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 A TALE 
 
 BY MART HO^WITT , 
 
 PLETON 4 C=> 346 ft i'^
 
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 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST! 
 
 BY MARY HOWITT, 
 
 AVTBO" OF '.' STRIVE XND THBIVE," " HOPE ON ' HOPE IVSB' 
 " SOWING AND REAPING," ETC. ETC 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 
 D. APPLETON &, COMPANY, 
 
 846 <fc 34S BROADWAY. 
 
 M.DCCC.LVn.
 
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAMS YOUNG LADIES. 
 
 Gloucester, Dec. 29th, 179 — 
 My adorable Elvira — I am sure you will ghe 
 me credit for all the delight I feel in leaving " Miss 
 Wyndham's Establishment for Young Ladies." I 
 dismiss all tliouglits of school and its annoyances 
 for ever! Madame and her French exercises, 
 Monsieur Pirouette and his chasse, thank Heaven, 
 I have heard the last of them ! Oh, how I pity 
 you, that have twelve months of endurance yet 
 before you! Poor little soul! I can see you, in 
 my mind's eye, frowning defiance to all the horrid 
 creatures ! 
 
 But, my dearest Elvira, do not be utterly 
 miserable. Time flies fast. Only think! it is 
 but six months, this very day, since we had the 
 supreme happiness of meeting — of forming that 
 friendship which will be enduring as the stars! 
 Oh, my sv.eet friend, think not that in absence 
 yotu- ^liranda can forget you. Your beloved 
 image is ever present with me. I dream of you 
 by night, and think of you by day; and, tliough 
 I am released from the hateful rule of Wyndham 
 
 Cioocrorv
 
 2 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAm's YOUNG LADIES. 
 
 House, I am but half myself, for my heart remains 
 
 with you ! 
 
 There is no one here that can understand me. 
 You, and you only, my Elvira, penetrated the • 
 recesses of my heart, and did me justice! Oh 
 the sweet moonlight walks on the flags, when oui 
 fond souls commingled, and poured out their eternal 
 vows! Do you not remember them? No. my 
 Elvira, you have not forgotten those sweet times.' 
 And one night, of all others to be remembered, 
 has registered itself in my heart's core; you 
 remember it too! — there was a nightingale iit Mr. 
 Smith's chestnut at the moment, the sweet Philo- 
 mela — you have not forgotten it! Oh, pardon me 
 for hinting of such treason — to forget is impos- 
 sible ! 
 
 For oil, how vast a memory has love! 
 
 There is to be an Infirmary Ball next month, 
 and the Misses Curtis, my cousins,, about whom I 
 told you that odd story about the calamanco petti- 
 coat, are to come out of the country to go with us ; 
 my father insisted upon it, or I should never have 
 proposed it, for they are a couple of complete frights, 
 and dress so ill. I have not decided whetlier to go 
 in pink' or lemon-colour. I have a lemon-coloured 
 chambray, which my godmother gave me — a very 
 swftet thing, and it is divinely made ; and I have 
 a pink silk slip ; but lemon-colour, you know, is 
 a bad candle-light colour, and I have Vv^orn my 
 pink slip, so I am quite undetermined ; I want the 
 benefit of your sweet taste. Pray write by the 
 return of post, and give my love to Anne Ward. 
 Poor thing! how good-natured she is! Do you 
 know, 1 called at her uncle's before we left the
 
 TWO OF Ih..SS WYNDHAM S YOUNG LADIES. 8 
 
 town, for we were an hour too si'jon for the coach, 
 and she took me into her bed-room. I do believe 
 they are poor; they have only one litUe back par- 
 lour, quite small and mean, and only one servani 
 — quite a scrub of a girl — although, I must say, 
 she %vas much neater than one might have ex- 
 pected, and very civil and obliging to me. I am 
 sure that chain of Anne "Ward's is not gold, from 
 something I saw: but I forget what I am doing ; for 
 this letter, of course, goes to her care ; but then, I 
 think she would scorn to do a dishonourable 
 action : and, after all, I should not care if she saw 
 every word I have written. I always speak my 
 mind, you know ; I am open as the day, and I 
 love Anne Ward. I foresee that she and you, my 
 sweet friend, will be consolation to each other. 
 Anne Ward and I were very near being dear 
 friends, if you had not come. Sister of my soul, 
 we should have been so ; but Anne Ward would 
 never have been all that the amiable Elvira is, to 
 
 her devoted and attached -., 
 
 Miranda. 
 
 P.S. — I have bought a locket to put your sweet 
 hair in; I shall wear it next mjr heart. Where 
 you are, I ever will be. Adieu ! 
 
 Such was the letter which Sarah Gibson ad- 
 dressed to her friend, Rebecca Wells, the Aveek 
 after their sorrowful parting in the school-room 
 ')f " Miss Wyndham's Establishment for Young 
 iiadies," when, with weeping sensibility, they pro- 
 tested that they never should be happy till they 
 met again. 
 
 Sarah Gibson, otherwise '* Miranda," was the
 
 4 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAM'S YOUNG LADIES. 
 
 daughter of a wealthy grocer in the city of Glou- 
 eester. Her mother, an excellent and sensible 
 woman, died in her infancy. A distant relation, 
 a most precise person as to dress and demeanour, 
 the very pink of housewives, as far as methodical 
 routine and the sharp management of servants 
 went, supplied, after Mrs. Gibson's death, her 
 place as female head of the family. Cousin 
 Judith, for so she was called, was spoken of by 
 all her acquaintance as an inimitable woman; so 
 exact in her housekeeping; so rigid a disciph- 
 narian of servants ; so never-failing in her attend- 
 ance on Wednesday morning prayers, and three 
 services on the Sunday I She was, every bodj 
 said, a good woman ; and so she believed herself, 
 thinking, as every body thought, that it was for- 
 tunate for Mr. Gibson to have such a relative at 
 his service. In one thing, however, Cousin Judith 
 failed — she had no skill m the management of the 
 child ; this was the part of her cousin's establish 
 ment in which she professed no interest. It is 
 true, that the little girl was well fed, and well 
 clothed — that came into the general house-keeping ; 
 but the forming her mind and manners was left 
 
 to fate. 
 
 Little Sarah Gibson ran wild about the house ; 
 she sate upon the kitchen dresser, of a morning, to 
 watch the cook; or, with her hair powdered with 
 3ust, helped the housemaid to make the beds; 
 or, which was best of all, played behind the counter 
 with shopmen and apprentices, and rode down 
 into the lower warehouses in the empty crane 
 rope, until ordered into the house by her father, 
 who wondered, good, easy man, " what all the
 
 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAM S YOUNG LADIES. 5 
 
 women could be about, that tbey did not look after 
 the child." Cousin Judith, on such occasions, 
 never failed to cutf her ears and send her to the 
 housemaid to have her hands and face washed, 
 and a clean pinafore put on; remarking, that '* it 
 really was one person's work to look after her."' 
 
 In process of time she went to a day-school; 
 learned to read and write and cypher : (tlie church 
 catechism she had been taught by cousin Judith,) 
 to w^rk a sampler, and to do plain sewing, which 
 included button-hole-stitch, back-stitching, and 
 change-stitch; and in twelve montlis made her 
 father four shirts. In the course of the next 
 three years she worked a hearth-rug, in which was 
 a hen and chickens ; two foot-stools — they were 
 not called ottomans in those days ; two pair of 
 kettle-iiolders, and the parting of Tippoo Saib an'" 
 liis children, in embroidery of bright-coloured silks 
 upon white satin; which was duly framed and 
 glazed, and hung up in the parlour at home. Her 
 works were manifold, and Cousin Juditli declared 
 that she bade fair to be a very accomplislied and 
 well-behaved young lady, quite a credit to them all. 
 
 By this time, of course, she had left off playing 
 with the shopmen, or riding in the crane-rope. 
 She began to eschew the shop, and made her 
 entries and exits invariably by the street-door. 
 She was now thirteen, and full of budding sensi- 
 bilities and gentilities. She had read all tlie love 
 stories in a long scries of the Ladies' Magazine; 
 which, with Ready-Reckoners, old Dictionaries, 
 and Almanacs, well-worn Cookery Books, two 
 Bibles and three Prayer l?ooks, covered witli green 
 baize, (iUed the shelves of the book-case at. home. 
 
 b2
 
 8 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAm's YOUNG I.ADIEs'. 
 
