets. All I required, I have discovered. You
are English. Had I not been satisfied of this, do not sup-
pose you would have been sitting here, now!"
"Well. I am.”
Enough. My name you may set down as Jean Fran-
çois Lenoir. I have seen many strange things in my day,
(6
The Golden Gaillotine.
415
young man. Aye, and picked up odd relics from the past,
as a man who digs in the bed of a stream will come upon
coins, and potsherds, and bones. Here is one, now, so out-
of-the-way, that I always carry it about me."
So saying, he held up before me a small gold ornament,
apparently designed for the neck; but which, to my inex-
pressible horror, I perceived at once to be fashioned into the
shape of a guillotine! I started up-and he rose too; but,
instead of entering into an explanation, he stepped over to
me, and taking my hand, led me to the light at the entrance
of the grotto, then, holding the ornament so as to exhibit
the reverse side, bid me read the inscription there written.
It was this-
La tete tombe, le coeur reste.
As I read, he looked me steadily in the face; and, as
soon as I had pronounced the words, he led me back to my
seat, and, placing himself once more beside me, said:—
''
Now, I have given you the key to my history.
Hearken unto it, for it contains instruction :-
On the 20th of October, in the year 1793, I was con-
ducted a prisoner to the Palace of the Luxembourg. They
had accused me of the crimes of being rich, noble, and a royal-
ist. My estates having been forfeited, I had been arrested in
the provinces, and was now brought up, along with several
prisoners of inferior rank, to Paris. As the gate of the
Luxembourg closed after me, I resigned all hope of libera-
tion, except by one exit-the scaffold; and secretly deter-
mined to seck, if I could, the most solitary recesses of the
prison, there to remain shut up with my own thoughts until
my time should arrive for removal to the Conciergerie, and
execution. I trusted to what ready money I had the com-
mand of for the means of obtaining this indulgence-for the
416
Modern Story-Teller.
time had now come when the system of rapiotage had been
organized, under which every one of the better class was
robbed on entering the prison-gate.
The first person I saw, amidst the crowd who thronged
round the wicket, anxious to catch a glimpse of their fellow-
sufferers, was Pierre Levasseur, a travelling companion of
mine in former years, and afterwards an occasional associ-
ate, until something incompatible in our positions in society
(for he had not the cent années), and then the stormy
scenes of the Revolution, had parted us, and I lost sight of
him. He embraced me with the utmost demonstrations of
affection, and, taking me by the hand, led me a little apart,
and told me that having been some time an inmate of the
prison, he could be of great service in introducing me to its
customs as well as to its inhabitants, and preventing me
making mistakes which might compromise me.
"But," said I, "I have determined to make no acquaint-
ances here. I have friends enough for the rest of my life,
I am sure. If I want to make a last confidence, you are
here, my dear Levasseur, and will shrive me."
"Unless," replied he with a laugh, "I have first to make
a confession to you, which, in the order of our arrest, is the
most likely thing."
"And how came you here ?" I inquired, suddenly recol-
lecting that he had never appeared to me a very warm roy-
alist, but, on the contrary, avowed himself, when I parted
from him two years before, rather inclined to the popular
side.
“Oh, we must not forestall our revelations! We should
be at the mercy of each other, you know, if we became
confidants here until compelled by necessity. Enough for
me to say, in a whisper, that Robespierre fancied my linen.
was finer than his, and, as we employed the same blan-
chisseuse, he thought, I presume, that the best way of
The Eolden Guillotine.
417
reducing my fabric to the texture of his own, was to trans
fer my lingerie to the laveuses of Luxembourg."
"The same extravagant drôle as ever!" I exclaimed,
recognising the esprit railleur I had so often observed and
rebuked. "Take care that your nonsense does not get you
into a scrape. I am told that there are eyes and ears busy
hereabouts".
"Hush! I know it; but I know, too, that the best way
of disarming suspicion, is to be frank, careless, and jovial.
Do you think, now," continued he, lowering his voice to a
distinct whisper, at the same time putting his mouth so
close to my ear, that he had to lift up my hair for the pur-
pose "do you think that you could form any guess
amongst the persons about us, as to that character we are
all so much in dread of-the agent of the police ?”
"I don't know," replied I, venturing a stealthy look
round me, which I instantly withdrew, adding-"Is it safe
to scrutinize people? You confirm my suspicions as to our
being watched.”
(C
Scarcely safe, I believe," he replied; "but they have a
few marks, nevertheless. For instance, when you see a
man sitting gloomily apart, avoiding much converse with
the prisoners, and noticing neither the motious nor the con-
versation of the groups which pass him by, you may be
pretty sure that that man is a spy of Fouquier's. Upon
such a fellow as me, now, they have an uncommonly sharp
eye; but I laugh at them, and they can make nothing of
me. Whatever evidence exists against me outside, they
shall add nothing to it here, I promise you. You must act
as I do, my dear friend. Come into society (for we have
our society here); address every one, get all you can out
of them; make your own observations in silence, and if
you want to pass remarks, come to me. Ten to one, my
superior knowledge of character, gained here at the foot of
27
418
Modern Story-Teller.
the scaffold, which strips off all masks, will stand you
in stead. And now, remember, there is a select reunion
this very evening in the Salle des Pleurs, as we have named
it. A few of the better order, as it used to be called-you
know what that means-meet there, so I will direct
(request, I beg his pardon) my peculiar little turnkey to
summons you to that apartment at the usual hour, and there
you will meet me, and some others of the missing aristo-
cracy of France !"
I was amazed at the levity of Levasseur under such cir-
cumstances; still, I was young myself, naturally high-spirit-
ed, and was greatly re-assured by meeting an old acquain-
tance where I had so little expected it; so, after a moment's
hesitation, I abandoned my original design, and surrendered
myself to my friend's invitation.
As soon as we had separated, however, my mind relapsed
into despondency. The execution of Marie Antoinette had
taken place only a few days before. When I first heard of
it, my soul had boiled over with vengeance, but by this time
its effect was only to aggravate and deepen my dejection.
Besides, the terrible reality of my situation forced itself
upon me through every chink of my senses. It was now
that I felt, for the first time, the iron of captivity enter
into my soul. Pallid and emaciated faces peered spectrally
into mine, as if they envied me the flush of health I had
horne in among them from the world without, and could not
communicate. A confused wrangling, consequent on over-
crowded accommodation, incessantly met my ears; a con-
tention in which every loftier feeling proper to man as a
member of society, gives way to the one grovelling instinct
of self, degrading his high humanity down to the level of
the brutes. The forced intermixure of ranks and grades,
previously dissociated by a natural arrangement assented
to on both sides, displayed its effects in fierce and humi-
The Golden Guillotine.
419
liating collisions, in which the great social drama of the
Revolution was enacted on a small and mean scale under
my eyes. I might easily enter into detail. Here and there
a group lay apart, unconscious, apparentiy, of the terrible
tumult around. The messenger of death had come to
these had taken one, or two, or more away to the Con-
ciergerie, never to be heard of more. I saw one man, who
seemed to be the survivor of a family; for even the wretches
expecting their own fate, pitied him. He sat still, in a ray
of sunshine, a thing which the full blaze of day was power-
less to resuscitate.-But why torture you with all this?
It is past and here am I.
Evening came, and, instead of the turnkey, appeared
Levasseur himself. He suspected I might make excuses, or
be unable to muster my spirits, and determined, he said, to
use his own influence. I saw it was useless to resist; so I
rose from my seat, leaned on his arm, and passed along the
corridor to the Salle des Pleurs.
I entered; and found myself in an ill-lighted but spa-
cious hall, furnished with some rude chairs, tables, and
benches, in which were already assembled probably more
than one hundred persons. It was at once perceptible that
here, though a prisoner, I was in elevated society. The
eye of one accustomed to mix with the world detects,
almost at a glance, and under any disguise, the grade of the
company it surveys. Besides, mine was not wanting in
quickness, and at that time, though uninstructed as yet,
possessed in full vigor those natural powers it learned after
wards to turn to better account. I saw that, in spite of
those dim lamps, and iron bars, and rude benches, I stood
amongst the nobility of France, and like a true aristocrat,
my heart and courage instantly bounded within me. I
felt that amidst the convulsion of society it was still permit
ted me to associate with the ancient blood of an ancient
420
Modern Story-Teller.
kingdom, and I scarcely cared even though I were to suffer
the penalty of having its current flowing through my veins,
so I were permitted to the last to enjoy the exquisite privi-
leges its participation afforded me.
"But, M. Lenoir," interrupted I, "you had not previ-
ously informed me of your being noble?"
"Nor had I intended to do so," replied he, after a
moment's pause, drawing a long breath, as the strain was
taken off his memory; (6
you have made an unconscious dis-
covery amidst my revelations. Few older families existed
even then-none exist now within the kingdom-than the
Vicomtes de Martigny, of which I was the sole representa-
tive."
"De Martigny!" cried I. 'Why, they belonged to
this very province !"
"To this spot, almost,” he replied.
"Their estates were
bounded on two sides by the walls of Tours, and extended
across to the lordship of Montbazon. But what of that?
They are gone; and he who might have transmitted them,
he, too, will go; and with him, the last claimant who could
have recovered them. I stand here, the sole survivor of my
race!"
66
I looked with a degree of reverence upon this solitary
representative of a long line of nobles, many anecdotes relat-
ing to whom I had heard during my residence in Tours, and
who were always spoken of as the Grands Seigneurs of the
district.
"Let me ask a question," said I, "arising out of your
disclosures. How comes it that you live alone, under an
assumed name, and yet remain here, where you are likely
to be most easily recognised?"
"You will understand the reason before I have done.
My immediate object in living as I do, and in renouncing
my proper title, is to elude the curiosity and the kindness
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421
of those who have nothing to discover which I would not
keep concealed, and can offer no consolation that could
repair the past.”
I entered the Hall of Tears (as with a ghastly conceit.
they named their place of meeting), and was recognised by
more than one of the personages assembled there. Woe
was imprinted on the visages of many of these; a reckless
hilarity lighted up the countenances of a few of the
younger men, but most of them retained their ordinary
cheerfulness and vivacity unimpaired and unexaggerated;
and all, without exception, appeared to preserve the lofty
and chivalrous demeanor which might be deemed hereditary
in their families, and had, at all events, become a second
nature. For me to have appeared otherwise than myself
in such a society, would have been derogatory to my pre-
tensions—so in a few moments I fell in with the spirit of the
assemblage, and, shutting my eyes to the gloomy accessories,
strove to imagine myself once more in one of the salons of
the Faubourg St. Germaine.
What struck me as most singular, though in keeping
with the name of this hall, was, that many of the ladies
wore as ornaments, either on their heads, round their necks,
or on their bosoms, pieces of jewellery significant in their
forms of the horrors that surrounded and awaited them.
One exhibited a chain and padlock bracelet, another a dag-
ger through her hair, and a third a skull and cross-bones as
a brooch. A shudder ran through me as I observed this
grim pleasantry associated with death; and though I learned
at last to look upon these emblems with indifference-nay,
with something less than indifference, as you shall hear-yet
it took some time to reconcile me to the fashion.
Levasseur stuck close to my elbow, and watched the
effect of what I witnessed, as it depicted itself upon my
countenance. He gave me credit more than once for my
422
Modern Story-Teller.
steadiness of nerve under circumstances so trying and so
novel, and at the same time satisfied my curiosity, every now
and then, by recounting anecdotes and incidents relating to
the more remarkable of the personages who approached and
receded from us.
"There do you see that reserved, downcast-looking
body, with the tonsure of a monk only half overgrown by
the locks of a sans-culotte? He seems to think that society
is a mistake, now that it is likely to lose him so soon. That
is the cidevant Abbé Fauchet, who will probably remove
his gravity from hence to the Conciergerie in a day or two.
He figures, you know, among the Girondin worthies who
seem so indignant that their turn should come at last for the
guillotine."
"What! a Girondin ?" exclaimed I; are they actually
in the room?"
"To be sure.
The noblesse admits them on the score
of their youth and approaching dissolution. See, here we
have another of them, for they are gregarious. He is hob-
bling up on his crutches to cheer up Fauchet. That is
Sillery; a jolly dog to the last.”
"Where is Vergniaud?" I whispered, unable to repress
the interest I felt in the theme of all tongues.
"We must go further up the room to reach him,"
replied Levasseur. "He and Ducos have contrived to ex-
cite pretty nearly as violent a fureur amongst the grandes
dames as they formerly did chez les dames de la halle; and
never can manage to get, even in prison, a moment's peace,
or what they would call peace; that is, solitude."
I could scarcely refrain from a smile at this wild travesty
of the classic sentiment, and advanced into the hall until I
reached the circle, in the midst of which stood Vergniaud,
Ducos, and Fonfréde. For a moment I could not help feel-
ing a flush of triumph at seeing these firebrands themselves
The Golden Guillotine.
423
the victims of their own exterminating frenzy. The next, I
stood spell-bound like the rest, listening to such a flow of
eloquence from the lips of the principal speaker as no expe-
rience of my life had ever prepared me for. It was not the
excited extravagance of mere declamation you so often
listen to, full of florid luxuriance upon a dead level, like
a tropical forest. Vergniaud spoke like a philosopher and
a man of the world as well as an orator. Every exalted
theme he discussed by turns; and when the poetic youth,
Ducos, illustrating the subject Vergniaud had last touched
upon-namely, the miseries of France and the unhappy
dangers into which young and gifted spirits had been drawn
by their patriotism-uttered, with the fervor of a martyr,
that fine sentiment of Corneille's—
La plus douce esperance est de perdre l'espoir,
the eye of the speaker bent upon him with an expression of
sympathizing affection, which seemed to go to the hearts of
the listening group around, and certainly disarmed mine for
the moment of some of its prejudices.
"Come, come," cried Levasseur, jogging my elbow,
"it will not do to have you embrace the Gironde contre
coeur. Were Madame Roland here to-night, indeed, there
might be some excuse for you. She, alas! has taken a
most extraordinary and unaccountable aversion to me, do
you know; and, when I appear here, seldom honors us with
her presence. But see, away goes Vergniaud turning on
his heel, and after him sails that most aristocratic provincial
neighbor of yours, the Marquise de la Cour Cheverny, in
a flood of ancestral tears. Young Montmorenci follows
her, with a vinaigrette and heart at her service. Ah! you
see, Vicompte, they cannot bar the Faubourg out, after
all !”
424
Modern Story-Teller.
Here Levasseur laughed softly, with the discreet hilarity
of an habitué of these prison festivities.
"Levasseur! Levasseur! be serious, I entreat of you.
This is not the place for such levity !"
My remonstrance was prompted by the entrance of two
persons.
One of them was an elderly lady, the other a young
one. As soon as they had entered, an ecclesiastic, of digni-
fied demeanor, whose face I did not see at the time, but
who seemed to have been expecting them, moved over
towards them, as if to afford them the protection their sex
and unprotected condition had need of in such an assem-
blage as this.
They were dressed differently from the rest of the com-
pany, who most of them contrived still to adorn themselves
in what might be called, by courtesy, the fashion of the
day, even as far as paint, patches, and powder, to say
nothing of the ominous jewellery they wore. A sepulchral
simplicity marked these ladies. The elder wore a plain
grey robe, and a plain cap covering her grey locks. The
younger was in spotless white, with an extraordinary
weight of what is called black hair, but which in northern
nations is more frequently dark brown, drawn away from
her brow, and falling in shadows of lustrous intricacy upon
her neck and shoulders. It would be a vain task to
describe her face. At the time, I could not have even
made the attempt; and if I afterwards knew her marble
complexion and Grecian features by heart, it was in that
moment but a wonderful and radiant embodiment of loveli-
ness that I saw, penetrating without definite outlines the
tissues of my imagination. At the instant she entered, a
rich voice from amongst the company was just giving the
minor motif of the then favorite aria by Glück,
" Che
faro," and that form, to my excited fancy, seemed to start
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425
out of the melody, as if born of grief and loneliness; so
that when the strain ended, I expected to see her, too,
vanish with the song, and leave memory like an echo ring-
ing in my heart. It was not till the sounds had been lost
in the deepening hum of voices that I could utter—
66
My friend-who-what are these ?"