 A new world was opened ; Sarah grew romantic 
 and sentimental, carried her head on one side, wore 
 long ringlets, and sighed deeply and often. But as, 
 with all this, she contrived to keep out of every- 
 body's way — either in her own chamber, or in a 
 little wooden booth, otherwise alcove, which, in for- 
 mer years, had been pea-green, but now was drab 
 with age, which stood in a corner of the quadrangle 
 behind the warehouses, misnamed the garden, 
 where she undisturbedly read her favourite litera- 
 ture — nobody within thought about her, or con- 
 cerned themselves with her occupation. Or, if 
 she were spoken of, it was with commendation ; 
 she was so improved, gave so little trouble, and 
 was so fond of reading, said Cousin Judith ; and* 
 her father was too busy with his worldly affairs to 
 think of inquiring what she read, or whence came 
 the books, seeing there were so few at home. All 
 seemed to be going on quite right; and Sarah, in 
 the meantime, had read every book she could 
 borrow, either from servant, shopman, or school- 
 fellow, and was growing rather tall and good- 
 looking, and had began to think it vulgar to be 
 a grocer's daughter, and to wish the family name 
 had been Belville, or Melville, or Seymour, or 
 Belmont, or anything more interesting than the 
 common name of Gibson. 
 
 Of courser, no girl's education could be complete 
 who had not been to a boarding-school, and Cousin 
 Judith was desired by Mr. Gibson to inquire 
 among her acquaintance for a finishing school, 
 where Sarah might be placed for a year, and thus 
 gain that polish which, staying at home, she 
 coufld not be expected to acquire.
 
 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAM S YOUNG lAUIES. 7 
 
 Cousin Judith failed not to make inquiries; 
 and the " Establishment for Young Ladies" at 
 Wyndham House, being the largest, and anost 
 expensive, and the farthest off — for people always 
 think best of those schools of which they have the 
 least means of gaining correct information — 
 Wyndham House was accordingly selected. 
 
 No young lady ever entered Miss Wyndham's 
 Establishment better provided with wardrobie, 
 money, and all extras, than Aliss Gibson. Cousin 
 Judith took her in a post-chaise; and, as she 
 herself wore a rich silk dress, a well-furred cloak 
 and velvet hat, and ensconced her arms up to the 
 elbows in an expensive muft', and altogether 
 -assumed a very dignified air. Miss Wyndham 
 and all her establishment paid her the profoundest 
 respect, and received the new pupil from her hands 
 as if she had been an angel come from heaven. 
 
 Sarah Gibson professed herself wretched at 
 school; she had to begin French; to learn to 
 dance; to learn to play upon two or three instru- 
 ments ; and she looked back to the idle days spent 
 in the old alcove, over the beloved romances, with 
 a regret that refused to be allayed. She declared 
 herself " the most wretched of created beings;" 
 she was sure twelve months at AVyndham House 
 would kill her! She even wished she were dead — 
 thought of a sharp pen-knife, or a leap into a 
 well, and worked herself into an agony of weeping, 
 in the thought of the newspaper paragraph, and the 
 elegy in the " poet's corner," on " the death of an 
 unfortunate young lady aged fifteen." Butgrief did 
 not kill her; and, at the close of the first half year, 
 when she returned home, spite of all her protesta-
 
 8 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAm's YOUNG LaDIES. 
 
 tions about her school miseries, her father, seconded 
 by Coiisin Judith, was arbitrary as to her return. 
 Before the close of the twelve months. Miss Wynd- 
 ham had solicited, by letter, a second term of 
 twelve months, assuring her father, and excellent 
 Mrs. Judith, that she was her favourite pupil, and 
 was making such astonishing progress in her 
 studies, that it would be a pity to interrupt them. 
 Mr. Gibson gave consent; and, to Sarah's 
 chagrin, she was returned to Wyndham House for 
 another twelve months. But she took with her 
 means of defence against the annoyances of the 
 place. She furnished herself with all the love- 
 histories, dream-books, valentine-writers, books 
 of fate, and affecting narratives of unhappy wives, 
 and maidens crossed in love — some stitched in 
 paper covers, and others bound volumes; some 
 borrcwed, and some bought; which were stowed 
 in the bottom of her play-box, into which the 
 prying eyes of Miss Wyndham, nor even the 
 teacher, could enter. With the help of these, 
 Sarah got through the first half-year. Similarly 
 provided, she returned to school for the la-st term ; 
 but fate had great things in store for her — the 
 pleasures and solacements of friendship — the 
 union of a sister-mind, as she herself would have 
 
 said. 
 
 Rebecca Wells, the " Elvira " of our opening 
 epistle, was a new boarder, who came to school 
 three days before Sarah Gibson's return for the 
 last half-year; and, according to these young 
 ladies, " their souls melted into one at the first 
 moment." Rebecca was not less sentimental 
 than her new friend ; but in some respects she was
 
 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAm's YOUNG LADIES. 9 
 
 rather different. She was the eldest child of a 
 large family, whose mother had lately married a 
 second husband. They lived in that part of York- 
 shire called Craven, and the step-father was a large 
 grazier — " a well-to-do man," but of rough nature, 
 who thought his wife, spite of her seven children, 
 " the very jewel of womankind — the cleverest 
 woman in the universe." " Why, she could keep 
 his books better than he could ; nothing was 
 above her hand ; she had even judgment in fat 
 cattle!" Such was Mr. Hackett's protestation 
 respecting his new wife. She was, emphatically, 
 " a manager ; " she had been so all her days ; and, 
 so admirably had things prospered under her 
 hand, that during the life-time of Mr. Wells, her 
 first husband, Mr. Hackett, her second, declared 
 he was keeping himself single for her sake. 
 
 Rebecca, the eldest of Mrs. Wells's seven children, 
 was, at the time of her mother's second marriacre. 
 :n her fifteenth year. Her youth had been one 
 of hardship and drudgery; not that her mother 
 had treated her with cruelty, or stinted her in 
 food, or been niggard of clothing; but she was of 
 a hard screwing nature: work was the object of 
 life, in her eyes, and management was genius. 
 It was wonderful what an amount of work she 
 did herself, and what an amount also she extracted 
 from every one about her. Her one servant did 
 as mu(;h as other people's three or four; and yet 
 that said servant looked always neat and clean. 
 " It is all management," said Mrs. Wells; " idle- 
 ness is my abhorrence!' and then she backed her 
 opinion and practice by innumerable wise saws 
 and sayings, all tending to prove, that from the
 
 10 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAm's YOUNG LADIES. 
 
 days of Solomon downwards, " the slothful man 
 never gets rich." 
 
 Mrs. Wells's house was the pattern of order, 
 no child ever dared to soil the clean passages with 
 a dirty foot-print, or to litter even a thread upon 
 the spotless carpet : care and exactitude were the 
 rule of everything. No spot of gravy ever defiled 
 her table-cloths; and if John Wesley, and his 
 brothers and sisters, had learned at six months 
 old to cry softly and to fear the rod, so did all the 
 little Wellses learn to eat their bread and milk 
 without spilling, in the shuddering sensation of a 
 whipping. 
 
 " She was a clever woman!" avowed many a 
 man to his less exact wife ; " an incomparably 
 clever woman! " Poor Mr. Wells, however, never 
 had commended her so warmly. He had had bad 
 health, and was of a nervous, timid temper; and, 
 after he had worn a flannel night-cap by the fire 
 for upwards of three years, and had learned to be 
 patient, even in witnessing the rigid discipline to 
 which his, children were subjected, he took to his 
 bed, and in a few months was wrapped in a flannel 
 shroud and carried to his last home. 
 
 "Poor Wells!" his wife would say, "I don't 
 know what would have come of me and the 
 children, if I had not kept things together! and I 
 am sure I have nothing to charge myself with as 
 regards him. I never let him have the trouble of 
 looking after even a shoe-tie ; nor would I let the 
 children racket about to disturb him. I have 
 nothing to reproach myself with as regards him, 
 and that's a comfort!" 
 
 Comfort came easily to the widow. " There was
 
 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAm's YOUNG LADIES, li 
 
 nothing like employment," she said, " for curing 
 grief; and, now that she had seven fatherless 
 children to care for, it behoved her to keep her 
 senses about her." 
 
 What a managing woman she was ! Every 
 pair of old stockings was cut into socks for the 
 lesser children ; not a gown was put away till it 
 had been turned and turned again, and dyed after 
 all. There Avas no end to the patching, and 
 darning, and mending of old clothes. Uncostly 
 substitutes for everything that cost money, were 
 in request. , Every scrap of paper was hoarded 
 up, and cut into strips for paper pillows ; and 
 even a paper carpet was made, to save the common 
 Kidderminster: and when poor Rebecca, who, at 
 the time of her father's death, was fourteen, had 
 completed her task-work of mending and making, 
 of dusting and putting by, and would take a little 
 pastime of her own, she w-as invariably asked by 
 her mother " what she was idling for?" and bade 
 to "go on with that knitting," or to "fetch the 
 patchwork basket; for no good ever came oi 
 folding the hands together!" 
 
 What made Rebecca's fate particularly hard 
 was, that she possessed her father's temperament, 
 and was naturally of a quiet, sensitive turn of 
 mind ; upon which the bustling, unwearying dis- 
 position of her mother operated like the working 
 of a file. She had, unfortunately for herself, a 
 turn for ])oetry ; carried a book of poems always 
 in her pofket, which she read and studied in 
 secret. Never did miser keep his golden treasures 
 more jeal -usly under lock and key than did she 
 keep certuiu " addresses to the moon," " odes to 
 
 c
 
 12 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAm's YOUNG LADIES. 
 
 melancholy," and " love elegies," of her own com- 
 posing, from the knowledge of her mother. Some- 
 times they were hidden under her linen, in the 
 farthest recesses of her chest of drawers ; and 
 sometimes even between the mattress and sacking of 
 her bed : but as her mother, like all managers, was 
 in the habit of paying visits, at uncertain periods, 
 tG every drawer and box in the house, and turned 
 over mattresses and feather-beds also, to see that 
 all was clean and in right order, the poor girl was 
 in a state of constant excitement, lest these pre- 
 cious labours of her brain should meet the eye of 
 her mother, which was more prying than that cf 
 Argus, and more severe than that of Zoilus. 
 
 In process of time Mrs. Wells bestowed upon 
 herself a second mate — Mr. Hackett, the rich 
 grazier, of whom we have before spoken. This 
 circumstance in some degree bettered the con- 
 dition of poor Rebecca; not that her step-father 
 was at all addicted to poetry himself, or could 
 have sympathized with the morbid sensibilities of 
 her nature ; but Mr. Hackett was accustomed to 
 the sight of fat, sleek, and comfortable cattle, and 
 the anxious, harassed looks of Rebecca quite 
 troubled him. He declared that " there was no 
 necessity for his wife, or her children, to slave 
 themselves as they did to save a penny, for they 
 had plenty, and so had he ; and he would put an 
 end to it!" He accordingly forbade any more 
 old gowns to be dyed; put a paper pillow on the 
 back of the fire ; and declared that " Becky 
 should no longer sit moping over patchwork, but 
 should go for a couple of years to a ' finishing 
 school,' and learn to enjoy herself!"
 
 TWO OF MISS WYNDHAVl's YOUNG LADIES 13 
 
 Mr. Hackett was not a timid man, like poor 
 Mr. Wells ; he had a loud voice, and a loud laugh ; 
 and, occasionally, could be vehemently angry, 
 especially if anybody opposed his wishes; so his 
 wife, judging that retreat was the better part of 
 valour in all contests matrimonial, at least, made 
 a merit of necessity, and turned over the Morning 
 Post newspaper, for school-advertisements, since 
 her husband allowed her the choice of a school 
 for her own daughter. 
 
 Why she chose jMiss Wyndham's Establishment, 
 in preference to the hundred and fifty other 
 scho(.ls, advertisements of which met her eye at 
 the same time, is not for us to say ; for Wyndham 
 House had no especial claim to superior cheapness, 
 nor otherwise recommended itself to the eye of a 
 manager, unless it were, that it professed to 
 instruct its pupils in a greater variety of know- 
 ledge, and thus seemed to give more for the 
 money. However, to Wyndham House it was 
 decided that Miss Wells should be sent; and again 
 the more liberal spirit of the step-father befriended 
 her. He insisted upon her having a sufficient ;md 
 respectable wardrobe, minus all her former mended 
 garments and flyed frocks ; and poor R.ebecca felt 
 wonderfully grateful. But, to have obtained the full- 
 ness of Rebecca's gratitude, her father should have 
 allowed her to remain at home, and have ensured 
 her there the uninterrupted indulgence of her poetic 
 sensibilities. She had a shrinking dread of new 
 faces ; and, to go to a school of which she only 
 knew the name, which was seventy miles from 
 her own home, was as fearful as transportation. 
 There was no one but a young woman employed
 
 14 'SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 in the family as seamstress — an unheard-of thing 
 before the days of Mr. Hackett — and who had won 
 her heart by repeating Alcanza and Zaida, as they 
 sat together one day at work, to whom she could 
 unbosom her grief. 
 
 But the time at length came, when all her new 
 clothes were made and packed up, and when, to 
 use her own phrase, she was to be severed from 
 all she loved ; and then, weeping till her eyes were 
 red, and then washing her face to remove the 
 effects of weeping, she found herself seated in the 
 large gig beside her step-father, with one of her 
 brothers between them, and her black leather 
 trunk strapped on behind, on her way to Wynd- 
 ham House. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Three days of inconsolable weeping ushered in 
 Rebecca Wells's school campaign. For the firSt 
 day her lessons were remitted, and she was allowed 
 to retire to bed as soon as tea was over — " a great 
 favour," Miss Wyndham assured her, adding, in an 
 audible sotto voce, that she " had never seen such 
 a fright as that girl, with her red eyes and bleared 
 countenance."* 
 
 No way consoled by this disparaging observa- 
 tion, Rebecca sate down at the foot of the bed, 
 
 * Miss Wyndham and her Establishment, it must be 
 remembered, existed fifty years ago: we cannot believe a 
 lady of ilie present day would violate good feeling and good 
 breeding to an equal extent.
 
 SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP. ]A 
 
 and cried more than ever ; and so she might have 
 sate and cried all night, had she not shrvmk from 
 encountering the curious eyes of the j'oung ladies, 
 which, to her, seemed much like running the 
 gantlet among savage Indians. She therefore 
 slowly undressed herself, and, having fortunately 
 been informed which among the eight beds that 
 filled this room, was half designed for her use, 
 crept into it, and, with heavy sighs and hysterical 
 sobs, laid her head upon the hard bolster. 
 
 The secofid day was no better than the first; 
 nav, in reality it was worse, for lessons had to be 
 learned and, said; and it seemed to her excited 
 mind as if all the school business was suspended 
 to listen to her agitated voice. The third day was 
 worse than the second, for her head ached vio- 
 lently, and she perceived that she was openly 
 ridiculed. In the evening she was again permitted 
 to retire early to bed, with the comfortable as- 
 surance, that in the morning she must take a dose 
 of medicine to remove her head-ache. 
 
 She had hitherto slept alone, as her destined 
 bedfellow had not arrived — a certain jNIiss Gibson, 
 of whom much was said, but nothing favourable, 
 and of whom she had conceived dislike and dread. 
 At bed-time, when the young ladies entered the 
 chamber, the first word she heard in the chamber- 
 whisper, was the name of Miss Gibson, and a 
 strange voice in reply. Miss Gibson had then 
 arrived. She shrunk into the smallest possible 
 space in bed, and pretended to be asleep. Not a 
 word passed between them ; and, from pretending 
 to be asleep, she at length sunk into real slumber, 
 and was woke next morning by her companion. 
 
 c2
 
 16 SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 lightly raising her head on the bolster, and settling 
 herself so as to throw the light of the window, 
 near which their bed stood, upon the pages of a 
 book she was reading. Rebecca still counterfeited 
 sleep, and then cautiously surveyed her com- 
 panion. She was a round-faced girl with a dark 
 complexion, and eyes that appeared to be large 
 and dark, but the lids and lashes of which she 
 could only yet see; but the book she was reading 
 was poetry. 
 