"I knew you would be on wires as soon as Alphonsine
entered," exclaimed my companion, without fully answering
my question. "She has turned our heads here already,
and must, if she has a fair trial, soften the heart even of the
great Rhadamanthus of the Hotel de Ville."
I felt this levity to be more than out of place to be
revolting. Still, I must not, I knew, judge the unhappy
throng around me by the rules of a world from which they
were, most of them, for ever shut out. Accordingly, I con-
tented myself with repeating my question.
“These are aunt and niece," replied he. "Noble and
all that the St. Lucs. The elder lady's husband, Alphon-
sine's uncle, has already had his last promenade upon the
fatal cart. These two are charged with 'complicité,' and
when their turns come will, no doubt, follow in procession,
unless they have better success than Custine's daughter.
Meanwhile, let us make the most of them. They lend salt
to our 'pleurs,' and do all that mortals--or immortals-can
to reconcile us to iron bars and stone walls. You must not
be known not to know them. Come along, the archbishop
must give place for this once."
So saying, and without affording me time to collect my
thoughts, he dragged me by the arm up to the ladies, who
seemed already to have gathered a respectful and sympa-
thizing circle about them. He made his obeisance with a
deferential courtesy, strangely contrasted-to me, who had
just heard the remarks he had made-with his true senti-
ments; and was proceeding to introduce me, when just at
426
Modern Story-Teller.
that moment I caught a glimpse of the clergyman that had
at first joined them, and, to my surprise, discovered him to
be the archbishop of the province to which I belonged, the
excellent and loyal M. de Montblanc. Our mutual recogni-
tion was at once pleasurable and painful. I threw myself at
his feet, and the excellent prelate shed tears over my youth-
ful captivity. When I raised myself up, I observed the
eyes of the younger of the two ladies resting upon me with
a mournful expression, and turning towards Levasseur, saw
upon
his countenance the last traces of a smile, which he had
not intended to have left lingering there so long. As it was,
he took my hand, and gallantly kneeling before the two
ladies, presented with an extravagance of gesture, looking
very like a caricature of the ancien régime, Citoyen le
Vicomte de Martigny!
The archbishop seized my other hand, and without
seeming to notice the overstrained acting of my companion,
spoke my name over again, adding some words of delicate
commendation-dictated, I felt, more by his kindness, and
the interest he had evinced in my family, than by any
deserts of mine.
I look back with astonishment at the intensity of the
glow which I felt pervading my whole soul—at the magnifi-
cence of the conflagration kindled within me by the con-
sciousness felt at the instant and in its full energy, that now,
at the portals of the grave, as it were, I had for the first time
met with the fulfilment of my destiny, the substance of that
shadow of love my whole previous life had been one vain
pursuit of. It is possible, young man, that no human being.
in a less desperate emergency could have all the aspirations
of his nature so completely and instantaneously embodied
before him. Life was condensed, as we believed, from years
into hours. The world was compressed within the bound-
aries of our prison. Our career was to be accomplished in
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427
a few actions, for which we scarcely had time. Our destiny
was cooped up in a few fierce feelings, crowding to rend
their barriers within our breasts. I received the image
before me into my heart as a revelation from heaven-a
great light, which I only knew to be light, too dazzling for
me to look at. It passed in, blinding me on its way. I could
scarcely say what it was I worshipped.
This powerful heart-stroke carried with it the recipro-
cating conviction which alone could make the sensation
endurable. I felt that the shock was mutual-that the
electric current of passion could not rend one bosom so
completely, without a corresponding rift in the other. To
have doubted this would have been death. And, as after
knowledge showed me that these subtle influences, while
they transcend reason, act in strict conformity with it, so
now, in very truth, I had divined aright in the midst of my
bewilderment. Oh, mighty force of one master passion!
Terrific and fatal power, which lightens and blasts at the
same moment, according to what inscrutable law are thy
thunderbolts turned loose amongst mankind! To what end
was it, mighty Creator! if not to vindicate thy superseded
worship, that the swift and merciful axe cut off the authors
of our woes, while upon us was wreaked the slow vengeance
which has cast her bones here, and still binds me fast to life,
like a malefactor chained to the oar which strains without
liberating him!
The wretched man, as he alluded to the fate of the
woman appearing to be thus idolized, had seized my arm,
and when he shrieked the word "here," pointed with his
skinny finger to the ground at our feet-which caused me
to start up-but the next moment set me upon endeavoring,
in the midst of my excitement, to form some conjecture as
to the cause of his haunting this spot, coupling what he had
now uttered with some expressions used previously. I
428
Modern Story-Teller.
immediately perceived, however, that there was not enough
revealed as yet to justify any plausible surmise, so I turned
once more in the attitude of anxious attention towards the
exhausted narrator, on whose forehead big drops of sweat
stood out.
Let us hasten on, my son.
Hasten as I may, I cannot
make my relations as rapidly as time flew. Nearly four
months had gone over our heads as prisoners in the Lux-
embourg, and still, though the Angel of Death entered those
gloomy dungeons day after day, laying his fingers of blood
upon victim after victim right and left of us, upon our
shoulders his touch had not yet descended. We had sur-
vived, as it seemed to us, whole generations of mankind.
From the young and gifted Girondins, and the regicide.
Orleans, to the very turnkeys themselves, all had been
swept off to the guillotine, and new victims and new gaolers.
were still brought in to pass their probation for the scaffold.
The festivities which we had affected to make a microcosm
of the precincts of our prison-house, had died with the pro-
jectors of them. To us, and with new comers, it became
flat and wearisome, this attempt to re-enact gaieties which
only reminded us of our losses. In the Conciergerie, it is
true, those who had been brought so far on their way to the
grave still made wild sport of their last hours, in the dead
of each night rehearsing the ghastly tragedy they were to
perform on the morrow. Suppressed laughter floated
through the empty corridors, and troubled the sleep of the
conscience-ridden gaolers, making them lie closer, as they
half believed that the ghosts of headless tenants were
rejoicing at the ample repasts preparing for the tomb they
had descended into. But here we had neither hope nor
despair enough for such things. Life for us had become a
dream-a sepulchral shadow, under which silence alono
flourished. The discipline having become stricter, we could
·
The Golden Guillotine.
429
us;
not, indeed, have indulged in all the relaxations once open to
but the stringency of their rules was an unnecessary
severity. Our spirits had descended to the level of their
requisitions before ever they had been devised.
A question, I know, by this time suggests itself to you—
how did all this act upon the feelings and affections of two
individuals thrown together as spectators of such horrors!
A curious speculation, no doubt. It was the fire mighty to
separate the gold from the dross. We bore the test. Hap-
piness hovered over us both like a commiserating angel, not
quite daring to alight upon us, but without once winging its
way out of sight. To me no period of life, before or since,
has equalled that in felicity. For her, I believe, I may
answer with equal confidence. If the chamber of life was
dark and vaulted, there was a window through which each
could look into a world, and deem it its own. The barriers
which shut out heaven and earth, had left to us our eyes,
and left us together. Into these luminaries we looked for
light, and saw in them perspectives, heights, depths, distan-
ces, glories, sufficient for the amplest aspirations of two
beings like us joined, fused now, in the furnace of adversity,
into one.
We had sworn upon a token I had given her—
one devised in accordance with the spirit of the strange and
half-sepulchral world we lived in-the token I have already
exhibited to you--to be true to each other until divided by
its stroke. The vow was intended to strengthen our hearts,
and fortify them against the worst fate we apprehended—
though not the worst that awaited us. I had no hope, no
wish, no thought, beyond where I was. She pastured upon
my looks; and though her paleness had become mortal, her
flush hectic, and the gleam of her eyes meteoric, nothing
boded that she was not blessed, and might not be immortal
in her present condition.
The demeanor of Levasseur during the period we have
430
Modern Story-Teller.
come tc, was puzzling. He made friends and intimates on
all sides, and succeeded, by his appearance of sympathy and
the pliancy of his character, in gaining the confidence of
those most opposed to each other in station and opinion.
He was always occupied, if not in the large common apart-
ments, in the more secluded parts of the palace; and the
very turnkeys appeared to exhibit towards him a deference
which they refused to more exalted personages. As fresh
arrests took place, the new comers found in him a ready
and instant sympathizer, and when at last the summons of
death came (for such everybody felt the removal to the
Conciergerie to be), he took leave of the departing wretches
with every demonstration of commiseration, frequently
remarking to us how bitter a drop it was in the cup of his
captivity that so many of those with whom he had formed
the closest intimacy, were amongst the number thus selected
for sacrifice. It became a common topic, indeed, with the
survivors, this ill-omened peculiarity respecting him; and
we should have been more ready, perhaps, under some
superstitious feeling, to dissociate ourselves from his society,
but for the dread that was uppermost with us all of having
it supposed, by any withdrawal from each other, that we
might be classed with those retiring and morose individuals
whom he had himself taught us to suspect of being impli-
cated with the police in their system of espionage.
Alphonsine alone manifested a reserve towards Levas-
seur. I could not comprehend this; and occasionally rallied
him about it. He turned off the subject with a laugh; and
only redoubled his assiduities in his usual sarcastic style,
which won upon so many and amused all. As for me,
I
kept nothing from him-iny heart was as open as the sun to
his gaze.
The 10th of February, 1794, was the day fixed upon
for our flight-yes, that was a thing arranged. Her aunt
The Golden Guillotine.
431
Madame de St. Luc, and the archbishop were to accompany
11S. Levasseur was to remain; but told us he had reason to
calculate upon following us ere long. It is unnecessary to
tell you how all this was brought about. Our names seemed
to have been forgotten in the vast number of later arrests,
and day after day they had come, without placing us upon
the list of the proscribed. What interest was made for us,
it is as little needful that you should hear; you may believe
it was powerful—and that it was woman's. With that one
woman rested the generosity of the action-with the man
whom she influenced, the treachery, if treachery it must be
deemed. I am not called upon to tell you wonders uncon-
nected with my own history; but I might well excite your
astonishment. Well, let it pass. Had my distempered and
gangrened fancy contented itself with accepting the manna
from the hand of Providence, without thrusting its own
miserable devices between Heaven and its bounty, we might
--but who knows? “Ceux qui ont avancé que tout est bien,
ont dit une sottise; il fallait dire que tout est aux mieux.”
A fierce hilarity buoyed up my spirits as the day
approached. I had difficulty in keeping this under control
in the presence of my fellow-prisoners. Alphonsine did not
share it. On the contrary, she was grave and pensive, and
wept occasionally. She said she had a foreboding that she
should never be as happy elsewhere as she had been
within the walls of the Luxembourg. It was arranged that
we should make our way to Tours, where the archbishop
possessed the means of concealing us until better times.
We were to be married as soon as we arrived there; or, if
this plan should not succeed, so soon as he could procure
the material means of solemnizing that sacrament.
Why was Alphonsine sad ?-My mind was feverishly
active. The times were wild. Our plan was desperate.
Was she TRUE? Shall I try her? It was the suggestion.
432
Modern Story-Teller.
of an instant. Another moment had decided me to put her
to the proof. "She would leave happiness in the prison,"
were her words. Who was remaining behind? Why, of
our intimates, only Levasseur. Infernal thought! How
had this never occurred to me before? Nothing more
likely. He was ever of our party. He would not speak of
her. True, she avoided him in my presence, and his very
attentions were tinged with something of bitterness. But
what of that? The thing was—not plain, perhaps, but pro-
bable probable. I will test him to the quick. He shall
aid me in the business himself!
I was sitting in the depth of a window, with my back
to the light, leaning against iron bars, pondering these
things. Levasseur entered;-I sprang up, and laid a hand
upon each of his shoulders-
Levasseur, mon garçon, we are off, if all succeeds, to-
night, you know."
"Well! Yes, you are."
"You are sorry, infernally sorry-eh ?"
"Yes; it will make a difference to me for a time.”
"Oh, I know. Suppose we enliven the scene, to keep
up our spirits ?”
"Enliven the scene!
How ?"
"Take a lesson from the Conciergerie; enact a drama,
or something of the sort."
"I don't understand you, De Martigny.
Don't let
the people see you so ébloui, or they will suspect some-
thing."
"Women are not always what they look."
"Sometimes they are better."
Sometimes, Levasseur, sometimes. Old Madame de
St. Luc, for instance. Eh ?"
"Quite as good, at all events."
"Can we be sure of any of them ?"
The Golden Guillotine.
433
"You can, I suppose. For myself, I have seen too
inuch of the world to be anything but a sceptic on such
points."
CL
"Then you do not entirely believe in Alphonsine ?”
Ha, ha! I knew what all this was coming to. A
discreet question to put to a friend!"
"That is the point. I want to try her."
રર
Try her!" he exclaimed, disengaging himself from my
"How is that to be done ?"
grasp.
"Oh, easily. Parbleu! it will be such a famous
preparation for the journey! Now, you can help me in
this."
Fool that I was! I might have seen in the sudden
introversion of his eyes, so well remembered afterwards,
what that man's soul was made of. They drew back, as it
were, deep beneath his brows, and glowed with a flicker-
ing, suspicious gleam, which he could neither control nor
conceal.
All this I laid at the instant to a distrust of his own
powers of assisting me, or, at most, to a momentary un-
willingness to implicate himself in any new difficulty or
adventure. I gave him time to recover, and lost for ever
the golden opportunity of unmasking him.
"Yes! you can help me. The postern towards the
gardens will be opened this night at twelve o'clock by an
unknown agent. An outer gate will likewise be un-
guarded. We have the password. Disguises and places
of concealment are prepared. A guide awaits us. I have
till midnight to put Alphonsine to the proof. If I let that
hour pass I shall never know her never, Levasseur. Her
heart I feel to be my own. Look at me, Levasseur. You
know we need not put her affection to the test; but she
may not be proof against terror. Muffle yourself in a dis-
guise; touch her on the shoulder, Levasseur, as she passes
28
434
Modern Story-Teller.
to her cell; say she must come to the Conciergerie; that
if she utters an exclamation or arouses her friends, all must
accompany her; that she must, therefore, be silent, and
acquiesce. Then tell her that her only chance of evading
the horrible fate yawning before her, is by revealing what
she knows concerning me-what are my sentiments on
public affairs-what intrigues I am party to-and, gene-
rally, what secrets I have to divulge. Let this go on, until
her inmost heart is probed; and then, and not till then,
release her. The trial will be a sharp and terrible one, but
it will be final and complete."
Levasseur hesitated, meditated, and undertook the
task. As for me, I felt a wild elation, agonizing as if my
own trial had been at hand, and compounded of I know not
what of distrust, excitement, alarm, recklessness, passion,
and revenge. Utter confusion was in my breast.
The scene was fixed for eleven o'clock, after the turn-
keys had gone their rounds, and when the galleries were
deserted. Young man, I had my own plan within the
other. Do not suppose I believed that I should have satis-
fied myself by leaving the trial in Levasseur's hands. No;
I had not informed him of the interior secret, which was,
that I should be myself a concealed witness of the seizure
and examination of Alphonsine.
In the shadow of an arched niche some of the prisoners
had set up a crucifix of overgrown proportions, before
which, in passing to and from their cells, they might stop
to offer a hurried prayer. Behind this crucifix the darkness
was complete, and, as it was close to the place arranged for
the arrest, I ensconced myself there. The only ray, indeed,
which reached the spot, struggled from a coarse lamp, hung
at a considerable distance in an angle, where it was con-
trived to throw its feeble light down two diverging galleries.