 What a joyful circumstance! Miss Gibson, 
 the dreaded bedfellow, then was fond of poetry — 
 perhaps wrote poetry ! Rebecca remembered her 
 own compositions, hidden under the bed from the 
 eyes of her mother; she remembered how she had 
 carried a copy of Waller's Poems and Hammond's 
 Love Elegies in her pocket for weeks, reading a 
 secret page now and then. It v/as wonderful 
 how all the annoyances and vexations of her home 
 rose up at once before her. School, with the 
 poeticj.l Miss Gibson for a bedfellow, seemed 
 endurable ; and, with a palpitating heart, she opened 
 her eyes wide, and fixed them on her companion 
 in a sort of desperation to know what her fate 
 would be. Their eyes met ; and, to use their own 
 phrase, their souls melted into one at the first 
 glance. 
 
 It was the Epistle of Eloisa to Abelard that 
 Miss Gibson was reading : from that moment they 
 were sworn friends. 
 
 Who does not know how romantic school girls 
 are in their friendships. Our Sarah and Rebecca 
 were the most romantic of school girls. They 
 copied out in little books every encomium on
 
 SCHOOL FRIENtteHIP. 17 
 
 friendship; the more extravagant the better. 
 They exchanged locks of hair, tied with true-love 
 knots of blue silk, and wore them round their 
 necks. They confided profound secrets to each 
 other; they invented a secret way of .conversing, 
 and new characters in which they wrote to each 
 other, not a day passing in which sundry little 
 notes were not slipped into each other's hands, 
 with an air of most interesting mystery. This 
 exclusiveness made them greatly disliked by their 
 schoolfellows; but that very dislike was only an 
 additional bond of union — they endured persecu- 
 tion for each ether's sake. 
 
 One young lady, however, the former half-year's 
 friend of Sarah Gibson, and a day scholar, was 
 admitted into the porch of the temple of friend- 
 ship — this was the Anne \Yard of whom Miss 
 Gibson spoke in tlie letter we have already given. 
 As a day scholar, Anne Ward was a very conve- 
 nient person. She made purchases for them in the 
 town ; obtained books for them secretly from the 
 circulating library, and promised to put Miss 
 Wells's letters in the post-office, and receive the 
 answers under cover to herself, when the half-year 
 was ended wliich was to be the period of Miss 
 Gibson's scliool life. 
 
 It will readily be believed that names so unro- 
 man tic and unpoetical as Sarah and Rebecca, 
 would not suit the elevated tastes of these young 
 ladies. One of the first acts of their friendship, 
 therefore, was to select names more in accordance 
 with their notions, and which would sound well 
 in their o])istolary intercourse. Amanda, and 
 Delia, and Sophonisba, and Sigismunda, and Jesse,
 
 18 SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 weie duly thought of, and tried even with such 
 tests as "" my sweet Amanda;" " Delia, sister of 
 my soul;" " my gentle Sophonisba;" "the ami- 
 able Sigismunda;" " the too-sensitive Jesse;" 
 but, none of them exactly coming up to the mark, 
 for two weeks Rebecca Wells bore the name of 
 Sappho, and Sarah Gibson of Eloisa; but these 
 were, in the end, abandoned for those of Elvira and 
 Miranda, taken, we believe, from Mrs. Rowe's 
 " Letters from the Dead to the Living;" a volume 
 wonderfully admired by them, particularly where 
 any ghostly correspondent expatiates on the eter- 
 nity and tenderness of friendship. 
 
 This extravagant friendship did not, as might 
 have been expected, die either a speedy natural 
 death, or gradually fade away of itself; on the 
 contrary, after five or six years we find the same 
 style of letters passing between them; one of 
 which, being of more than ordinary importance, 
 we must be "allowed to lay before our readers ; yety, 
 before we do so, a word or two must be permitted 
 on the states of their respective families. 
 
 Mr. Gibson, the rich grocer, had had during 
 three years many losses in trade, and many people 
 began to suspect that he Avas not quite a& rich as 
 had been imagined. He had, moreover, been visited 
 by an apoplectic fit, and w\a3 thought to be gra- 
 dually breaking. He had taken his foreman into 
 partnership, and, people imagined, intended to 
 marry him to his daughter. Cousin Judith 
 counselled such a step, as one of convenience and 
 prudence ; but the high-spirited Miranda had not 
 spent her youth in romantic visions, to end by 
 becoming the wife of a grocer! She looked
 
 SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP. 19 
 
 haughty and indignant at the proposal, and Loth 
 her father and Cousin Judith were dumb-foundered 
 with wonder as to what was come of lier senses. 
 Miss Gibson, however, spite of the suggested idea 
 that her father's purse was not as full as it had 
 been, vowed that she would marry nothing less 
 than a professional man. She studied the fashions 
 in the pocket-books and newspapers; dressed 
 expensively ; carried her head loftily, both lite- 
 rally and metaphorically ; attended the assize- 
 balls and rat;es, and looked out for a husband of 
 her own choosing. 
 
 Rebecca Wells, otherwise " the gentle Elvira," 
 on her half-yearly returns home had found things 
 gradually assuming a different, and certainly not 
 a more comfortable character. When she left 
 school she had ceased to write poetry — her sensi- 
 bilities found an outlet in the letters she penned 
 to her beloved Miranda; but she had not become 
 less romantic nor sentimental than formerly. At 
 home, however, although things were gradually 
 changed, there was still no sympathy for romance 
 or sentiment; Mr. Hackett had now become per- 
 fectly lord of the ascendant; yet, notwithstanding 
 this, his wife — not a whit less careful and exact 
 than formerly — made never-ending efforts to re- 
 gain her power. The house was as elaborately 
 clean as ever; but then Mr. Hackett chose to 
 make it dirty, to prove that he was master of his 
 own establishment. Oh, how unlike the former 
 good man, who dared hardly to say that his soul 
 was his own. Mr. Hackett even smoked in the 
 best parlour! 
 
 Poor Rebecca, she had cried for three whole
 
 20 SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 days when she first went to school ; she had quite 
 as good reason to cry for three likewise, on hei 
 final return liome. She soon found how cheerless 
 was the prospect before her ; year after year went 
 on, and it was no better. Her own brothers and 
 sisters, it is true, were all at home with her; but 
 they were neither loveable nor kindly affectionate 
 among themselves. Love had never been a ruling 
 sentiment of the household; it had been a go- 
 vernment of force and fear; and, now that they 
 saw the power of her who had hitherto been the 
 domestic tyrant wavering, each thought there was 
 a chance for him or for her, and all were at strife 
 together; while Rebecca, the only gentle and 
 malleable one of the family, was by turns the 
 confidant and slave of all. 
 
 It was, indeed, a miserable home ; and, toadd to 
 its other discomforts, a young family of Hacketts 
 was springing up, as boisterous, even in their 
 infancy, as their father. No wonder was it, there- 
 fore, that Rebecca felt eternally grateful to her 
 friend for two invitations to Gloucester, for a 
 month each time. The first visit, however, was cut 
 suddenly short by a summons home during the 
 first week, on account of her step-father having 
 been thrown from his horse, and her mother being 
 laid up with a bilious attack. The second, how- 
 ever, was move fortunate, and the month's visit ex- 
 tended itself to two months. Those two months 
 were bright spots in the desert of her life. They 
 were heaven, she averred; they were elysium! 
 they were paradise ! There was no end to the 
 epithets that were bestowed upon them. There 
 was no end either to the closettings and confiden-
 
 SCHOOL FRIENDSHIP. 21 
 
 lial communings of the two friends, which con- 
 tinued through every day of the two months, yet 
 were as mysterious and as important on the last 
 day as on the first. 
 
 The cruel design of marrying the " sweet 
 Miranda" to the young grocer was, of course, a 
 fertile topic of conversation. Rebecca thought in 
 her inmost mind, but she did not even confide it 
 to her friend, that, were the young grocer to make 
 proposals for her hand, she should not hesitate a 
 moment in "accepting; but assuredly it was no 
 match for ^Miranda, her sweet friend, for whom 
 no peer in the land were too good. 
 