As the moment approached, I trembled all over; the joints
The Golden Guillotine.
435
of my knees refused their office, my trepidation being in-
creased by the apprehension that my very nervousness might
betray my concealment, and frustrate my scheme. Listen-
ing for every sound, I heard at a distance the rumbling of
the fatal cart, usually arriving at this unobserved hour from
the Conciergerie for those wretches who were next to
undergo examination before the revolutionary tribunal.
Presently it came into the yard, and stopped; and then my
ear, rendered acute by the silence and the morbid disturb-
ance of my nerves, became conscious of sounds from
distant cells, mumbled whispers of plotting fellow-prisoners,
agonized ejaculations of solitary prayer, the moaning hum
of disturbed sleep; nay, I even fancied I could catch ever
and anon the more remote clank of a chain, as some unhappy
wretch in the vaults beneath the palace turned himself round
in the darkness. From without, there came to my ear now
and then, as if borne upon a breeze, the hushed thunder of
the great city, like the premonitory voices of a volcano
whose long inactivity is about to have its term at last. By-
and-by, an owl blundered against the stonework of the
window at the end of the passage and startled me. I had
scarcely recovered from this, when I heard a stealthy step
approach, and, a little further removed, a light but firm
foot-fall following the same direction.
The stealthy step drew near, stopped close to me, and I
could see the outlines of a figure cloaking itself. Scarcely
had it time to draw aside when the other came up; and the
first, which I had no difficulty in recognising as Levasseur's,
suddenly emerged into the middle of the passage, and con-
fronted the advancing figure. A faint shriek issued from the
lips of Alphonsine-for it was she; but she immediately
recovered herself, and demanded with firmness who bar-
red her passage.
"One," said Levasseur, disguising his voice with consi-
436
Modern Story-Teller.
derable skill, "who has your life and death in his hands
Follow me."
"Not unless forced to do so," said Alphonsine, in a low,
agitated whisper. "I know you not-and am passing to
my cell."
"But I know you; and am come to offer you better
lodgings at the Conciergerie. Come, citoyenne, we allow
of no leave-takings, and you will not want many changes of
raiment. Come along with me, and come quietly-do you
hear? The quieter the better, for others as well as yourself."
Oh, my God! must I go-alone?”
66
"Certainly not, mademoiselle. You can have all your
friends along with you. You have only to rouse them up
by uproar, a struggle, shrieks, or the like, to place me un-
der the disagreeable necessity of forming a gang of the
whole family party, and taking you off together in the tum-
bril which is waiting for us down below in the court.”
"Hush! I'm silent. Don't breathe a word. If I must
go, God's will be done. One prayer before this crucifix,
and I am ready."
"What! And you make so little of it! Do you know
whither I am to conduct you?"
"I know it well. To ignominy, torture, and death.
Alone, unfriended, and unheard of, shall the unhappy
Alphonsine endure the most terrible of fates. To endure it
she will be torn from all that her life holds dear, from those
for whom she would suffer a thousand deaths. I know it
well. But-breathe not a word; they sleep sound. I will
make my prayer with silent lips-then let me depart."
So saying, she was about to throw herself down at the
foot of the cross behind which I stood, when Levasseur, cast-
ing off his disguise, seized her in his arms, and exclaimed,
in a voice hoarse with suppressed emotion-
66
No, Alphonsine; not for this am I come. Let the
The Golden Guillotine.
437
divinity of reason within your own heart be favorable, and
plead for me. I have much to reveal of myself and others.
Listen to me, who can speak and answer; and turn from
that image, before which you might pour forth your suppli-
cations for ever without response or succor. Who, think
you, has sent me here, to accost and confront you in this
lonely cloister? You dare not answer, though I understand
your misgivings. The loved, trusted, faultless De Mar-
tigny !"
A faint exclamation burst from the lips of the girl as she
drew back from his embrace.
"Aye, De Martigny. He believes you false; he does not
understand you-he never understood you. Selfish even
in his predilections, he now seeks to test you in this cruel
manner, as much, perhaps, to seek evidence against you,
and a plausible excuse for-shall I say ?-deserting you "—
Alphonsine gave signs of faintness, and supported her-
self against the masonry of the wall. It was too dark for
me to see her face, though she was close to me, but I could
hear the heart beat.
"Or, perhaps," continued he, relaxing the strain when
it appeared too violent, "it is only levity; though methinks
it is a cruel game to play. You are going to run away
with him this night-at least so you think. Perhaps he
thinks so, too. Is it to happiness you are going? Just
reflect upon this scheme. Suppose it never went further.
Is it for this man-the man who devised all this torture-is
he the one for whom you are prepared to risk so much? I
see you pause—you reflect. You have need to do so-far
greater need than you imagine. Hearken! do you know me?
Have you ever heard for what crime I was thrust in here,
or why I have not followed Vergniaud, Madame Roland,
and the rest to the guillotine? Ask Fouquier-Tinville who
I am.
Put the same question to Danton-to Robespierre.
'438
Modern Story-Teller.
Dost thou suppose the rulers of the destinies of France are
not represented within these walls? or only represented by
gaolers or turnkeys? I have thy life-your lives-in my
hand. A turn in this way, and you are safe-a turn in the
other, and you are under the bloody axe. He has betrayed
you be mine!"
"Yours?" feebly ejaculated Alphonsine, scarcely able
to stand, or utter the word.
"Yes-mine. Reassure yourself. Your ridiculous
plot I have taken the means of frustrating. It never had a
chance of succeeding. Should the attempt be made, and
fail, you are all swept to execution. Let it drop. Nothing
will happen to your aunt and friends-in short, to him.
They will remain here as before; and when peace is pro-
claimed, they will be free. A short time—a very short
time-will show you what stuff he is made of. Come with
me. You know that long before this fickle fool appeared
amongst us, I was devoted to you. I have never ceased to
be at your feet. Yes; through the whole humiliation of
this hated rival's courtship, never for an instant did I relin-
quish my claim upon the heart of Alphonsine. Let her
now understand constancy, and reward it.”
"Reward it, sir ?”
"Oh, yes, yes, yes! I have earned something; your
reason must tell you so. Come then, fairest, dearest Al-
phonsine! A word from me is our passport beyond these
gloomy walls, into safety and happiness."
"Begone!" she exclaimed, in a hollow voice, hoarse
with indignation, spurning him from her with a gesture I
judged to be a blow.
IIe staggered back towards the crucifix-and me-I
heard, or rather felt, his breast heave with rage.
think you
that
"Miserable woman!" he muttered;
the supercilicus caprice of a court can find here an appro-
(6
The Golden Guillotine.
439
priate field of action? Do you nourish the delusion
that heroism, as you may name it, will in these gloomy
cloisters preserve the victim an hour from the Barrière du
Trone? Humble yourself, woman! not to this stump of
idolatry here, but at Levasseur's feet, and implore him not
to drag you through the streets by the hair of your head to
the guillotine!"
·
"Villain! in this hour of anguish and horror, I tell thee
that I despise thee more than I hate the sanguinary gang
whose spy thou boastest to be. And here I, Alphonsine
de St. Luc, knowing I am to die, yet stand prouder, and
purer, and more joyful at heart, before the effigy of my
crucified Saviour, as the affianced bride of that Charles de
Martigny whom thou falsely malignest, than thy masters.
ever did at the shrine of the Reason their deeds have
outraged, and in the face of a heaven that sickens at the
blood they have spilt !"
"Call, then, upon thy God, or upon Charles de Mar-
tigny, which thou pleasest, for all other help is in vain."
"Oh, Charles! oh, God!" cried Alphonsine, as she
sprang forward, with the intention, it was evident, of
embracing the crucifix. Levasseur threw himself between
it and her and at the same instant my hands were round
his throat with so deadly a gripe that he was at once
deprived of all power either to utter or to resist. There I
held him paralysed-and was about to call Alphonsine by
name, when the continuing immobility and rigidity of the
figure I clutched, shot a sudden conviction into my mind-
and I was silent. Agitation, and darkness, and meditated
crime, make a man susceptible of any extravagant impres
sion. Circumstances afterwards gave strong corroboration
to the judgment formed at that instant. I was satisfied
that Levasseur believed himself to have been seized by the
figure on the cross!
440
Modern Story-Teller.
Had I addressed Alphonsine, indeed, my words would
have fallen upon unhearing ears.
She had dropped sense
less to the floor.
I now ventured to glance round at Levasseur's face.
There was light encugh to show that it was swollen, livid.
The eyeballs stared and were bloodshot; the tongue pro-
truded; blood trickled from the nose. I had no weapon,
but I raised him up by main strength, without relaxing my
grasp, and dashed him upon the stone floor at the foot
of the crucifix; and where I cast him he lay, irredeemable
now-in my fury I exulted to think-even by Him, whose
emblem hung above him. I then took the fainting form of
Alphonsine in my arms, and bore it to Madame de St. Luc's
cell.
We escaped. Why need I dwell on these things?
Paris, the faubourgs, the villages, floated off benind us, like
a misty and lamp-lit dream. We scarcely knew more than
that the breath of heaven fanned our burning temples.
at times a recollection of what we had left came upon the
horizon of our imagination like a spectral chase, it only
urged us the more madly forward in our flight, and forced
the breeze more revivingly against our brows.
If
We turned our faces southwards. As long as it was
night, we kept the highroad; and so long we were able to
avail ourselves of a conveyance. But when daylight
appeared this had to be relinquished, and then the fields and
farm-houses afforded us tracks and a shelter. The simplest
things, emblems of the country and of freedom, drew tears
from our eyes. Our feelings had all been intensified in pro-
portion to the paucity of objects we had to exercise them
upon; and now the sight of a peasant driving his team in
the fallow, a milk-maid returning home with her pail; nay,
even the kine ruminating in the pasture, the very trees and
grass waving in the breeze, kindled irrepressible emotions
The Eolden Guillotine.
441
within our hearts. On the way I made full confession to
the heroic creature of my cruel suspicions, of my employ-
ment of Levasseur, of my own counter-plan-of all that to
her was still inexplicable. I made no attempt at extenua-
tion. I could only confess myself utterly unworthy of her,
and acknowledge that my bitterest punishment was to
learn how faultless was the object I had presumed to suspect
of a taint of earthly corruption. She wept as I recounted
these things, received my explanations with a heavenly ten-
derness, smiled sadly at my doubts-and forgave me. We
were too new to life, and too uncertain of its lasting, to
waste time upon anything but the great love that possessed
us.
We had to trust ourselves to numerous individuals. It was
a slender chance of our reaching Tours unbetrayed. Terror
reigned around; and when occasionally we were constrained
to ask for shelter in some remote and humble homestead,
even where it was afforded, paleness and trembling seized
upon the inmates, and we were dismissed with furtive haste,
leaving dread and disquiet behind us, as if a crime had been
committed upon the premises.
Besides, I could not help experiencing a sort of boding
apprehension, coupling itself with the revelations of the
wretch Levasseur. Suppose him dead, had his agents.
already received instructions to act, and were we to be the
victims of posthumous malignity? It was plain that he
had had his reason for not having us swept away in the
usual course to the Conciergerie. Perhaps he judged that
he should have a freer stage for the accomplishment of his
iniquitous designs outside the prison walls. It was easy to
understand his hints as to seeing us soon again. Now the
question arose on the supposition that he was dead, should
we change our course at once? I did not hesitate to
decide against doing so, We had a plan laid, the only one
442
Modern Story-Teller.
which afforded rational grounds of hope, but wh ch might
have been thwarted by the machinations of a traitor. He
being dead we had so much the better chance of success,
since under no circumstances could his emissaries act
without communicating with him-these not being times.
for men to compromise themselves without the warrant of
influential instigators. But suppose him alive-I would not
allow myself to speculate upon this alternative at all. The
thing, I insisted, was impossible. Nevertheless, prudence
constrained us so far to deviate from our plan, as to make
Tours only a first halting-place, with the design of pene-
trating at once further into the west, where we should be
more out of the reach of pursuit.
We arrived here safely. The archbishop had made his
plans previously, and contrived matters so, that a passage
leading from the palace underground was open for us; and
the secret oratory which existed in the spot where we now
stand, received the weary party of fugitives on the night
of their arrival. Then for the first time since our departure
from the prison were we able to collect our thoughts, and
devise means for our ultimate safety.
Our plans were as follows: We were to remain where
we were for the night, and the next day the archbishop
and I, after ascertaining as well as we could the state of
public feeling in Tours, were to proceed down the river to
the retired hamlet of Luynes, and there engage one of the
flat-bottomed boats that ply on the river, which was to be
ready for us—that is, for Alphonsine, her aunt, and myself
-to embark on the same night, and follow the current of
the Loire in the direction of La Vendée, where we believed
we should find friends, and were likely to obtain an asylum.
But before we set out upon our voyage, the exemplary
prelate, who had thus far been our guide, protector, and
triend, was to perform for us a last service, and within this
The Golden Guillotine.
443
apartment unite my adored Alphonsine and me in the holy
bond of wedlock.
Look about you, young man.
Does this look like an
asylum of refuge-a bridal chamber! Behold these gi-
gantic blocks, dislocated as if by an arm still more gigantic,
and ask yourself whether an ordinary frenzy, even of
destruction, could have wrought the ruin you see!
The next morning arose, serene and bright. As Al-
phonsine and I ascended from the apartments beneath into
the secluded gardens of the Archevêché, and for the first.
time looked upon the enchantment of heaven and earth in
freedom and together, we felt our souls overpowered, and
stood long in speechlessness under the open sky, unable to
do more than silently inhale an atmosphere of happiness
almost too rare for our subdued spirits. I then turned
towards Alphonsine, and perceived the tears coursing down
her marble cheeks.
"Oh! my well beloved," cried I; "give this day at
least to smiles, and let the current of our destiny, if it must
form to itself a channel of tears, flow round the tranquil
island of this present happiness, even though it meet to-
morrow, to unite the past and the future in one stream of
sorrow!"
I could not adopt another tone, though I felt how im-
possible it was for such language to establish confidence
within her breast. We had gone through too much-our
fortunes had been of too eventful and too terrible a cast,
to make the idea of security anything but a mockery. It
was better to be true than to be cheerful, and in a minute
my tears mixed with hers.
"In a few days, perhaps, Alphonsine, we may feel that
there is a life before us. I admit that as yet we cannot
reckon upon an hour.”
"Yes, Charles, until then we have only to hope the
444
Modern Story-Teller.
best, and be prepared for the worst. Your gift is yet upon
my bosom"-here she showed me the golden guillotine
suspended from her neck. "As long as I wear this I am
reminded that I belong half to death, half to life. Only
when we are safe will I remove it from its present place,
and preserve it as a relic of dangers-and pleasures-that
are past."
So saying, she replaced it in the folds of her dress next
her heart, and a smile, the last I ever saw her wear,
dawned upon her pallid countenance. If I imprinted a kiss
upon those lips, and drew that form to my breast, it was
with so largely mingled a sense of foreboding, and so
evasive and unrealized a throb of joy, that it became a
question with me, in after years, whether the bliss of that
instant did not belong to the domain of dreams, and deserve
a place among the other aspirations after which a heart
destined to misfortune feebly flutters out of the shadow of
a doom it cannot escape.
The first buds of spring tipped the fruit trees of the
garden. A hundred birds sported from branch to branch,
and the frosty dew of the morning yet hung upon the early
flowers. We could not but feel all this. These simple
things, of all other things, went most to our hearts.
We fell upon our knees, and prayed there under the open
sky.
And there I quitted her. Oh, God! can I go on? The
archbishop and I found the town in a state of fierce excite-
ment. Recent arrivals from Paris had still further inflamed
the revolutionary zeal of the inhabitants, whose vicinity to
the seat of the Vendean war had rendered them from the
first ardent partisans of the Montagne. Riotous parties
paraded the streets, armed with weapons, carrying fire-
brands, and shouting their wild carmagnoles, and all busi-
ness was suspended. It was with difficulty, even under the
The Golden Guillotine.
445
favor of our disguise, that we evaded these bands, and
made our way across the bridge, to the right bank,
towards St. Cyr and Luynes. At last, however, we
reached the hamlet; and my companion's former know-
ledge of the inhabitants enabled us to bribe an old boat-
man, whom he remembered to have been less imbued with
the new ideas than his neighbors, to drop the party down
during the night below Saumur, where we could put our-
selves at once in communication with certain Seigneurs of
the Bocage, in whom we knew we should find stanch
friends. Having settled this matter to our satisfaction, we
turned our steps towards Tours again, my heart in a glow
of anticipation, and even the good archbishop elated with
the near prospect of our speedy deliverance. For himself,
he refused to accompany us. He trusted to some faithful
friends, and a knowledge of the hiding-places about his
own palace, and preferred awaiting a turn of affairs, which
it was his fixed opinion would speedily arrive.
It was evening before we drew near the city; but long
before we reached the barriers, the shouts of the mob were
audible, and to our alarm we heard the tocsin ringing from
the great Abbey of St. Martin. We hastened our steps,
only to discover on entering the town that a dreadful scene
of havoc and devastation was going forward. Above the
shouts of the mob screams arose, as if from victims of their
barbarity; and now and then there shot up a lurid glare
towards the sky, which betokened too plainly that the
ravages of fire were to be added that night to those of
violence and plunder. Advancing in an easterly direction,
we discovered that the ancient Abbey Church of St. Martin,
the pride of central France, from whence the tocsin had been
sounding, was the principal object of the fury of the mob,
probably for that very reason. It was in flames before we
arrived there, and we met many wretches escaping with the
446
Modern Story-Celler.
sacred vessels and ornaments, their share of the spoil
Hurrying our steps towards the Cathedral, we found the
mob less numerous and violent in that direction, and,
although St. Julien was on fire, it was evident that the set
of the raging tide was towards St. Martin, and that the
quarters in our neighborhood were emptying themselves of
their population, to swell the main flood thereabouts. This
process appeared to me, I remember, even in that hurried
and anxious moment, to go forward according to an
organized system, and as if under the guidance of certain
recognised leaders; for I repeatedly heard the words a
droit, à gauche, given at the head of the gangs, by voices
which they seemed instructed to obey.
The precincts of the palace were completely deserted.
Not a sound was to be heard but the distant hubbub of the
rioters, and occasionally the crash of a roof or tower of
one of the burning edifices. When this occurred, we were
further notified of the catastrophe by the sudden leap of
the towers of the Cathedral out of the darkness, as they
were smitten by the red-hot glow from behind us.
With trembling joy we believed all safe; and stealing
cautiously up, descended into the concealed passage leading
to our hiding-place. Traversing it as quickly as we could
in the pitchy darkness, we both of us stopped simultaneously.
It was-it must be-a dream. We rubbed our eyes.
Where we had left the chamber we emerged into this open
cavern, into which the lurid sky darted its dull glances, and
the cries we had left found their way with the vapors and
exhalations of the night.
Nobody was there. Nothing was to be seen but ruin.
Not a vestige. Not a piece of furniture. Not an article of
clothing. Nothing but these huge fragments scattered
about, and the desperate marks of wedges and crowbars,
and other mechanical means of aiding human fury.
The Golden Guillotine.
447
Like lightning, Levasseur darted across my mind.
"He is alive!" I shrieked, dashing my hands up towards
heaven. The next moment I had fled out through the
aperture into the darkness, leaving the archbishop motion-
less where he had first become aware of the catastrophe.
For weeks my existence is a dream. I believe I was
mad. Levelled with the beasts, I acquired the keen scent
and sagacity of these tribes, when instinct draws them
after their prey. I remember myself at Saumur, at Angers
in the forests of Brittany, subsisting upon roots. The
slot of my enemy lay towards Nantes. There Carrier
was multiplying his human sacrifices. Blood was too slow
in flowing. The river offered more speedy execution, and
a roomier grave. Shoals of victims choked the channels of
the Loire, and turned its waters into putridity. There were
people about, here and there, who could afford some
inklings. Kennelling as I did with the wolves, with them I
made nightly descents upon habitual places and the abodes
of men. As these bore away lambs and other weaklings of the
flock, so I fragments of intelligence, whispers, hearsays, eaves-
droppings, and vague surmises of the bloodshot stranger,
who was urging some females westward. I saw whither all
this was tending. Hope had left my bosom; I scarcely cared
to accomplish a rescue; and dared not think upon anything
but revenge. To enter Nantes was certain death, and death
would frustrate all my objects, and crown his with triumph
-so I reserved myself to the consummation.
I joined the remnant of the Vendeans, wandering house-
lessly through Brittany, and prowling about since the bat-
tle of Savenay in bands of fifties and hundreds, with every
man's hand against them. For such I was a fit companion.
They armed me; I clasped my sword like a friend who was
to do me a service. Then ceforth it was my closest com.
panion.
448
Modern Story-Celler.
Daring as were these Chouans, they found in me one
whom they could not hope to rival. The gang I led gained
a name for its desperate audacity, and carried terror even
to the gates of Nantes, within which unhappy town like.
wise that fearful presence now stalked abroad in visible
shape, and daily devoured its victims wholesale. The river,
which had flowed past the walls ever since they were built,
bearing blessings on its bosom and reflecting heaven on its
surface, now yawned like a judgment close at hand, and
into its depths continually travelled the youth and bravery
and beauty and virtue and loyalty of Nantes. We, when
we were caught, were shot; but it was not easy to catch
us-and we generally obtained more than life for life.
It was the spring equinox. Carrier's noyades went on;
it was now whole ship-loads of victims that he sent down
the stream, to be sunk bodily at its mouth, where he
believed the ocean would do the rest, and rid him of fur-
ther trouble. But occan itself began to show symptoms
of refusing to dispose of more dead than lay to its own
account. It had enough to answer for already. Renouncing
complicity in these deeds of earth, it at last took advantage
of a mighty west wind and cast the unburied mass of mor-
tality at the mouth of the stream that had rejected it. The
whole population flocked down to discover and reclaim its
dead. What it found it had to dispute with the ospreys
and vultures, and the loathsome familiarity of wild beasts,
which struggled between the legs of the human throng, in
the absorbing fascination of such a banquet.
And like a fascinated wild beast there am I. The storm
howls across the bleak sands, carrying the grains along like
a mist, mingled with the surf and foam-flakes. And the
blast, as it howls, bears other sounds upon it-shrieks of
sea-mews, and of mothers and daughters of stranded
corpses, croakings of quarrelling ravens, and the impreca
The Golden Guillotine.
449
tions of desperate outlaws, who dispute the bones of a com-
rade. There I stand, looking seawards, for I know that
ocean has an account to render up to me, and that it will
fulfil its trust. And it is without shuddering, therefore,
that I find at my feet a thing of human outline, having
mark and token which may be recognised, such as a ribbon
with a golden ornament attached, and on the ornament the
words inscribed-
La tete tombe, le coeur reste.
Yes, boy, I am prepared for all that; and with my sword
I dig a hole in the sand, high up, above the reach of the
tides, and there I cover up that human remnant, after plac-
ing the ornament in my bosom; then, having taken the
bearings, I plunge into the woods again, and whet my
blunted sword against the first smooth stone I find.
One object was left me in life. It wore a definite aspect ;
but the means of obtaining it were difficult and circuitous.
For many a month I herded with the Chouans of Bretagne;
a wild, irregular banditti. The gang I led hovered closer
to the enemy than the rest of our adherents, and addicted
themselves less to plunder. Something which might be
called strategy marked our movements, and the information
we acquired from prisoners was frequently of considerable
service to the cause of the royalists in communication with
Puisaye and the British government.
Since the discovery of the body, my character had
undergone a change. I was no longer the reckless madman
who inspired respect only by his personal daring. My
mind now controlled without impeding the impetuosity of
my animal nature. In particular, a certain tact and subtlety
I evinced in the examination of prisoners and deserters,
caused that department at last to be left exclusively to me;
and it was during this period that I perfected and brought
29
450
Modern Story-Teller.
to the condition of a system, that theory of the investiga
tion of character which I put in practice on my first encoun
tering you.
Ever and anon, I was able to glean some intelligence
respecting my enemy. He was near me. When Carrier
was superseded at Nantes, he was for a time in disgrace as
his friend; but soon associated himself with Hoche, and
distinguished himself, one deserter informed me, by the
sanguinary zeal he showed in prosecuting the design of his
chief, which consisted, as in La Vendeé, in hemming in the
remnants of the insurgents by a narrowing cordon, out of
which they had no possible escape, and within which, unless
some sudden blow was struck, they must be all finally enve-
loped and taken. With a counter-instinct to mine, he, too,
I felt, knew that the man he had wronged was here, and
that he must be got rid of to make life safe. This was
what infused such uncompromising ferocity into his conduct,
and gave his acts so sanguinary a complexion, as to call
more than once for a reprimand and rebuke from his chief.
It was a single combat between us; we both of us strength-
ened the ranks of two opposing armies, and advanced the
causes of royalty and republicanism respectively, only in
order that we, the centre of our war and of our world, might
meet at last and terminate the struggle with the existence
of one or both of us.
You know how events hurried on. How an amnesty
was offered to us if we would lay down our arms. Lay
down our arms! I grasped my sword, and laughed, till the
forest rang again. How Carrier came to the guillotine-
he was not my quarry; I let him die without a thought.
How treachery appeared ainong us-and symptoms of disaf
fection. We held together, for war was my game. To
the meeting at La Mabilaye I repaired; for, believing that
Hoche was to be there, I calculated on his accompanying
Mod de ad
The Golden Guillotine.
451
him. I know not why it was, but Hoche declined coming,
and we did not meet. Tout était aux mieux. How we
were organized into regular companies of chasseurs under
Stofflet, and manoeuvred as a regular army, notwithstand-
ing the nominal truce; how the British squadron hove in
sight, and the white cockade was mounted on every cap,
and long and reiterated shouts of Vive le roi! rent the air,
and rang through the forests of Brittany. All this is his-
tory; so is the result. My part alone of these deeds and
disasters is necessary to be told.
The emigrant army landed from the English fleet at
Quiberon. The noblest blood of France was there assem-
bled; and I found myself once more associated with the
Polignacs, and the Clermont-Tonnerres, and the Condés, and
the D'Orsays. I was assigned the command I most covet-
ed, however, that of my own Chouans, whom I knew, and
who knew me. Had all known themselves and each other
as we did, the expedition might have turned out differently.
I soon saw that things were going wrong; I had become
lynx-eyed. There was no concentration, no organized sys-
tem. There was no prince of the house of Bourbon around
whom to rally. Puisaye and D'Hervilly quarrelled. Instead
of an instantaneous advance, as urged by Tinteniac and me,
days were wasted in consultations and disputes, which came
to nothing. I soon saw that we were to be victims-but I
was determined to achieve my object.
The republican armies closed round us. Desperately we
confronted them; but individual valor could not make
amends for the want of unity of plan. Hoche drove us in
from point to point; and at length, having taken St. Barbe,
shut us up in the narrow peninsula of Quiberon, whence we
must either escape to the British fleet, or die without hope
of quarter.
As the republican front closed with us, I became, from
452
·
Modern Story Teller.
✓
day to day, more intimately acquainted with Levasseur's
movements. Every prisoner had something to tell. His
bloodthirsty ferocity had gained him celebrity amongst
them. I knew his division, his quarters, his assigned place
on each day's march-nay, his very uniform, and the color
of his horse. I kept myself so thoroughly in the secret of
the man's movements, that whenever we should meet in
open field, I should be able without difficulty to mark him out,
and have him before me in the thickest confusion of battle.
The night of the 20th of July, 1795, fell dark and tem-
pestuous. The waves rolled in with fury upon the narrow
strip of sand we yet retained upon the shore of France.
Our only barrier against the enemy was Fort Penthièvre,
which stood, a darker mass, against the dark sky. I lay
upon the sand, with my sword-my inseparable com-
panion-in my grasp. Suddenly, a shout was heard above
the roar of the waters. I started up-but could see no-
thing. It proceeded from the direction of the fort, and I
knew that a surprise was at least attempted, if it had not
succeeded. A moment's agony passed across my brow, like
the glow of a fierce fire. This was the only contingency
I had not foreseen; my enemy and I might be close to each
other in the darkness without coming into contact.
My worst suspicions were the best founded. Fort Pen-
thièvre had been surprised and taken we were now at the
mercy of the republican army. All those within reach of
me rose along with me, and obeying the word of command,
placed themselves in order, and rushed upon the advancing
enemy. The collision was tremendous. Hoche's guns had
already begun to play, and in a few minutes the English
squadron, which had been obliged to keep out to sea in
consequence of the tempest, announced their presence by
the roar of their artillery. From the first I saw that resist-
ance was hopeless; and that escape was almost equally so.
The Golden Guillotine.
453
D'Hervilly was mortally wounded; Sombreuil, who suc
ceeded him, was a stranger to the place, and lost his pre-
sence of mind. It was a hopeless carnage, and my men fell
around me in heaps. Nevertheless, I assumed the command
which others were unable to exercise, and contrived for
some time to protect the masses of emigrants who, with
their wives and children, were rushing into the water to
embark on board the English boats. It must have been
calm; for while engaged in this arduous duty, I took
advantage of every cannon shot fired close to me, to survey
the opposite ranks in search of Levasseur. In so dark a
night, the flash of the discharge from a piece of ordnance
throws an intense glare for a considerable space; and as I
had habituated my eyes to take in numerous objects dis-
tinctly at a sudden glance, I was now, after one or two of
these momentary surveys, able to ascertain with tolerable
accuracy the order of the hostile column, and where I ought
to look for him. I found that in order to confront him, I
must move to the right, or as close to the edge of the sea
as possible. This was difficult, in the face of the enemy;
but finding that Sombreuil had just come up to the point I
defended with a fresh body of emigrants, I drew my
exhausted men off for a moment, and moving round a small
sandy eminence, threw them once more upon the hostile
army, almost within the surf of the shoreward waves.
The result was as I had anticipated. Certain signs gave
evidence of Levasseur's vicinity. I recognised the uniform
of his corps, and at last had the inexpressible satisfaction of
hearing his voice, above the roar of the waves, urging on
his men.
By this time matters had drawn to a conclusion. The
two armies were mingled together in the darkness. The
few boats which had succeeded in gaining the shore, had
either sunk or were sheering off overloaded with fugitives.
454
Modern Story-Teller.
In all directions cries were heard of "quarter! quarter!" a
boon which in some instances was accorded by the soldiers,
as the despairing emigrants or Chouans laid down their
arms; though in most these wretches were cut down with-
out mercy. From the sea, the frightful confusion was
added to by the broadsides of the British fleet poured in
upon the shore, and sweeping off friend and foe in indiscri-
minate slaughter. I had almost given up the hope of sur-
viving to fulfil my mission, when a sudden flash discovered
Levasseur within five yards of me, a little advanced before
his men, in the act of pointing a gun at a boat which had
just quitted the shore, filled with women and children.
I might have rushed forward and cut him down. I do
not know why I did not do so. I walked up to him, and
laid my hand upon his shoulder, uttering in his car the word
"Levasseur!" He started up from the stooping posture,
and in an instant drew a pistol from his belt, and fired.
IIad he not been disconcerted, he must have killed me; as
it was, the ball grazed my ribs. He drew back, aghast.
"Coward!" cried I; "draw your sword, I shall wait
until you can defend yourself."