 Worthy Mr. Gibson, and Cousin Judith, and 
 even Mr. Samford, the young grocer himself, 
 looked frowningly on Rebecca, who, they judged 
 rightly, had strengthened Sarah's opposition to 
 their v.ishes; but Sarah was too important and 
 authoritative a person in her father's house, not 
 to have her own way. Her visit, therefore, was 
 protracted week after week. It was in vain that 
 she was willing to gain Mr. Samford's good 
 opinion by many a little innocent civility; the 
 young man was as obdurate as a stone, and poor 
 Rebecca, at the end of the tenth week, returned 
 without any prospects in life, to the comfortless 
 home of her childhood. 
 
 Having premised thus nuich, we will give a 
 letter, written by Miss Gibson to her friend, a 
 full twelvemonth after the happy visit we have 
 just described; but, as it announces a most im- 
 portant event, it is quite worthy to open a new 
 chapter.
 
 22 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A WEDDING. 
 MISS GIBSON TO MISS WELLS. 
 
 Gloucester, March 24, 1802. 
 I HAVE not my sweet Elvira at hand, or I should 
 fiy to her at this moment, and with blissful tears 
 and crimson blushes pour out to her the secret of 
 my full lieart; but 
 
 Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid. 
 Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid ; 
 They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires, 
 Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires; 
 The virgin's wish without her fears impart, 
 Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart, 
 , Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul. 
 And waft a sigh from Indus to the pole. 
 
 Therefore, I seize upon the ready pen, my own 
 Elvira, and despatch "a paper messenger of love," 
 to bid your generous heart rejoice with me. Yes, 
 my sweet friend, rejoice with me, for I am su- 
 premely happy ! 
 
 But why should I defraud your amiable bosom 
 by concealing aught from you? Know then, my 
 sweet friend, that your Miranda is beloved! Is 
 beloved by — you guess whom ! Oh, my Elvira, 
 Mr. Browne revealed his sentiments towards your 
 friend last evening. But you are impatient to 
 know all, and you have a right to know it — you 
 who have held the key of my heart so long. 
 
 Listen, then, and if I can be calm, I will pen
 
 A WU'DING. 23 
 
 down a sober narrative. In my last I told you 
 that the dear assize-ball was approaching. How 
 little did I tb:rk that very baH was to seal my 
 fate ! You know how interesting the assize-ball 
 would be to me-, for it was there we first met — 
 this very time last year. 1 went with Mrs. Cot- 
 terel Warwick; we were a party of five — Adeliza 
 Jemima, Mr. Foster, Mr. Cotterel Warwick, and 
 myself. I went in high spirits, for my heart beat 
 with a strong emotion at the very name of the 
 assize-ball. TTou remember my description of 
 his person last year; he looked even more fasci- 
 nating this year than last. He is, as I then told 
 you, a young solicitor, of Woodburn in Cheshire. 
 My father, who thinks a deal of pounds, shillings, 
 and pence, is quite satisfied. What! is it come 
 to that? I hear you say. Yes, ray sweet love, it 
 is. My father and he had a closetting this morn- 
 ing. I could not help peeping in at the key-hole ; 
 but I was sure all would go on right. Cousin 
 Judith, poor soul, is angry — I am sure she is, for 
 I know lier spiteful eyes so well — that I have got 
 a lover of my own choosing, and that Samford 
 may go hang! 
 
 But I must tell you, for I know your dear little 
 tieart will be unsatisfied, if I do not give you all 
 particulars, how I was dressed at the ball, and 
 how my dear Browne was dressed also. I had 
 on a Avliite poplin skirt and green satin body, 
 and a v, r(.;ith of ivy leaves in my hair. I know 
 I was looking my very best, for, the moment I 
 entered the room, he came up to me, and com- 
 plimented me on my looks. You know that we 
 had met last year, and had danced together then, so 
 
 D
 
 1^4 A WEDDING. 
 
 that we were old acquaintance ; and he said some 
 things, which I could not misunderstand, about 
 a vacuum of soul which had endured twelve 
 months. But oh, if you could only hear how 
 delightfully he pays a compliment! I never 
 heard anybody speak so well before; and, do 
 you know, he was complimented by the judge, in 
 open court, for the way in which he gave his 
 evidence about some law business. He is so 
 clever! and, to my taste, so handsome! I grant 
 that he is not a giant in size: but then, you 
 know, I never admired giants. No Samfords for 
 me ! Apropos of Samford : I must tell you some- 
 thing about him before I have done; but I must 
 not omit to tell you how Browne was dressed. 
 He had on a blue coat, white waistcoat, and black 
 pantaloons; there is quite a style about him. I 
 never was at such a delightful ball ; but then, you 
 will say, even a desert with love would be a para- 
 dise! Ah! I know your sentim.ents — do I not? 
 
 And now, my sweet friend, are you not filled 
 with envy of my great happiness? No; you are 
 too amiable — too generous to be envious! But I 
 must claim the fulfilment of an old promise from 
 you, that you will be my bridesmaid, and that 
 you will go with me to Woodburn. What a hap- 
 piness to have the sister of my soul with me, 
 under my own roof, and that the home of my 
 dear Browne! Now, you will not be faithless 
 about the old promise. 
 
 I told hitu about you, and that he must not be 
 jealous, if I give him only half my heart. I'll 
 tell you what he said — " Whoever you love comes 
 recommended by the sweetest claim to my heart!"
 
 A WEDDING. 25 
 
 Was it not prettily said? and he laid his hand on 
 his heart. I was sure he felt it. You would 
 doat upon him. 
 
 You must not let there be any difficulty about 
 vour being my bridesmaid ; it is an old promise, 
 and I shall not let you off. I will write to Mr. 
 and Mrs. Hackett about it, if you like, for we 
 shall be married in the autumn; he declares he 
 will not wait any longer. Write to me by return 
 of post, for he leaves to-morrow, and I shall be 
 wretched when he is gone. Adieu, my sweet 
 Elvira, and believe me ever your own faithful and 
 most happy 
 
 Miranda. 
 
 P.S. — But I have forgotten to tell you about 
 Samford. They say he pays his addresses to 
 femima Warwick ; and, I am sure, if he do she 
 will have him, for she is made for a tradesman's 
 wife. She is a pattern-person, in Cousin Judith's 
 eyes. 
 
 1 told Browne what were our names ; he 
 thought them very pretty, but persisted in calling 
 me Amanda, because it had something to do with 
 love. Was not that a pretty way of compli- 
 menting? 
 
 The " sweet Elvira" did unquestionably feel 
 her pulse quicken when she read of lier friend's 
 new prospects. Whether, however, her heart was 
 filled with unalloyed happiness is more than we 
 can say; something like the feeling that all good 
 fell to the lot of the happy IMiranda, while she had 
 no joy in which to bless herself, crossed her mind.
 