We could see each other, now we were so close, by
the gleaming of the cannonade. Even at that desperate
moment, I was startled as I suddenly became conscious that
a change had taken place in his appearance. His black
hair had grown white. The confirmation of an original
surmise flashed across my mind. He must have existed
for a greater or less period of time under the belief that, at
the moment of his mortal sin, he had fallen into the hands
of the LIVING God.
"Why should we fight?" he now exclaimed, in a sub.
dued voice. "She is dead, long ago."
"And buried!" cried I, holding up to his eyes the
Golden Guillotine.
The Golden Guillotine.
455
"God!
Whence has that come ?”
"From the depths of the ocean, in which thy bones.
shall whiten ere long. Thoughtest thou that thou wert to
escape the Avenger of Blood, because thou hadst placed a
mill-stone round the neck of thy secret, and sunk it in the
sea ?"
"De Martigny, thou wast my rival-thou soughtest to
strangle me-was it not so ?”
With death staring him in the face, he was yearning to
extract some expression which should relieve him once for
all from the remnants of the horrible suspicion which had
once haunted him. I saw that; and at the same time felt
myself growing weak from loss of blood; yet, so much was
I still overpowered with the thought of the fiery tortures the
wretch must have gone through to turn the stony blackness
of his locks into silver in the time, that I could not bring
myself to sabre him, and have done with him.
Nor had I need. He had just observed my growing
faintness, and was planting his feet to commence the combat
in which the chances began to show in his favor, when a ball
from an English line-of-battle ship ploughed the sand over
both of us, and in its ricochet tore Levasseur's right arm
from its socket, laying the ribs of the same side bare to the
waist. We fell together-he in the agonies of death, I
from the shock and previous loss of blood. I had strength
left to dip my finger in the pool of gore between us-
whether in his or mine I know not, or both mingled together
-and write upon his forehead the single word-ALPHION-
SINE. This I did that the devils might know what to do
with him.
Our men, on both sides, had missed us, and as the action
now confined itself to another quarter, they had drawn off
to lend their aid at that point. I was left alone with the
dying man; and witnessed the blackness of his brow fade
456
Modern Story-Teller.
into the spectral pallor of death, upon which the gory letters
came out like faint writing held against a fire.
The object of my life was accomplished; dizziness came
Over me. I believed that I died.
war,
I recovered my consciousness on board of a British man-of-
It was not for some days afterwards that I discovered
how I had been saved. An officer who, taking advantage
of the darkness, had pushed boldly on shore in a boat just
after the termination of the action, in the hope of saving
somebody, and who saw me lying wounded and motionless,
but with some signs of life about me, had, at the risk of his
own, cutlass in hand, rescued me from two republican
soldiers who were just about to knock me on the head
and plunder me, and borne me aboard Admiral Warren's
squadron.
Young man, little more remains to be said. When,
years afterwards, royalty had been restored to France, I
repaired to the lonely beach at the mouth of the Loire, and
had the bones of all that had once made life dear reverently
removed to this sacred precinct, where, with the consent of
the archbishop, they were buried privately, and a certain
number of masses appointed to be said for the soul of the
departed. Over this grave I posted myself a sentinel for
life. Here I pass my days-often my nights. The venera-
ble archbishop would have solaced my watchings by his
presence over and over again, but I withstood him. I pre-
ferred performing this duty alone. Nevertheless, when he
died, I was smitten to the heart, as you saw-for I had lost
iny last friend.

소소​소소​소소
​îî

Edward Drysdale.
A
BOUT the year 1798, James Bradshaw and William
Drysdale, both invalided masters of the Royal
Navy, cast anchor for the remainder of their lives
at about twelve miles' distance from Exeter, on the London
road. Bradshaw named his domicile, an old-fashioned
straggling building, Rodney Place, in honor of the
admiral in whose great victory he had fought. Drysdale's
smaller and snugger dwelling, about half a mile away from
Rodney Place, was called Poplar Cottage, and about
midway between them stood the Hunter's Inn, a road-
side public-house, kept by one Thomas Burnham, a stout-
hearted, jolly-bellied individual, the comeliness of whose
rubicund figure-head was considerably damaged by the
loss of an eye, of which, however, it is right to say, the
extinguished light appeared to have been transferred in
undiminished intensity to its fiery, piercing fellow. The
retired masters, who had long known each other, were
intimate as brothers, notwithstanding that Bradshaw was
much the richest of the two, having contrived to pick up a
considerable amount of prize money, in addition to a rather
458
Modern Story-Teller.
large sum inherited from his father. Neither did the
difference of circumstances oppose, in Bradshaw's opinion,
the slightest obstacle to the union of his niece and heiress,
Rachel Elford, with Edward Drysdale, his fellow veteran's
only surviving offspring. The precedent condition, how-
ever, was, that Edward should attain permanent rank in
the Royal Navy, and with this view a midshipman's war-
rant was obtained in '99 for the young man, then in his
eighteenth year, and he was despatched to sea.
The naval profession proved to be, unfortunately, one
for which Edward Drysdale was altogether unfitted by
temperament and bent of mind, and sad consequences
followed. He had been at sea about eighteen months,
when news reached England of a desperate, but successful,
cutting-out affair by the boats of the frigate to which he
belonged. His name was not mentioned in the official
report-but that could hardly have been hoped for-
neither was it in the list of killed and wounded. A map
of the coast where the fight took place was procured; the
battle was fought over and over again by the two veterans,
and they were still indulging in these pleasures of the
imagination, in the parlor of the "Hunter's Inn,” when the
landlord entered with a Plymouth paper in his hand, upon
one paragraph in which his single orb of vision glared with
fiery indignation. It was an extract from a letter written
by one of the frigate's officers, plainly intimating that Mid-
shipman Drysdale had shown the white feather in the late
brush with the enemy, and would be sent home by the first
opportunity. The stroke of a dagger could have been
nothing compared with the sharp agony which such an
announcement inflicted on the young man's father, and
Bradshaw was for a few moments equally thunder-stricken.
But he quickly rallied. William Drysdale's son a coward!
Pool! the thing was out of nature-impossible; and very
Sa
Edward Drysdale.
459
hearty were his maledictions, savagely echoed by Burnham,
with whom young Drysdale was a great favorite, of the
lying lubber that wrote the letter, and the newspaper
rascals that printed it.
Alas! it was but too true! On the third evening after
the appearance of the alarming paragraph the two mariners
were sitting in the porch of Poplar Cottage, separated only
by a flower garden from the main road, conversing upon
the sad and constantly recurring topic, when the coach
from London came in sight. A youthful figure, in naval
uniform, on the box-seat, instantly riveted their attention,
as it did that of Rachel Elford, who was standing in the
little garden, apparently absorbed till that moment by the
shrubs and flowers. The coach rapidly drew near, stopped,
and Edward Drysdale alighted from it. The two seamen,
instead of waiting for his approach, hastily arose from their
seats and went into the cottage, as much perhaps to avoid
the humiliating though compassionate glances of the out-
side passengers, as from any other motive. The young
man was deadly pale, and seemed to have hardly sufficient
strength to move back the light wicket-gate which ad-
mitted to the garden. He held by it till the coach had
passed on, and then turned with a beseeching, half-
reproachful look towards Rachel. She, poor girl, was as
much agitated as himself, and appeared to be eagerly
scanning his countenance, as if hopeful of reading there a
contradiction of the dishonoring rumor that had got
abroad. In answer to his mute appeal, she stepped quickly
towards him, clasped his proffered hand in both hers, and
with a faint and trembling voice ejaculated-
' Dear, dear Edward! It is not true-I am sure it is
not, that you that you"
"That I, Rachel, have been dismissed the naval service,
as unfit to serve his majesty, is quite true," rejoined
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Modern Story-Teller.
Edward Drysdale, slowly, and with partially recovered
calm-"quite true."
The young woman shrank indignantly from him; fire
glanced in her suffused eyes, and her light, elegant figure
appeared to grow and dilate with irrepressible scorn, as
this avowal fell upon her ear. "A coward!" she vehe-
mently exclaimed; "you that-but no," she added, giving
away again to grief and tenderness, as she looked upon the
fine, intelligent countenance of her lover, "it cannot be;
there must be some error-some mistake. It is impos-
sible!"
"There is error and mistake, Rachel; but the world
will never, I fear, admit so much. But come, let us in;
you will go with me!"
We will not follow them till the first outburst of angry
excitement is past; till the father's passionate, heart-broken
reproaches have subsided to a more patient, subdued,
faintly-hopeful sorrow, and Rachel's wavering faith in the
manhood of her betrothed has regained something of its
old firmness. Entering then, we shall find that only Mr.
Bradshaw has remained obstinately and contemptuously
deaf to what the young man has falteringly urged in vindi-
cation of his behavior in the unhappy affair which led to
his dismissal from the service. He had, it appeared, sud-
denly fainted at the sight of the hideous carnage in which,
for the first time in his life, he found himself involved.
"You have a letter, you say, from Captain Otway,"
said Mr. Drysdale, partially raising his head from his hands,
in which it had been buried whilst his son was speaking.
"Where is it? Give it to Rachel; I cannot see the
words."
The note was directed to Mr. Drysdale, whom Captain
Otway personally knew, and was no doubt kindly intended
to soften the blow, the return of his son under such cir
Edward Drysdale.
461
cumstances must inflict. Although deciding that Edward
Drysdale was unfit for the naval profession, he did not
think that the failure of the young man's physical nerve, in
one of the most murderous encounters that had occurred
during the war, was attributable to deficiency of true cou-
rage; and as a proof that it was not, Captain Otway men-
tioned that the young man had jumped overboard during
half a gale of wind, and when night was falling, and saved,
at much peril to himself, a seaman's life. This was the
substance of the note. As soon as Rachel ceased reading,
Mr. Drysdale looked deprecatingly in his friend's face, and
murmured, "You hear?"
"Yes, William Drysdale, I do. I never doubted that
your son was a good swimmer, no more than I do that
coward means coward, and that all the letters in the
alphabet cannot spell it to mean anything else. Come,
Rachel," added the grim, unreasoning, iron-teinpered vete-
ran, "let us be gone. And God bless, and if it be possible.
comfort ye, old friend. Good-bye! No, thank ye, young
sir!" he continued, with renewed fierceness, as Edward
Drysdale snatched at his hand. "That hand was once
grasped by Rodney, in some such another business as the
letter speaks of, when its owner did not faint! It must not
be touched by you!"
The elder Drysdale took not long afterwards to his bed.
He had been ailing for some time; but no question that
mortification at his son's failure in the profession to which
he had with so much pride devoted him, helped to weaken
the springs of life, and accelerate his end, which took place
about six months after Edward's return home. The father
and son had become entirely reconciled with each other,
and almost the last accents which faltered from the lips of
the dying seaman, were a prayer to Bradshaw to forget
and forgive what had passed, and renew his sanction to the
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Modern Story-Teller.
}
marriage of Edward and his niece. The stern man was
inexorable; and his pitiless reply was, that he would a
thousand times rather follow Rachel to her grave.
The constancy of the young people was not, however,
to be subdued, and something more than a year after Mr.
Drysdale's death they married; their present resources,
the rents-about one hundred and twenty pounds per
annum-of a number of small tenements at Exeter. They
removed to within three miles of that city, and dwelt there
in sufficiency and peace, for about five years, when the
exigencies of a fast increasing family induced them to dis-
pose, not very advantageously, of their cottage property,
and embark the proceeds in a showy speculation, pro-
mising, of course, immense results, and really ending, in the
brief space of six months, in their utter ruin. Edward
Drysdale found himself, in lieu of his golden hopes, worth
about two hundred pounds less than nothing. The usual
consequences followed. An undefended suit-at-law speedily
reached the stage at which execution might be issued, and
unless a considerable sum of money could be instantly
raised, his furniture would be seized under a fi. fɑ., and
sacrificed to no purpose.
One only possible expedient remained-that of once.
more endeavoring to soften the obduracy of Mr. Bradshaw.
This it was finally determined to attempt, and Mr. and
Mrs. Drysdale set off, by a London morning coach, upon
the well-nigh hopeless speculation. They alighted at the
Hunter's Inn, where Drysdale remained, whilst his wife
proceeded alone to Rodney Place. Thomas Burnham was
friendly and good-natured as ever. The old mariner, he
told Drysdale, was visibly failing, and his chief amusement
seemed to be scraping together and hoarding up money.
James Berry, a broken-down tailor, and a chap, according
to Burnham, who knew how many beans made five as well
Edward Drysdale.
463
as any man in Devonshire, had been for some time valet,
gardener, and general factotum at Rodney Place, and
appeared to exercise great influence over Mr. Bradshaw.
The only other person in the establishment was the old
cook, Margery Deans, who, never otherwise since he had
known her than desperately hard of hearing, was now
become deaf as a stone. Drysdale, it was afterwards re
membered, listened to all this with eager attention, and was
especially inquisitive and talkative respecting Mr. Brad-
shaw's hoarding propensities, and the solitary, unprotected
state in which he lived.
Mrs. Drysdale was long gone; but the tremulous hopes
which her protracted stay called feebly forth, vanished at
the sight of her pale, tearful, yet resolved aspect. "It is
useless, Edward," she murmured, with her arms cast
lovingly about her husband's neck, and looking in his face
with far more lavish expression of affection than when,
with orange-blossoms in her hair, she stood a newly-conse-
crated wife beside him; "it is useless to expect relief
from my uncle, save upon the heartless, impossible con-
dition you know of. But let us home. God's heaven is
still above our heads, though clouds and darkness rest
between. We will trust in Him, Edward, and fear not."
So brave a woman should have been matched with a
stout-hearted man; but this, unhappily, was not the case.
Edward Drysdale was utterly despondent, and he listened,
as his wife was afterwards fain to admit to herself and
others, with impatient reluctance to all she said as they
journeyed homewards, save when the condition of help
spoken of, namely, that she should abandon her husband,
and take up her abode with her children at Rodney Place,
was discussed-by her indignantly. Once, also, when she
mentioned that the old will in her favor was not yet
destroyed, but would be, her uncle threatened, if she did
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Modern Story-Teller.
›
not soon return, a bright, almost fiery expression seemed
to leap from his usually mild, reflective eyes, and partially
dissipate the thick gloom which mantled his features.
This occurred on a winter's day in early March, and the
evening up to seven o'clock had passed gloomily away with
the Drysdales, when all at once the husband, starting from
a profound reverie, said he would take a walk as far as
Exeter, see the attorney in the suit against him, and, if
possible, gain a little time for the arrangement of the debt.
His wife acquiesced, though with small hope of any favor-
able result, and the strangely abstracted man left the
house.
Ten o'clock, the hour by which Edward Drysdale had
promised to return, chimed from a dial on the mantel-
piece. Mrs. Drysdale trimmed the fire, lit the candles,
which for economy's sake she had extinguished, and had
their frugal supper laid. IIe came not. Eleven o'clock !
What could be detaining him so late? Twelve !-half-
past twelve! Rachel Drysdale was just about to bid the
servant-maid, who was sitting up in the kitchen, go to bed,
when the sound of carriage-wheels going towards Exeter
stopped at the door. It was a return post-chaise, and
brought Edward Drysdale. He staggered, as if intoxicated,
into the kitchen, reached down a half-bottle of brandy from
a cupboard, and took it to the post-boy, who immediately
drove off. Anne Moody, the servant-girl, was greatly
startled by her master's appearance; he looked, she after-
wards stated, more the color of a whited wall, than of flesh
and blood, and shook and "cowered," as if he had the
ague. Mrs. Drysdale came into the kitchen, and stood
gazing at her husband, in a white, dumb kind of way (1
am transcribing literally from the girl's statement), till the
outer door was fastened, when they both went up stairs
into a front sitting-room. Curiosity induced Anne Moody
!
Edward Brysdale.
465
to follow, and she heard, just as the door closed upon them,
Mrs. Drysdale say, "You have not been to Exeter, I am
sure." This was said in a nervous, shaking voice, and her
master replied, in the same tone, "No; I changed my
mind," or words to that effect. Then there was a quick
whispering for a minute or two, interrupted by a half
stifled cry or scream from Mrs. Drysdale. A sort of
hubbub of words followed, which the girl, a very intelligent
person of her class by-the-by, could not hear, or at least
could not make out, till Mr. Drysdale said, in a louder,
slower way, "You, Rachel—the children are provided for;
but, O God! at what a dreadful price!" Anne Moody,
fearful of detection, did not wait to hear more, but crept
stealthily up stairs to bed, as her mistress had ordered her
to do, when she left the kitchen. On the following morn-
ing the girl found her master and mistress both up, the
kitchen and parlor fires lit, and breakfast nearly over. Mr.
Drysdale said he was in a hurry to get to Exeter, and they
had not thought it worth while to call her at unseasonable
hours. Both husband and wife looked wild and haggard,
and this, Moody, when she looked into their bed-chamber,
was not at all surprised at, as it was clear that neither of
them had retired to rest. One thing and the other, espe-
cially kissing and fondling the children over and over again,
detained Mr. Drysdale till half-past eight o'clock, and then,
just as he was leaving the house, three men confronted
him! A constable of the name of Parsons, James Berry,
Mr. Bradshaw's servant, and Burnham, the landlord of the
Hunter's Inn. They came to arrest him on a charge of
burglary and murder! Mr. Bradshaw had been found,
early in the morning, cruelly stabbed to death beside his
plundered strong-box!
I must pass lightly over the harrowing scenes which
followed--the tumultuous agony of the wife, and the
30
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Modern Story-Teller.
despairing asseverations of the husband, impossible to be.
implicitly believed in even by that wife, for the criminating
evidence was overwhelming. Drysdale had been seen
skulking about Rodney Place till very late, by both Burn-
ham and Berry. In the room through which he must have
passed in going and returning from the scene of his fright-
ful crime his hat had been found; and it was now dis-
covered that he, Drysdale, had taken away and worn home
one of Berry's—no doubt from hurry and inadvertence.
In addition to all this, a considerable sum of money in gold
and silver, inclosed in a canvas bag, well known to have
belonged to the deceased, was found upon his person! It
appeared probable that the aim of the assassin had been
only robbery in the first instance, for the corpse of the
unfortunate victim was found clothed only in a night-dress.
The fair inference therefore seemed to be, that the robber,
disturbed at his plunder by the wakeful old seaman, had
been compelled, perhaps reluctantly, to add the dreadful
crime of murder to that which he had originally contem-
plated. The outcry through the country was terrific, and
as Edward Drysdale, by the advice of Mr. Sims, the attor-
ney, who subsequently instructed Mr. Prince, reserved his
defence, there appeared to be nothing of a feather's weight
to oppose against the tremendous mass of circumstance
arrayed against the prisoner.
And when, upon the arrival of the king's commission at
Exeter, Mr. Prince received a very full and carefully
drawn brief in defence--a specious, but almost wholly
unsupported story of the prisoner's, appeared all that could
be relied upon in rebuttal of the evidence for the crown.
According to Edward Drysdale, he merely sought Mr.
Bradshaw upon the evening in question for the purpose of
concluding with that gentleman an arrangement for the
separation of himself from his wife and children, and their
Edward Drysdale.
467
domiciliation at Rodney Place. It was further averred,
that he was received with greater civility than he ex-
pected; that the interview was a long one, during which
he, Drysdale, had seen nobody but Mr. Bradshaw,
although he believed the aged and deaf cook was in the
kitchen; that he had arranged that Mrs. Drysdale and his
children should be early on the morrow with her uncle, and
that he had received the money found upon his person and
at his house from the deceased's own hands, in order to
pay the debt and costs in the suit wherein execution was
about to be levied on his furniture, and that the residue
was to be applied to his, the prisoner's own use; that the
expressions deposed to by Anne Moody, and his own and
Mrs. Drysdale's emotion after his return home, which had
told so heavily against him in the examinations before the
magistrates, were perfectly reconcilable with this state-
ment-as, indeed, they were-and did not, therefore, bear
the frightful meaning that had been attached to them.
With respect to the change of hats, that might easily have
happened, because his hat had been left on entering in the
hall-passage, and in his hurry in coming out by the same
way, he had no doubt mistaken Berry's for his own; but
he solemnly denied having been in the room, or near the
part of the house, where his hat was alleged to have been
found.
This was the gist of the explanation; but, unfortu
nately, it was not sustained by any receivable testimony in
any material particular. True, Mrs. Drysdale, whom
everybody fully believed, declared that this account exactly
coincided with what her husband told her immediately on
arriving home in the post-chaise-but what of that? It
was not what story the prisoner had told, nor how many
times he had told it, that could avail, especially against the
heavy improbabilities that weighed upon his, at first view,
468
Modern Story-Teller.
plausible statement. How was it that, know.ng Mr.
Bradshaw's almost insane dislike of himself, he did not
counsel his wife to make terms with her uncle, preparatory
to her returning to Rodney Place? And was it at all.
likely that Mr. Bradshaw, whose implacable humor Mrs.
Drysdale had experienced on the very day previous to the
murder, should have so suddenly softened towards the man
he so thoroughly hated and despised? I trow not. And
the first consultation on the case wore a wretchedly dismal
aspect, till the hawk eye of Mr. Prince lit on an assertion
of Thomas Burnham's, that he had gone to Mr. Bradshaw's
house upon some particular business at a quarter-past
twelve on the night of the murder, and had seen the
deceased alive at that time, who had answered him, as he
frequently did, from his bedroom window. Rodney
Place," said Mr. Prince, "is nine miles from Drysdale's
residence. I understood you to say, Mr. Sims, that Mrs.
Drysdale declares her husband was at home at twenty
minutes to one?”
(6
"Certainly she docs; but the wife's evidence, you are
aware, cannot avail the husband.”
"True; but the servant girl! the driver of the post-
chaise! This is a vital point, and must be cleared up
without delay."
I and Williams, Sims' clerk, set off instantly to see Mrs.
Drysdale, who had not left her room since her husband's
apprehension. She was confident it was barely so late as
twenty minutes to one when the post-chaise drove up to
the door. Her evidence was, however, legally inadmis-
sible, and our hopes rested on Anne Moody, who was
immediately called in. Her answer was exasperating. She
had been asleep in the kitchen, and could not positively
say whether it was twelve, one, or two o'clock when her
master reached home. There was still a chance left-that
Edward Drysdale.
469
of the post-chaise driver. He did not, we found, reach
Exeter, a distance of three miles only from Mr. Drys-
dale's, till a quarter to three o'clock, and was then much
the worse for liquor. So much for our chance of prov
ing an alibi.
There was one circumstance perpetually harped upon
by our bright one-eyed friend of the Hunter's Inn-Cy-
clops, I and Williams called him. What had become of a
large sum, in notes, paid, it was well known, to Mr. Brad-
shaw three or four days before his death? What also of a
ruby ring, and some unset precious stones he had brought
from abroad, and which he had always estimated, rightly
or wrongly, at so high a price? Drysdale's house and
garden had been turned inside out, but nothing had been
found, and so for that matter had Rodney Place, and its
two remaining inmates had been examined with the like ill
success. Burnham, who was excessively dissatisfied with
the progress of affairs, swore there was an infernal mystery
somewhere, and that he shouldn't sleep till he had ferreted
it out. That was his business. Ours was to make the best
of the wretched materials at our disposal; but the result
we all expected followed. The foregone conclusion of the
jury that were empanelled in the case was just about to be
formally recorded in a verdict of guilty, when a note was
handed across to Mr. Sims. One Mr. Jay, a timber mer-
chant, who had heard the evidence of the postillion, desired
to be examined. This the judge at once assented to, and
Mr. Jay deposed, that having left Exeter in his gig upon
pressing business, at about two o'clock on the morning of
the murder, he had observed a post-chaise at the edge of a
pond about a mile and a half out of the city, where the
jaded horses had been, he supposed, drinking. They were
standing still, and the post-boy, who was inside, and had
reins to drive with passed through the front windows, was
470
Modern Story-Celler.
fast asleep a drunken sleep, it seemed—and he, Mr. Jay,
had to bawl for some time, and strike the chaise with his
whip, before he could awake the man, who at last, with a
growl and a curse, drove on. He believed, but would not
like to positively swear, that the postillion he had heard
examined was that man. This testimony, strongly sugges-
tive as it was, his lordship opined did not materially affect
the case; the jury concurred, and a verdict of guilty was
pronounced and recorded amidst the death-like silence of a
hushed and anxious auditory.
The unfortunate convict staggered visibly beneath the
blow, fully expected as it must have been, and a terrible
spasm convulsed his features, and shook his frame. It
passed away; and his bearing and speech, when asked
what he had to say why sentence of death should not be
pronounced according to law, was not without a certain.
calm dignity and power, whilst his tones, tremulous it is
true, were silvery and unassuming as a child's.
"I cannot blame the gentlemen of the jury," he said.
"Their fatal verdict is, I am sure, as conscientious as God
and myself know it to be erroneous-false! Circumstances
are, I feel, strangely arrayed against me; and it has been
my fate through life to be always harshly judged, save only
by one whose truth and affection have shed over my che-
quered existence the only happiness it has ever known. I
observed, too, the telling sneer of the prosecuting counsel,
connecting the circumstances under which I left the navy
with the cowardice of the deed of which I stand here
accused—convicted, I suppose I should say. I forgive that
gentleman his cruel sneer as freely as I do you, gentlemen
of the jury, your mistaken verdict-you, my lord, the death
sentence you are about to pronounce. The manner in
which I hope to pass through the brief, but dark and bitter
passage lying betwixt me and the grave, will, I trust, be a
Edward Drysdale.
471
sufficient answer to the taunt of cowardice; and the future
vindication of my innocence, not for my own, but my wife
and children's sake, I confidently leave to him into whose
hands I shall soon, untimely, render up my spirit. This
is all I have to say."
The prisoner's calm, simple, unhurried words produced
a marvellous effect upon the court and auditory. The
judge, Chief Baron Macdonald, a conscientious and some-
what nervous man, paused in the act of assuming the black-
cap, and presently said, rather hastily, "Let the prisoner
be removed; I will pass sentence to-morrow" The court
then immediately adjourned.
I was miserably depressed in spirits, which the cold,
sleety weather that greeted us on emerging from the hot
and crowded court considerably increased. I was thinking
-excuse the seeming pathos-I was only a clerk, and used
to such tragedies; I was thinking, I say, that a glass of
brandy-and-water might not be amiss, when whom should I
rudely jostle against but Cyclops, alius Thomas Burnham.
He was going the same way as myself, in prodigious haste,
his eye bright and flaming as a live coal, and his whole
manner denoting intense excitement.
"Is that you ?” he
broke out. "Come along, then, and quick, for the love of
God! I've missed Sims and his clerk, but you'll do as
well, perhaps better." I had no power, if I had the incli-
nation, to refuse, for the enthusiastic man seized me by the
arm, and hurried me along, at a tremendous rate, towards
the outskirts of the city. "This is the place," he ex-
claimed, as he burst into a tavern parlor, where two trunks
had been deposited. "He's not come yet," Burnham went
on,
"but the coach is to call for him here. IIe thinks to
be off for London this very night."
"Whom are you talking of? Who's off to London to
night ?"
472
Modern Story-Teller.
"James Berry, if he's clever enough! Look there!"
"I see;
'James Berry, passenger, London.' These,
then, are his trunks, I suppose ?”
''
Right, my boy; but there is nothing of importance
in them. Sly, steady-going Margery has well ascertained
that. You know Margery-but hush! here he comes.”
Berry-it was he could not repress a nervous start, as
he unexpectedly encountered Burnham's burly person and
fierce glare.
"You here!" he stammered, as he mechanically took a
chair by the fire. "Who would have thought it !"
"Not you, Jim, I'm sure; it must be, therefore, an
unexpected pleasure. I've come to have a smoke and a
bit of chat with you, Berry-there isn't a riper berry than
you are in the kingdom-before you go to London, Jim-
do you mark?-before you go to London. Ha, ha! ho,
ho! But, zounds! how pale and shaky you're looking, and
before this rousing fire, too! D―n thee, villain!" shouted
Burnham, jumping suddenly up from his chair, and dashing
his pipe to fragments on the floor. "I can't play with thee
any longer. Tell me when did the devil teach thee to
stuff coat collars with the spoils of murdered men, ch ?”
A yell of dismay escaped Berry, and he made a despe-
rate rush to get past Burnham-but in vain. The fierce
publican caught him by the throat, and held him by a grip
of steel. "You're caught, scoundrel! nicked, trapped,
found out, and by whom, think you? Why, by deaf,
paralytic Margery, whose old eyes have never wearied in
watching you from the hour you slew and robbed her good
old master till to-day, when you dreamed yourself alone,
and she discovered the mystery of the coat collar.”
"Let me go!" gasped the miscreant, down whose
pallid cheeks big drops of agony were streaming. "Take
all, and let me go.”
Edward Drysdale.
473
A fierce imprecation, followed by a blow, replied to the
despairing felon. A constable, attracted by the increasing
uproar, soon arrived; the thick coat collar was ripped, and
in it were found a considerable sum in Exeter notes, the
ruby ring, and other valuables well known to have be-
longed to Mr. Bradshaw. Berry was quickly lodged in
gaol. A true bill was returned the next day by the grand
jury before noon, and by the time the clock struck four,
the murderer was, on his own confession, convicted of the
foul crime of which a perfectly innocent man had been, not
many hours before, pronounced guilty! A great lesson
this was felt to be at the time in Exeter, and in the western
country generally. A lesson of the watchfulness of provi-
dence over innocent lives; of rebuke to the self-sufficing
infallibility of men, however organized or empanelled; and
of patience under unmerited obloquy and slander.
Edward Drysdale was, I need hardly say, liberated by
the king's pardon-pardon for an uncommitted offence;
and he, and his true-hearted wife, the heiress of her uncle,
are still living, I believe, in competence, content, and
harmony.


JGHCHE 36262 286
The Story of the Unfiniſhed Picture.
A GERMAN ARTIST'S TALE, BY CHARLES HOOTON, Esq.
W
EIGEL Was an intimate acquaintance of mine,
-a good painter, and had commenced his
career promisingly. Calculating on a fortune
not yet made and a reputation that still had to take root,
although it put forth strongly, he married a handsome giri
of poor and obscure parentage, and found himself involved
in all the cares of a young family almost before he was
three-and-twenty. Fortune seemed to abandon him almost
from the very day of his wedding, and from hard expe-
rience he soon found that he had begun the world too soon.
But he was ambitious to an excess, and frequently used to
say to his acquaintance that he could willingly lay down.
his life, only to become an artist that the world would
never forget. Nay, I have often heard him say he was in
the nightly habit of invoking the aid, in prayers, of either
good spirits or bad (he cared not which), whichever, if such
existed, would come first to assist him in the attainment of
a painter's success and immortality. "What matters," said
he, “even if a man could give away his immortality in the
The Story of the Unfinished Picture.
475
uncertain hereafter, for a certain inimortality here, though
he should go so far as to do it? 'Twould be but an ex-
change of equivalents."