 26 A WEDDING. 
 
 Miranda was a whole year younger than herself 
 and had already refused a lover whom she would 
 gladly have accepted, and was now about to be 
 united to the very man, who, if it had been given 
 her to choose, she would have selected from all 
 the world. Poor Rebecca! she felt as if her lot 
 was all of a piece. She certainly was made any- 
 thing but happy by her friend's letter. Still there 
 was, after all, a bright side which, after the first 
 influence of the letter had ceased, she could by 
 no means pass over; " her own Miranda' was a 
 faithful friend, who, in the midst of all this new 
 happiness, did not forget her. The old bridesmaid- 
 promise was claimed ; and, to Rebecca, whose 
 home was so uninviting, any prospect of change, 
 and especially of a visit which promised to resemble 
 the elysium of ten weeks, was like a prospect into 
 a golden paradise. " And who knows,"' whispered 
 the heart of Rebecca, "but my fate may unfold 
 itself at Woodburn?" She glanced at the mirror 
 before her, v/ith a sentiment natural to every 
 . female heart, because founded on the desire to 
 please and to be loved; she saw the face and form 
 she had seen thousands of times before, and felt 
 the comfortable assurance that the face was pass- 
 ingly agreeable, and the form good. Why, then, 
 should she not please? — why should not she meet 
 with some .Tames Browne of her own, as well 
 as her friend? There was a delightful flutter 
 in her spirits at once ; she saw herself, as the 
 bridesmaid, well-dressed and cheerful — for she 
 could be cheerful, or sentimental, for either 
 character suited her — an object of interest and 
 curiosity, and to the single even more interesting
 
 A WEDDING. 27 
 
 than the bride. She felt at once as if a happy 
 destiny lay before her; the little town of Wood- 
 burn, the existence of which she had hardly been 
 aware of before, seemed big with her fate ; and, 
 ten minutes after, she was turning over tlie old 
 school-books in her closet, to find the Gazetteer, 
 that she might read what was said of so interesting 
 a town. She possessed herself of the important 
 knowledge, that Woodhurn stood on ihs river, over 
 which it had a bridge of seven arches; that its 
 population was 8000, without any staple manu- 
 factures that it had two fairs in the year, and its 
 market was held on the Wednesday. It was but 
 little, but it was enough. Wood burn lay before 
 lier in her life's future, like the goal towards which 
 her destinies pointed. 
 
 A moment's cloud came over her spirit, in the 
 question, Would her mother and step-father con- 
 sent to the visit? They might oppose it; it was 
 very prol)al)]e they would; but she resolved with 
 herself, that in that case she would for ever take 
 the law into her own hands. She was now mistress 
 of the income of her own little fortune, and, though 
 she had not hitherto acted in opposition to the 
 heads of tbe family, she determined on this occa- 
 sion, which was so interesting, and might be so 
 momentous, to please herself, and ask favour from 
 no one. 
 
 We need not give her reply to her amiable 
 Miranda : it was such as may readily be imagined — 
 full of sentiment and poetic flights, and professions 
 of the most eternal friendship ; but we will go on 
 to the autumn, to the time fixed for the wedding. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hackett threw no insuperable 
 
 j)2
 
 28 A WEDDING. 
 
 impediment in the vray of Rebecca's visit, so that 
 no heroism on her part seemed likely to be re- 
 quired ; nor did he fall from his horse and break his 
 leg, nor did she find herself invalided, or likely to 
 be so, by a bilious attack ; so that Rebecca looked 
 on in wonder at the facility of things. The day 
 had been fixed upon, a month before, for her 
 journey; and on that very day, she was conveyed 
 away in the coach with a large pormaiUeau of 
 well-conditioned clothes, sufficient of themselves 
 to stand a long visit; and sundry five and ten 
 pound bills in her pocket-book beside, wherewith 
 to buy bridesmaid apparel, and to figure as a 
 young lady of substance, Rebecca, seeing that 
 the coach did not break down, nor other misad- 
 ventures occur during the two first stages of her 
 journey, began to have pleasant hopes that for- 
 tune's wheel was taking a turn in her favour. She 
 almost questioned whether, after all, she might 
 not do as well as her friend ; and, the nearer she 
 came to Gloucester, the better was she j)leased 
 that she and Mr. Samford were only just on 
 speaking terms. 
 
 The meeting of the friends was the most rap- 
 turous in the world ; there was no end to the 
 kissings, and the hand-shakings, for they had not 
 met for near two years ; and now, a blissful event 
 v;as about to unite them closer than ever. It 
 Seemed like the highest felicity of human existence, 
 and they blessed themselves because they were 
 si;ch a pair of devoted friends. 
 
 The bridal habiliments were now all prepared ; 
 for, while we have been writing of friendship, three 
 weeks have been passing on, in which milliners and
 
 A WEDDING. ^9 
 
 dress-makers have been hard at work. And now 
 the garments of the bride-elect lay opened out on 
 one bed in the double-bedded room, and those 
 of the bridesmaid-elect on the other: gowns, 
 scarfs, veils, gloves, and bonnets — the bridesmaid's 
 just one degree inferior to the bride's. 
 
 " Well, it will be your turn next, my sweet 
 girl," said Sarah Gibson, while they were surveying, 
 with ineffable pleasure, all the silken pomp that lay 
 before them ; and she kissed her as she spoke. 
 
 Rebecca shook her head, and said she did not 
 know when ; but she wished in her heart — which 
 was a most natural and proper wish at such a time 
 — " that it might, and that soon too!" 
 
 The two young ladies then went into the back 
 parlour, where Mr. Gibson sate in his high-backed 
 leather chair, looking very well pleased, and 
 Cousin Judith was busied about tea, leaving all 
 the glory of the next day's garments to be sur- 
 veyed by the cook and oharwoman, who, with 
 their hands folded in their aprons, stole in quietly, 
 f.o take a leisurely survey not only of them, but of 
 the two great bride-cakes which stood on " the 
 great tea-tray" on the chest of drawers, and which 
 were to be cut up in the evening. 
 
 Tea was delayed an hour after the usual time, 
 to wait the arrival of the coach by which the hus- 
 band-elect was expected. He came ; and Rebecca, 
 who, from her friend's description, expected at 
 least an Apollo in brown clothes, was greatly 
 disappointed at liis appearance — a short, mean- 
 looking young man, with a sallow complexion, 
 and thin drab hair. He might be professional i 
 he was, no doubt, a prosperous and very clever
 
 so A WEDDING. 
 
 4 
 
 lawyer — one to elicit compliments from the judge 
 on the bench — but he was not quite such as her 
 excited imagination expected: why, in point of 
 exterior, Samford, with his shop-apron wound 
 round his body, was more of a man to look at. 
 
 All these, however, were observations to be 
 thought, not to be spoken. The bride-elect, it 
 was evident, saw nothing to object to : he called 
 her his " sweet Amanda;" begged to salute her 
 friend, " the amiable Elvira;" laid his hand upon 
 his heart, and bowed very low, evidently possessed 
 with the idea of being a most accomplished person. 
 
 The wedding-morning rose with all that bril- 
 liancy peculiar to autumnal mornings. That old 
 street of Gloucester in which Mr. Gibson's house 
 stood, with its picturesque gables and projecting 
 porches, seemed to wear quite a holiday aspect. 
 
 Rebecca, at seven o'clock, half-opened her 
 window curtains, and glanced up the street and 
 down ; and, as she saw the strong lights and 
 shadows that stretched athwart the narrow street, 
 and the brilliant atmosphere, all one burst of 
 dewy sunshine, felt as if it were the most beauti- 
 ful sight she had ever seen, and ran to her friend's 
 bed-side, with the announcement that " Nature 
 herself was wearing her brightest aspect, in honour 
 of her nuptials." 
 
 The youngest apprentice, the porter, and the 
 errand-boy, had been up and busy since before day- 
 light, in the business-regions of the house. The 
 brass-mouldings of the shop-windows, Mr. Sam- 
 ford's n.odern innovation, polished to their utmost, 
 were now dazzling the eyes of the early passers- 
 by, as the slant rays of the sun were reflected in
 
 A WEDDING. 31 
 
 them. The shop-windows, emptied over night, 
 had been cleaned and rubbed up ; and all the 
 show-goods; japanned tea- cheats ; nodding man- 
 darins ; boxes of raisins ; baskets of figs ; and 
 black Indians, smoking long pipes; with little 
 cones of sample-sugar, were all newly and neatly 
 arranged. The shop-floor had been carefully swept 
 and watered ; the flags before the whole length of 
 the front, and even many yards beyond, on either 
 hand, had been swept and watered likewise ; the 
 knocker oT the street-door was polished to an 
 extraordinary lustre ; and the door-step was as 
 white as hands could make it. 
 
 Anybody, with half an eye, who had never 
 heard of Mr. Gibson in all their life, might have 
 known, on passing the house that morning, that 
 something important was about to take place. 
 Mr. Samford, however, although his proper do- 
 main, the shop, was thus wearing its best exterior, 
 seemed himself in no holiday humour. He stood 
 with his every-day coat on, and his apron ore 
 him, weighing up pounds and half-pounds ui raw 
 sugar, with his eyes occupied by his employment, 
 as though nothing beside in the whole world was 
 worth a grown man's attention. 
 