Thus he used to think and talk, and every day getting
poorer and poorer as the demands of his family increased,
and his own unwearied exertions failed to meet with
reward:—a state of things, I fear, which went far to induce
his peculiar belief. I have often seen him in a fearful burst
of passionate excitement when his wife and family and him-
self were in want of the most ordinary necessaries, cast
some fine unsold picture into the fire and swear most
solemnly and deeply, that if there were a devil, and if he
himself had a soul worth the devil's purchase, he would sell
it him in bonds of fire and blood, if the price would but
redeem their present misery, and find all that he most loved
on earth in even as much food for their wants as God could
find for the wild wolf and the raven, without toil, without the
chance of an immortality to risk, without heart or intellect
to feel privation as he felt it, even should it come upon
them. He would then turn suddenly to me and exclaim,
"Now, Zeitter, if these idle tales were true, why does this
Evil One not come? Why not take me at my word? for
he must know that in this I am no liar.”
At that time he occupied two small rooms on the upper
story of a large old house in Heidelburg, the door of the
outer one of which opened upon a common staircase and
passage, in which he usually paced up and down with a
large pipe in his mouth during several hours in the gloom
of an evening, for the sake of fresher air and exercise, and
perhaps also to dissipate, if possible, his miserable reflec-
tions. He also used to do the same at any time of the
night when he could not sleep. He would rise in the dark
from the side of his sleeping wife and children, fill his huge
meerschaum pipe, light a tinder to fire his tobacco, and
476
Modern Story-Teller.
then stalk backwards and forwards in the blind passage
with steps as noiseless as a ghost, and exactly as confident,
calm, and unapprehensive as though in the summer sunshine
of a public road. I do not say there was anything to be
frightened at, but my imagination would never allow me
exactly to fancy his particular taste in that respect.
[At this part of his story Zeitter charged his audience to
mark particularly that he was not giving them opinions nor
speculations.]
"I am speaking of facts and results," said he, "of things
I have seen and heard, and therefore known; make of them
what you can or will."
One morning I walked into his chambers just to chat
about the news of the day-for there had been a terrible
storm in the night, and a church spire rent from top to
bottom by the lightning-when I found him intently en-
gaged upon a new picture, a fact which somewhat surprised
me by the waywardness of temper it displayed, as he had
thrown down his pencils in vexation but the afternoon
before, and vowed never to touch them again, but buy a
spade, and go and earn his bread like Cain, by the sweat
of his brow.
"Ah, Weigel," said I, "how is this? At it once more,
as I knew you would be before another sun went round."
"Yes," he replied, "I took good advice last night."
I told him I was glad to hear it, for the arts would
have had reason to deplore his wild resolution of yesterday,
if he had adhered to it. I then asked him what friend had
had the good fortune so to influence him?
"Why," he replied, "you know how it thundered
between twelve and three o'clock? I could not sleep, so I
got up, lit my pipe, and took my old walk in the passage.
Crash came the thunder-claps on the roof, and the lightning
flew about me like the blazes of a burning house. It might
The Story of the Unfinished Picture.
477
have withered me to ashes, for what I cared, since I neither
hoped here nor feared hereafter. I had nearly smoked my
pipe out, when a man met me in the passage, and as is usual
with the people here, just inquired how I was coming on.
I told him my resolve, and added that I intended to keep
it. He said as you say, that it would be a pity to see such
a poetical soul as mine reduced to the necessity of spending
time in common labor that any peasant hind might do as
well or better, just for the sake of finding food and shelter
for myself and family. I answered that that soul so con-
stituted had been my curse, and swore the devil might have
it if it were of any use to him, providing I could keep the
bodies of those who were dependent on me from starvation
worse than that of the beasts. He begged me not to speak
rashly, but advised me to take heart and try once more.
'Go to your easel to-morrow,' said he, 'you will find a subject.
ready in your own room. I will make a bargain with you;
you shall work upon it as long as you fancy you can im-
prove it; if you finish it any time within one exact year—
even a moment within-I will buy it of you at a price that
will make your fortune, on condition that if you do not, at
the expiration of that time, you take leave of your family
and walk away into the forest with me when I call for you.'
Done! said I, a bargain! And can you believe it, Zeitter,
I fancied that I heard that word a bargain, a bargain, a
bargain, repeated by twenty different echoes? We shook
hands and parted. I filled my pipe again, and walked
about till the storm was over."
I then, continued Zeitter, asked Weigel who the
man was. He said that he could not tell, as he never
troubled himself to look particularly either where he came
from or whither he went. "And the subject that you
were to find in your own room ?" said I, glancing upon his
new, clear canvas-"is this it?" "That is it," answered
478
Modern Story-Teller.
•
he, "for though when I sat down I did not think what I
was going to be about, yet half-unconsciously I began to
draw that portrait. But the most odd thing about it is,
that as I advanced with it, thinking I was sketching from
fancy only, I happened to cast my eyes into the dark corner
beside my easel, and there I saw the identical face looking
through the gloom at me!”
(6
Exactly so," remarked Stretcher,—" and you saw it as
well, no doubt ?”
"Not so," answered Zeitter," but as I looked on my
friend, I concluded that misery had made him mad.”
"Pretty shrewd guess, that. Well, go on, old fellow.
What sort of a picture was it ?"
There was nothing but a rude outline then, but after-
wards, as it seemed to grow towards perfection under his
hands, it struck the spectator at first view as the highest
conceivable manly beauty of an ethereal nature-a picture
of a being whose very outward form was spiritual, yet
heightened by a still deeper expression of remoter spiritu-
ality that made the heart quail as though standing before
the presence of a very angel. But as you continued to
gaze, that feeling grew.imperceptibly into one of fear, you
knew not how or why; and then again, and at last, into a
sense of utter dread and horror; for the beauty seemed to
become spiritually sinful, and what appeared to be an angel
to the sight sank into the soul like the blighting presence
of a demon. Never, continued Zcitter, shall I get that
picture from before my eyes; for against it even Raffaelle
and Correggio were tame.. After three months' incessant
labor, I thought it was finished, for so it seemed to all
eyes save Weigel's: but, on and on, he still worked as
incessantly as before, for he said that the longer he went
on, the more did his visionary model increase in beauty,
and expression, and finish:-the labor of a lifetime was
The Story of the Unfinished Picture.
479
before him—not of a year only; and even then he should
drop into his grave and leave it still an "unfinished picture."
After six months' toil, he fell sick from anxiety and
incessant application, but still persisted in his labor. He
said that the work grew under his hands, for the further he
proceeded, the more he had to do: a year seemed now but
a day, and yet he had but six months left. Only six months
to do all, or lose all. The consciousness of this pressed
heavily upon him, and incited him to labor even when he
almost required to be supported on his seat before his easel.
At the end of three hundred and sixty days he was worn to
a shadow, while the picture was wrought up to such a won-
derful pitch of perfection that it seemed the living palpable
reality, and he, the workman, only such a dim animated
shade as human art and earthly colors might produce.
Together they looked like spirit creating matter;-the invi-
sible making the visible, the supernatural and visionary
giving form, and bulk, and substance to sensitive material,
But what struck me as most singular was, that during the
whole of this time he had never even once again alluded to
the strange speculation which previously (as I described at
the setting out) appeared to occupy so great a portion of his
thoughts. He did so, at length, in the following manner :-
"Look what I have done, Zeitter, my friend. Behold
this picture. Will it make a man immortal? But it is well
you cannot see the original. I know that no man in this
world may truly see him and live. That accursed, glorious,
and yet hideous shadow! It has blasted me with poring
upon. Night and day; day and night alike. Dream and
reality, light and darkness; all have been alike to me; still
the same unchangeably, until my eyes know no other object
tnan that everlasting one. His look has become a part of
my existence, and if I do not haste, make haste-I have but
five days and some odd hours left, I feel that he will swal
480
Modern Story-Teller.
low me up, body and soul! But I will be diligent; I will
escape him yet; five days are a long time; and if I am in
the hands of the Evil One-if, I say, all I have doubted be
true, I'll finish in five days, five hours and a half, and cheat
the devil of his prize at last."
I endeavored to persuade him that the picture was more
than finished already,—that in pure plain truth the world
possessed not such another; and that he had better so con-
sider it himself, and lay his palette down for the close of
labor. But he could not be convinced that it was finished.
"Besides,” said he, "he has not yet come to purchase it, the
time is not yet up. One moment within the year, exactly,
and he will be here. I know he will, for I feel him as it
were even now creeping through my blood and along my
bones," and he shivered in agony as the pencil fell from his
hands, and his whole form sank almost as senseless as a
corpse back in his antique chair.
In spite of even the daily conclusions of my own senses,
that nothing more within the reach of the most consum-
mate art could possibly be done to heighten the picture,-
what actually was done day after day contradicted me, and
showed again and again, that Weigel was right;-it was
yet unfinished, because a higher perfection seemed still
attainable, though attainable only because the eye con-
stantly distinguished that he did it again.
Five days and five hours more were gone.
The con-
clusion was at hand. Curious and anxious to know what it
would be, I was alone by his side from the commencement
of the last hour until all was over. I know not how to de-
scribe it, for my own excitement was such, that the circum-
stances, impressions, and feelings of that time seemed to
whirl through my brain confusedly and indistinctly, like
objects mingled together on the circumference of a revolv.
ing wheel. I knew a climax of some sort was at hand, and
The Story of the Unfinished Picture.
481
one all the more impressive and fearful, because though so
close, it was inscrutable, though involving beyond doubt the
fate of a man of a most gifted and rare genius. Weigel
hung his watch upon the casel above his picture, while his
eye, with painful regularity, and an expression of intensity,
that seemed to dilate the pupil much beyond its ordinary
size, while it partially closed the lids and drew down the
brows closely and rigidly-passed from the moving hands to
the dark corner where his supernatural model was, and then
to the picture-only to return while touch was added to
touch to the shadow again, to the picture, and then to the
dial. His mouth was slightly opened in an indescribable
expression of agony and fear, and whenever his pencil was
not actually in contact with the palette or the painting, I
observed it tremble in his grasp like a shivering reed.
"Five minutes more!" at length he gasped; "and the
head grows more and more glorious, till this picture looks
but a school-boy's sketch! Three minutes!-I shall never
have done, never! One minute!-Ah!-not one-not half
a one! Zeitter, Zeitter!-my friend!" he shrieked; "ah!
-ah !—ah !—the year is out, and it is not done !”
The palette and pencils fell from his hands to the floor,
and his head sank heavily upon his breast, as though bowed
even in death before the idol of his art. I flew to seize and
support him, for he was apparently insensible. At that
moment his wife and a strange man, whom I had never seen
before, entered the room. The former wept and cried like
a woman frantic; but the latter looked coldly on, and
placing his finger on Weigel's breast merely said solemnly,
"He is better now." At that voice and touch the artist
raised himself up, as though suddenly re-animated, and
looked seriously, but confidently and calmly, in the face of
the stranger. Not a word passed between them; but the
latter turned towards Weigel's wife, and told her that at
31
482
Modern Story-Teller.
a certain bank in the city, which he named, she would find
payment for that picture to the amount of three thousand
pounds.
"It will at least," said he, "save you and your family
from want for life; and that is all your husband cares for."
“All !—all !” said Weigel; "and now for the forest!"
So saying he arose with the alacrity of a youth whose
health and spirits the world has never broken; put on his
cap, filled his pipe as though nothing had happened, and
kissed his wife and children, after having extorted a promise
from them to be happy until he came back again.
I will see that they fulfil it!" murmured the stranger.
"Come!-the moon is up and we must be there by mid-
night."
"May I not accompany you, Weigel ?" I exclaimed.
"No!-not as you value your life;-and take heed, Zeit-
ter, take heed, also, that you never come to me."
Nevertheless, I felt impelled to go along with them, and
followed until we entered the shadows of the forest. Two
black horses, or creatures that bore their resemblance, stood
in the road.
"Mount!" cried the stranger, as he vaulted on to the
back of one, and Weigel on the other; "DARKNESS is mine,
and RUIN thine! Away, away!"
They swept the forest like a Winter's blast; bowing
the trees as they passed, sweeping leaves away like a hurri-
cane, and gathering a tempest of black hurrying clouds from
the skies along the horizon towards which they fled. The
moon sank like an opaque scarlet fire, and the hair of my
head stood up as I returned home in darkness. Need I say
that Weigel never came back again?
Here Herr Zeitter paused.
"And the picture,-did they take that too ?" asked
Sapio Green.
The Story of the Unfinished Picture.
483
"The picture," replied Zeitter, "was sent for the next
day by a strange old baron, who inhabited a castle hard by,
and who said he had purchased it by commission. How-
ever that might be, his name was on the check for payment,
and the bank discharged it out of his deposits. I anticipate
your next question, but he was not the stranger; nor was
any one like him known in that quarter of the country. Up
to this day, however, it is believed that a figure like Weigel
may be seen on moonlight nights still working away with
his shadowy pencils upon the 'Unfinished Picture,' as it
hangs in distinguished state in a room appropriated (with
reference to works of art) to it alone.”


or
C
створе
доод
Coldstream.
LARGE party is assembled to celebrate the feast
of St. Partridge at Ravelstoke Hall, an old coun-
try-house about two miles distant from the north-
west coast of Devon. The various branches of English
society are very fairly represented by its component parts.
There are two peers, three members of the lower house,
some guardsmen, some under-graduates, a clergyman, and
a lieutenant in the navy. But our hero is not a represent-
ative man, yet he belongs to a class which, called into ex-
istence by the accumulated wealth of the nineteenth century,
is ever on the increase.
Frederick Tyrawley resembles Sir Charles Coldstream,
inasmuch as he has been everywhere, and done everything;
but he is by no means used up, and can still take an inter-
est in whatever his hand finds to do. Nor is his everything
everybody else's everything. It is not bounded by Jerusa
lem and the pyramids.
Mr. Tyrawley has fought in more than one State of South
America, and has wandered for more than two years from
isle to isle of the Pacific. A mysterious reputation hovers
round him. He is supposed to have done many things, but
484
Coldstream.
485
no one is very clear what they are; and it is not likely that
much information on the point will be obtained from him,
for he seldom talks much, and never speaks of himself. His
present mission appears to be to kill partridges, play cricket,
and dress himself. Not that it must be supposed that he has
ever been in the habit of wearing less clothing than the cus-
tom of the country in which he may have been located re-
quired; but only that at the present time he devoted much
attention to buff waistcoats and gauze neckties, braided coats
and curled mustachios.
!
Such as he is, however, he is an object of interest to the
feminine portion of the party at Ravelstoke Hall; for he is
rich and handsome, as well as mysterious, and cannot be
more than two-and-thirty. And the ladies at Ravelstoke.
outnumbered the men, for although it is still rare for the
fair sex to participate actively in the saturnalia of the par-
tridge-god, they will always be found hovering in consider-
able numbers on the outskirts of the feast; and the varieties
of the British lady are fairly represented.
There are some mammas with daughters to marry, and
there are some daughters with a mamma to prevent marry-
ing again,—which is, perhaps, the most difficult thing of the
two, as she has an income in her own right. There are blondes
and brunettes, and pretty, brown-haired, brown-eyed girls
who hover between the two orders, and combine the most
dangerous characteristic of both, who can wear both blue
and pink, and who look prettier in the one color than they
do in the other; but who always command your suffrage in
favor of that they are wearing when you look at them.
And there is Constance Baynton with gray eyes and black
hair; and the nicest critic of feminine appearance might
be defied to state what she had worn half an hour after he
left her, for no one can ever look at anything except her
face.
486
Modern Story-Teller.
Yet Constance is three-and-twenty, and still unmarried.
Alas, what cowards men are! The fact is that Constance
is very clever, but as Mrs. Mellish (the widow) says, “not
clever enough to hide it."
Is she a little vexed at her present condition? Certainly
she does not exhibit any tendency to carry out Mrs. Mellish's
suggestion, if it has ever been repeated to her. The young
men are more afraid of her than ever; and certainly she
does say very sharp things sometimes. Especially she is
severe upon idlers, the butterflies of fashionable existence.
She appears to consider that she has a special mission to
arouse them; but they do not appear to like being lectured.