 At half-past eight o'clock, idle men and women 
 might be seen standing in little groups and knots, 
 within sight of the grocer's house; the tanner's 
 men were standing at the tan-yard gate, with 
 their sleeves rolled up above their elbows, and 
 with them stood the two dyers from over the 
 way ; while three carpenters, carrying deal planks, 
 joined them also, thinking it would not be long 
 before they went to church, especially asi in
 
 32 A WEDDING. 
 
 passing the Black Bull, they had seen the two 
 chaises out, and one pair of horses ; and Jack, 
 the ostler, had said that " the other pair would be 
 out in a jiffy." The milliner's young women, 
 who, on this morning, had been punctual to their 
 time, and who thought it fortunate that the work- 
 room window had such a good view, had taken 
 down the blinds, and sat down on the look-out, 
 ready to jump up at the first moment. The 
 barber's shop was full of people, all waiting to be 
 shaved, but each refusing to submit to the opera- 
 tion, lest his chin should be veiled in suds at the 
 critical moment. There was not a servant within 
 view of the Gibsons, who had not found some 
 excuse to be up stairs, and, with duster in hand, 
 under pretence of being very busy, came ever and 
 anon to the windows; while others, with more 
 leisure or less conscience, leaned out, resting 
 their arms on the stone window-sills. There 
 were women, and big boys, standing with jugs 
 and buckets about the pump, all deferring to 
 move off, till they had seen Miss Gibson go to be 
 married. 
 
 At a quarter before nine, the milliner's young 
 women all rushed to the windows, for one of 
 them had given information that the bride was 
 dressed, for she had seen her, in bonnet and veil, 
 pass the bed-room window: she knew the bonnet, 
 for she had helped to make it. " And now, 
 there she was again!" And then came a disputa- 
 tion as to whether it was the bride or the bride's- 
 maid; whether her bonnet had orange flowers in 
 it, or white ribbon: the fair milliners were just 
 getting vehement on this important topic, when a
 
 A WEDDING. 33 
 
 new object diverted all attention — a chaise from 
 the Black Bull, with white horses, dashed up to 
 the hnase-door — and the next moment, as if by 
 magic, four young girls in white, and with baskets 
 of flowers in their hands, stood, two on each side, 
 between the steps of the chaise and the house- 
 door. The house-door was thrown open with a 
 loud sound ; another chaise then dashed up in the 
 rear ; the bride, habited in white from head to 
 foot, leaning on her father's arm, came forth ; the 
 young girls scattered their flowers — by the bye, 
 this was a device of Rebecca's ; — the chaise moved 
 off; the second was in its place in an instant; as 
 instantly the bridegroom and bridesmaid had 
 entered it, and the two chaises rattled off down 
 the street, across the market-place, and up to the 
 church-gate, drawing a hundred admiring eyes 
 after them. 
 
 The tanners and the dyers returned to their 
 respective places; the carpenters carried off" their 
 deal planks; the young milliners sat down to 
 await the rettirn; the barber's customers sat down 
 to be shaved; and Mr. Samford went into the 
 back parlour to take his breakfast with the appren- 
 tices; while Mrs. Judith was busied with all her 
 handmaidens, in preparing the grand breakfast 
 up stairs, that all might be ready when the hajpy 
 people returned from church.
 
 84 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ANOTHER WEDDING. 
 
 There is something very interesting to us in a 
 wedding. From that of the Queen of England, 
 the lace of whose marriage-dress cost a thousand 
 pounds, down to that of the poor servant girl who 
 leaves her place with her last year's wages inher 
 pocket, and all her worldly goods contained in a 
 papered trunk, to be married to her fellow-servant; 
 ay, even down to the poor cottagers, who have 
 scraped together five pounds wherewith to furnish 
 their cottage, and begin life with a single groat 
 between them ; still, as a crisis in human life, as 
 the hinge upon which the future momentously 
 turns for good or for evil, for happiness or for 
 misery, a wedding is always interesting. We 
 hope, therefore, our readers will not think all the 
 little detail which we have given in our last chapter 
 as unimportant, nor yet will be undesirous of 
 knowing how, as is not unfrequently the case, one 
 wedding brought about another. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Browne spent, not a honeymoon, 
 but a honey-week, in the pleasant neighbourhood 
 of Warwick. It was before the days of the 
 Waverly Novels ; still it was quite customary, if 
 ot fashionable, to visit the ruins of Kenilworth, 
 as well as to admire the stately castle of Warwick 
 and its fine pictures. It is generally understood, 
 that nothing is so uninteresting as to be the com- 
 panion of a new-married couple. TJiey are so 
 taken up by each other, as to have neither time noi
 
 ANOTHER WEDDING. 35' 
 
 attention for anybody else; anybody else is, in 
 fact, in their way. But poor Rebecca, glad to 
 have any change from the monotony and annoy- 
 ances of her home, and filled with hopes of all 
 kind and pleasant visions for herself, thought the 
 six days of the honey-week almost as delightful 
 as the bride thought them herself. JMoreover, 
 from being accustomed to him and his little pcjite 
 civilities, she had come to think Mr. Browne one 
 of the most_ delightful of men, and to marvel at 
 her own want of taste when first they met. 
 
 Had Rebecca had any other correspondent 
 beside her " sweet Miranda," she would have in- 
 dited long sentimental epistles, in which " Hymen's 
 blissful chains," and other similar figures of speech, 
 would have been conspicuous ; but, as it was, all 
 those flourishes of rhetoric were kept in her own 
 oreast, and she contented herself with knowing 
 that they were a very interesting trio; and with 
 thinking it a thousand pities that all the gay 
 parties, young and old, that they encountered in 
 each day's ramble, did not know who and what 
 they were. 
 
 In a little town like Woodburn it was known in 
 every house, in every street and lane, that Mr. 
 Browne, the lawyer, went the last Wednesday to 
 Gloucester to be married, and would, on the next 
 Thursday evening, bring home his wife. Accord- 
 ingly, everybody was on the look-out; and a very 
 satisfactory account was rendered to those who 
 had not an opportunity of witnessing the arrival 
 of the post-chariot which had been hired for the 
 occasion, even to the smart shade of tlie bride's 
 travelling pelisse, and the fur with which it wat
 
 S6 ANOTHER WEDDING. 
 
 trimmecl. By nine o'clock, not an individual of 
 the town but was apprized of the circumstance, 
 for the ringers had received a couple of guineas, 
 and tlie little church tower rocked with a peal of 
 joyous welcome. 
 
 Mrs. Browne made two discoveries respecting 
 her new position, very soon after she became an 
 inhabitant of Woodburn, which wei-e the first 
 causes of her chagrin. Their house was small, in 
 a bad situation, and only of third or fourth-rate 
 rank, and her husband was by no means the first 
 solicitor of the place : he did not even visit with 
 the grandees of the place; and, ten to one, she 
 would not be called upon by them. She became 
 nervously sensitive, therefore, as to her former 
 connexion with trade, and extremely solicitous 
 that her first appearance should not compromise 
 her claim to the notice of the first people of the 
 neighbourhood. Nobody, however, of superior 
 pretensions made it the rage to visit the bride. 
 Mr. Browne's own acquaintance and friends, and 
 a few clients and their wives, and one or two other 
 families, whose position in society was a sort of 
 debateable ground betAveen the higher and the 
 middle classes, called only to pay them compli- 
 ments on the occasion — to criticise the bride, in 
 fact, while they ate the cake and drank health and 
 happiness to the new-married couple. 
 
 Among Mr. Browne's friends was a Mr. Greg- 
 son, a rheese-factor, a very prosperous young man, 
 who lived in a respectable old house, inherited, 
 with his trade, from his father, and which, with 
 its substantial warehouses, larger even than the 
 house itself, stood in Bridge-street, one of the
 
 ANOTHER WEDDING. 37 
 
 best streets in Woodburn, with a large walled 
 garden behind it. Gregson was unquestionably 
 a man of great respectability; he understood his 
 business, and was no way ashamed of it; he 
 bought more cheese than any other man in the 
 county, and had ready money always at command. 
 There was not a gentleman farmer, for many and 
 many miles round, with whom he was not greatly 
 in favour, both for his own personal qualities, and 
 for his easy circumstances. He was, according 
 to his own account of himself, " a plain, down- 
 right, good sort of fellow, who looked for no better 
 bread than could be made of wheat, and had 
 always a good appetite to give it a relish withal." 
 