With the young ladies she is a great favorite, for she is very
affectionate; and though so beautiful and distinguished, she
has proved herself to be not so dangerous a rival as might
have been expected. Indeed, it has happened, more than
once, that male admiration, rebounded from the hard sur-
face of her manner, has found more yielding metal in the
bosoms of her particular friends. Besides, she is always
ready to lead the van in the general attack upon the male
sex, when the ladies retire to the drawing-room.
Not that she ever says anything behind their backs she
would not be ready to repeat to their faces; but in that
course probably she would not meet with such general sup-
port.
In Mr. Tyrawley she affected to disbelieve. She stated
as her opinion to her intimate friends, that she didn't believe
he ever had done or ever would do anything worth doing;
but that he plumed himself on a cheap reputation, which,
as all were ignorant of its foundation, no one could possibly
impugn.
There is reason to believe that in this instance Miss Con-
stance was not as conscientious as usual, but that she really
entertained a higher opinion of the gentleman than she
1
Coldstream.
487
chose to confess. He certainly was not afraid of her, and
had even dared to contradict her favorite theory of the
general worthlessness of English gentlemen of the nine-
teenth century. It was one wet morning, when she had
been reading Scott to three or four of her particular friends
-and it must be confessed that she read remarkably well-
that she began to lament the decline of chivalry. Tyraw-
ley was sitting half in and half out of range. Perhaps she
talked a little at him. At any rate he chose to accept the
challenge.
"I cannot agree with you, Miss Baynton," he said. "It
is true we no longer wear ladies' gloves in our helmets, nor
do we compel harmless individuals, who possibly may have
sweethearts of their own, to admit the superiority of our
ladylove at the point of the lance; but of all that was
good in chivalry, of courage, truth, honor, enterprise, self-
sacrifice, you will find as much in the nineteenth century
as in the twelfth."
He brightened up as he spoke, and it was quite evident
that he believed what he said, a circumstance which always
gives an advantage to a disputant.
More than one pair of bright eyes smiled approval, and
Miss Constance saw a probability of a defection from her
ranks. She changed her tactics.
You are too moderate in your claims for your con-
temporaries, Mr. Tyrawley. If I remember right, modesty
has always been considered a qualification of a true knight."
"I am not ashamed to speak the truth," he replied; "your
theory would have been more tenable before the days of the
Crimean war and the Indian mutiny; but the men who lit
their cigars in the trenches of the Redan, and who carried
the gate of Delhi, may bear comparison with Bayard or
Cœur de Lion."
“Oh, I do not allude to our soldiers," said she; "of course
488
Modern Story-Teller
I know they are brave; but," and here she hesitated a
moment till, possibly piqued because her usual success had
not attended her in the passage of arms, she concluded-
"but to our idle gentlemen, who seem to have no heart for
anything."
M
Tyrawley smiled. "Possibly you may judge too much by
the outside," he said. "I am inclined to fancy that some
of those whom you are pleased to call idle gentlemen would
be found to have heart enough for anything that honor or
duty or even chivalry could find for them to do."
"I hope you are right," said Miss Constance, with a
slightly perceptible curl of her upper lip, which implied
that she did not think so.
Tyrawley bowed, and the conversation terminated a few
minutes afterwards; when he had left the room the conver-
sation of the young ladies was suddenly interrupted by Master
George Baynton, aged fourteen, who suddenly attacked his
sister.
"I think you are wrong, you know, when you call Tyraw-
ley a humbug."
"My dear," said Constance with a start, "I never said
anything so ru
(6
""
Well, you implied it, you know, in your girl's words,
and I think you make a mistake; for he can shoot like
one o'clock, never misses a thing, and I hear he can ride no
end. He was rather out of practice in his cricket when he
came down, but he is improving every day. You should
have seen the hit he made yesterday-right up to the
cedars."
"Do you think there is nothing else for a man to do but
ride and shoot and play cricket?"
"Oh, that's all very well; but you should hear what
Merton, our second master, says, and a great brick he is,
too. 'Whatever you do, do it as well as you can, whether
Coldstream.
489
it's cricket or verses.' And I believe if Tyrawley had to
fight, he'd go in and win, and no mistake."
"Ah!" said Constance with a sigh, "he has evidently-
what is it you boys call it ?-tipped you, isn't it?"
Indignant at this insult, George walked off to find his
friend and have a lesson in billiards.
The day lingered on, after the usual fashion of wet days
in September in full country-houses. There was a little
dancing after dinner, but all retired early in hopes of a
finer day on the morrow.
Tyrawley had some letters to write, so that it was past
two before he thought of going to bed. He always slept
with his window open, and as he threw up the sash a fierce
gust of wind blew out his candles and blew down the look-
ing-glass.
"Pleasant, by Jove!" he soliloquized. "I wonder whether
it's smashed-unlucky to break a looking-glass-I'm hanged
if I know where the matches are: never mind; I can find
my way to bed in the dark. What a night!" as a flash of
lightning illumined the room for a moment, and he bent out
of the window. The wind must be about nor-nor-west.
Cheerful for anything coming up to Bristol from the south-
ward. I wonder what a storm is like on this coast. I have
a great mind to go and see. I shall never be able to get that
hall-door open without waking them up. What a nuisance!
Stay! capital idea! I'll go by the window."
Before starting on this expedition he changed the remains
of his evening dress (for he had been writing in his dressing-
gown) for a flannel shirt and trowsers, whilst a short pea-
jacket and glazed hat completed his array. His room was
on the first floor, and he had intended to drop from the
window-sill; but the branch of an elm came so near that
he found it unnecessary, as, springing to it, he was on the
ground, like a cat, in an instant. He soon found his way
490
Modern Story-Teller.
across country, “like a bird," to the edge of the cliff The
sea for miles seemed one sheet of foam.
But a flash of lightning discovered a group of figures
about a quarter of a mile distant; and he distinguished
shouts in the intervals of the storm.
He was soon amongst them, and he found that all eyes
were turned on a vessel which had struck on a rock within
two hundred yards of the cliff. It was evident that she would
go to pieces under their very eyes.
"Is there no way of opening communication with her?”
he asked of an old coast-guard man.
Why, ye see, sir, we have sent to Bilford for Manby's
rockets, but she must break up before they come."
"How far is it to Bilford ?"
(C
"Better than seven mile, your honor."
If we could get a rope to them, we might save the
})
crew.'
'Every one of them, your honor; but it ain't possible.”
"I think a man might swim out.”
"The first wave would dash him to pieces against the
cliff."
"C
"What depth of water below."
"The cliff goes down like a wall, forty fathom, at least."
"The deeper the better. What distance to the water?"
"A good fifty feet."
(C
Well, I have dived off the main-yard of the Chesapeake.
Now listen to me. Have you got some light, strong rope?"
"As much as you like."
Well, take a double coil round my chest, and do you
take care to pay it out fast enough as I draw upon it."
"You won't draw much after the first plunge; it will be
the same thing as suicide, every bit."
CC
Well, we shall see. There's no time to be lost; lend me
a knife."
CC
Coldstream.
491
And in an instant he whipped off his hat, boots and pea-
jacket; then with the knife he cut off its sleeves and passed
the rope through them that it might chafe him less.
The eyes of the old boatman brightened. There was evi-
dently a method in his madness. You are a very good
swimmer, I suppose, sir?"
"I have dived through the surf at Nukuheva a few
times."
"I never knew a white man that could do that."
Tyrawley smiled. "But whatever you do," he said, "mind
and let me have plenty of rope. Now out of the way, my
friends, and let me have a clear start."
He walked slowly to the edge of the cliff, looked over to
see how much the rock shelved outwards; then returned,
looked to see that there was plenty of rope for him to carry
out, then took a short run, and leaped as if from the spring-
ing-board of a plunging-bath. He touched the water full
five-and-twenty feet from the edge of the cliff. Down into
its dark depth he went, like a plummet, but soon to rise
again. As he reached the surface he saw the crest of a
mighty wave a few yards in front of him-the wave that
he had been told was to dash him lifeless against the cliff.
But now his old experience of the Pacific stands him in
good stead.
For two moments he draws breath, then,
ere it reaches him, he dives below its centre. The water
dashes against the cliff, but the swimmer rises far beyond
it. A faint cheer rises from the shore as they feel him draw
upon the rope. The waves follow in succession, and he dives
again and again, rising like an otter to take breath, making
very steadily onward, though more below the water than
above it.
We must now turn to the ship. The waves have made a
clean breach over her bows. The crew are crowded upon
the stern. They hold on to the bulwarks and await the end,
492
Modern Story-Teller.
for no boat can live in such a sea. Suddenly she is hailed
from the waters. ((
Ship a-hoy!" shouts a loud, clear voice,
which makes itself heard above the storm. "Throw me a
rope or a buoy!" The life-buoy was still hanging in its ac-
customed place by the mainmast. The captain almost me-
chanically takes it down, and with well-directed aim throws
it within a yard or two of the swimmer. In a moment it is
under his arms, and in half a minute he is on board.
"Come on board, sir," he says to the captain, pulling one
of his wet curls professionally. The captain appeared to be
regarding him as a visitor from the lower world; so, turning
to the crew, he lifted up the rope he had brought from the
shore. Then for the first time the object of his mission
flashed upon their minds, and a desperate cheer broke forth
from all hands, instantly re-echoed from the shore. Then
a strong cable is attached to the small rope and drawn on
board, then a second, and the communication is complete.
But no time is to be lost, for the stern shows signs of break-
ing up, and there is a lady passenger. Whilst the captain
is planning a sort of chair in which she might be moved,
Tyrawley lifts her up on his left arm, steadies himself with
his right by the upper rope, and walks along the lower as
if he had been a dancer. He is the first on shore, for no
sailor would leave till the lady was safe. But they soon
follow, and in five minutes the ship is clear; five minutes
more and no trace of her is left.
Ravelstoke Hall has been aroused by the news of the
wreck, and Mr. Ravelstoke has just arrived with brandy
and blankets. Him Tyrawley avoids, and thinking he can
be of no further use, he betakes himself across the country
once more, and by the aid of the friendly elm regains hist
chamber without observation.
The lady, whom Tyrawley had deposited in a cottage, with
a strong recommendation that she should go to sleep imme-
Coldstream.
493
diately, was soon carried off in triumph by Mr. Ravelstoke
to the Hall, and welcomed by Lady Grace at half-past three
in the morning. There were very few of the guests who
slept undisturbed that night. The unusual noise in the
house aroused everybody, and many excursions were made
in unfinished costume to endeavor to ascertain what was
going on. The excitement culminated when the miscella-
neous assemblage who had conducted the captain and some
of the crew to the Hall, after being well supplied with ale
and stronger liquids, conceived that it would be the correct
thing to give three cheers at the hour of half-past five.
It was then that Lord Todmoulton, an Irish peer laboring
under an erroneous impression that the house was attacked,
was discovered on the landing-place, in array consisting
principally of a short dressing-gown, flannel waiscoat and
a fowling-piece.
Breakfast that morning was a desultory meal. People
finished and talked about the wreck and began again. It
seemed quite impossible to obtain anything like an accurate
account of what had taken place. At last the captain
appeared, and though almost overwhelmed by the multi-
plicity of questions, nevertheless, between the intervals of
broiled ham and coffee, he managed to elucidate matters a
little.
Then came the question, "Who is it who swam to the
vessel ?" Tyrawley had only been at Ravelstoke a few days,
and was a stranger in the neighborhood. None of the ser-
vants had reached the coast till it was all over, so there had
been no one to recognize him.
"I scarcely saw him," said the captain, "but he was a
dark, tallish man, with a great deal of beard."
"Was he a gentleman ?" asked Miss Constance Baynton,
who had been taking a deep interest in the whole affair.
"Well, d'ye see, Miss, I can't exactly say, for he hadn't
494
Modern Story-Teller.
much on; but if he isn't, he'd make a good one- that I'll
go bail for. He's the coolest hand I ever saw. Stay! now
I think of it, I shouldn't wonder if he was a naval man, for
he pulled his forelock, half-laughing like, and said, 'Come
on board, sir,' to me, when we pulled him up."
"Perhaps it was Rutherford," said Mr. Ravelstoke, naming
the lieutenant in the navy; "he is tall and dark."
"And he has been letting his moustache grow since he
came on shore," observed a young lady.
Where is he?"
But Mr. Rutherford was gone down to the cliff to inspect
the scene of the disaster.
Begging your pardon, sir," said the butler, "it could not
have been any gentleman stopping in the house, for the door
was fastened till the people came down to tell you of the
wreck."
(C
At this moment, half-past ten A. M., Mr. Tyrawley walked
into the breakfast-room. He was got up, if possible, more
elaborately than usual.
"Now here's a gentleman, captain, Mr. Tyrawley, who has
been all over the world and met with some strange adven-
tures. I'll be bound he never saw anything to equal the
affair of last night."
(1
'You'd a nearish thing of it, captain ?" inquired Tyraw-
ley, speaking very slowly. His manner and appearance
quite disarmed any suspicion the captain might have had
of his identity.
"Five minutes more, sir, and Davy Jones's locker would
have held us all. Begging your pardon, miss," apologizing
to Constance.
The captain had already repeated the story a reasonable
number of times, and was anxious to finish his breakfast.
So Miss Constance gave it all for the benefit of Mr. Tyraw-
ley, dressed in her own glowing periods.
Coldstream.
495
J
7
Tyrawley made no observation upon her recital, but took
a third egg.
"Well, Mr. Tyrawley," said she at last," what do you think
of the man who swam out to the wreck ?"
"Why, I think, Miss Baynton-I think," said he, hesi-
tating, “that he must have got very wet; and I sincerely
hope he won't catch cold."
There was a general laugh at this, in which the captain
joined; but it is to be feared that Miss Constance stamped
her pretty little foot under the table.
Tyrawley turned and began to talk to Miss Mellish, who
was sitting on his right.
As he was speaking the door on his left opened, and Lady
Grace Ravelstoke entered with the lady passenger. The
lady heard him speak, and there are some voices which a
woman never forgets, and the dangerous journey over the
rope had not passed in silence.
She laid her hand upon his arm and said, "Oh, sir, how
can I thank you?”
Tyrawley rose, as in duty bound, saying, "Do not speak
of it. I did not know when I came off that I was to have
the pleasure of assisting you."
But the astonishment of the captain was beautiful to be-
hold.
CC
Why, you don't mean to say-well, I never !-dash my
wig-well, I'm Here, shake hands, sir, will you ?" And
he stretched across the table a brawny hand not much smaller
than a shoulder of mutton.
The grip with which Tyrawley met his seemed to do a
great deal more to convince him of his identity than the
lady's recognition of their preserver.
The day was as wet as the preceding. Half an hour after
breakfast, Mr. Tyrawley lounged into the back drawing.
room. There sat Miss Constance Baynton, and, by the
496
Modern Story-Teller.
singular coincidence which favors lovers or historians, she
sat alone.
Now Constance had made up her mind that she was bound
to apologize to Mr. Tyrawley for her rude speeches of yester-
day; she had also decided that she would compliment him
on his gallant conduct.
She had, in fact, arranged a neat, quiet, cold, formal, ap-
propriate form of words in which she would give her views
expression. And how do you think she delivered them?
She got up, said, "Oh, Mr. Tyrawley!" and burst into tears.
If a proud woman's pride is a shield to thee, O man, as
well as to her, against the arrows of love, remember that if
ever she throws it away, after she has compelled you to ac-
knowledge its value, you are both left utterly defenceless.
Frederick Tyrawley capitulated at once. They are to be
married this month. And if Mr. Tyrawley does not, at some
future time, achieve a reputation which no mystery can cloud,
it will not be Mrs. Tyrawley's fault.

BUL
HE
END

UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
T
3 9015 03181 1550
7.