 Gregson had been an acquaintance of Browne's, 
 from the very day when he first came as an humble 
 writer to the office of Peake and jMordan, the 
 great solicitors of the place; and, now that Browne, 
 to use an American phrase, was " going a-head," 
 Gregson was no less his friend; for he had a 
 pleasure, he said, in seeing an industrious fellow 
 making his way in the world, 
 
 Gregson looked in at the office on Friday 
 morning, to wish his friend happiness, and was 
 invited to come in and sup with them on Sunday 
 night, quite in a friendly way. IMrs. Browne, now 
 that she was a solicitor's wife, had, as we have 
 already said, in this early stage of her mamedlife, 
 no very serio'is intentions of patronising people in 
 trade, furtlier than by the purchase of their goods; 
 therefore, she held herself somewhat loity when 
 her husband, on Sunday evening, presented to her 
 his friend ; and more especially so, as she was 
 then hoping that all the grandees of the town and
 
 38 ANOTHER WEDDING. 
 
 neigliboiirhood would be thronging the doors 
 during the three following days. 
 
 Gregson was a hale, robust, ruddy-com- 
 plexioned man, on whom good air and exercise, 
 riding to fairs and markets, and looking after a 
 prosperous concern, had bestowed sound health 
 and good spirits. Mrs. Browne declared him to be 
 '• horridly vulgar, and a great bore," and pro- 
 tested that, if lie came often, she would always leave 
 the room. This was the first point of difference 
 between herself and her husband; and, as Rebecca 
 declared, with Mr. Browne, that she thought his 
 friend not only passingly agreeable, but very 
 good-looking, the fair bride grew seriously angry, 
 and that evening closed upon their first disunion. 
 
 Mrs. Browne had made up her mind to dislike 
 Gregson : he was vulgar, and a cheese-factor — 
 she was sure, she said, that he smelt of cheese; 
 and, who would visit them if he were to be seen 
 in their drawing-room, with his hands in his 
 pockets, at the windows, just as if he were at 
 home, and lolling in the chair, and leaning back 
 on its hind legs, as he did, talking so loud and 
 freely all the while — she would not endure it: 
 and, besides, it was right for them to respect their 
 standing in society; there certainly was no need 
 for them to associate with cheese-factors, and such- 
 like people! Such were the arguments she used 
 the next morning at breakfast, when the subject 
 was again introduced. Her husband laughed at 
 her, and talked of Gregson's good heart and full 
 purse ; but the lady had made up her mind, and 
 would not be convinced. Time, however, brings 
 about changes which no arguments ever could;
 
 ANOTHER WEDDING. 30 
 
 and as, spite of all the hopes the lawyer's lady- 
 entertained of the " carriage-people" who would 
 call upon them, a few weeks convinced her that, 
 in this particular, fortune had nothing very tri- 
 umphant in store for her, she began, by degrees, 
 to see less objection to Mr. Gregson,' notwith- 
 standing his unabated spirits, and his free and 
 easy way of sitting in her drawing-room. The 
 very marked attention, too, which he had of late 
 been paying to her dear friend, had some influence 
 on her mind; at all events, Mr. Gregson was, and 
 had been, the accustomed daily visitor for upwards 
 of three weeks; the lady of the house being no 
 way behind the others in kindness of welcome. 
 
 " Well, Browne, what do you think," said she, 
 one morning in the fifth week of their marriage,, 
 "^ of Rebecca's and Mr. Gregson's prodigious 
 civility to each other ? " 
 
 " I think," replied he, " that Gregson has made 
 proposals to her." 
 
 " Has made ! " returned the lady. 
 
 " Yes," replied he, " that he made proposals 
 this very morning: he told me he should." 
 
 " I ought not to be surprised, perhaps," said 
 she; " and yet I must confess that I am, for, 
 someway, I always expected that Rebecca would 
 marry a man of refinement — a real gentleman." 
 
 " He is a good fellow," returned Browne, " and 
 I am sure he is not disagreeable to Rebecca." 
 
 After this little conversation, Mrs. Browne- 
 hastened to her friend, and, according t(: their own 
 phraseology, " threw herself into her arms, and 
 received into her faithful bosom the secret of her 
 soul." 
 
 e2
 
 40 ANOTHER WEDDING 
 
 Rebecca Wells did not quarrel with her fate, 
 because it had given her a lover who was con- 
 nected with trade. Gregson was a man whom it 
 was easy for her to love ; and the happiness and 
 satisfaction she evinced, was infectious through 
 the household. All the old sentimentality was 
 more than renewed, and the two ladies vowed, 
 again and again, " eternal friendship," and be- 
 lieved themselves favourites of the gods. 
 
 Rebecca's visit was prolonged four months, and 
 then she returned home only to make preparations 
 for her wedding, and to be married from the house 
 of her step-fathei.' 
 
 In less than six months from the day of Sarah 
 Gibson's marriage, she was, one certain evening 
 in February, taking a general oversight of the 
 arrangements of everything, from garret to cellar, 
 in the comfortable and well-furnished, though old- 
 fashioned house in Bridge-street, preparatory to 
 the arrival of the bride. Her own and her hus- 
 band's presents of the silver tea and coffee pots, 
 were placed on a conspicuous shelf of the parlour 
 cupboard, with the neatly-folded three-cornered 
 billet of congratulation ; and her mind was all a 
 flutter of the most extravagant and uncalled-for 
 devotion of friendship. " She could defy now," 
 she said to herself, " all the purse-proud, aristo- 
 cratic people, who held themselves as too select 
 and elevated to visit with her — she defied and 
 despised rank — there was nothing in all the world 
 like love ;ind friendship — a dry crust with a friend 
 was better than a feast with those who were in- 
 different to her. She loved her Elvira better 
 than all the world, with the exception of her dear
 
 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 41 
 
 Browiie. Gregson," she said, " was a fine, manly 
 fellow, worthy of her friend — she was proud ol 
 them, and she would show all the world she was 
 so ; and that, although he was a cheese-factor, yet 
 that she considered him a gentleman for all that!" 
 She was quite heroic in her friendship, and re- 
 joiced that there was something which demanded 
 a sacrifice on her part, which would prove the 
 strength of her attachment. 
 
 The bride came. The bells that had rung a 
 merry peal" to welcome Mr. Browne and his wife, 
 sent fortk their metallic voices with a no less 
 merry welcome, announcing to all the gossips of 
 Woodburn, that Mr. and Mrs. Gregson had 
 arrived. Scarcely had the Gregsons time to cast 
 their eyes round the sitting-room, in the cupboard 
 of which they found their friends' presents, and 
 read the note that accompanied them, when Mrs. 
 Browne made her appearance, " being impatient," 
 she said, " to welcome her dear friend to her new 
 home, and to prove the intense delight she felt in 
 witnessing her happiness." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 The same set that had visited ]\Ir. and Mrs. 
 Browne, visited also Mr. and Mrs. Gregson. The 
 two young wives dealt at the same shops, and 
 invariably went shopping together; and, by the 
 same rule, Mrs. Browne always looked in on Mrs. 
 Gregson every Wednesday morning, the first thing 
 after breakfast, on her way to the market, and
 
 42 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 always found Mrs. Gregson, bonnetted and shawled, 
 waiting for her; and the two, followed by their 
 respective maid-servants, basket in hand, pro- 
 gressed slowly in the market, making purchases; 
 and then down again in their way to tlie shambles, 
 only deviating from each other in their respective 
 purchases, so as to suit their husbands' tastes. 
 Gregson preferred gooseberry tart to currant; 
 Browne vice versa. Browne would not give a fig 
 for new potatoes, when he could get pease; Greg- 
 son said, that potatoes, the year round, were better 
 than pease, unless eaten to ducks; so, unless Mrs. 
 Gregson bought ducks, ten to one she would 
 purchase potatoes, while her friend purchased 
 pease to lamb, or veal, or anything else, and 
 so on: an amiable difference this, which just pre- 
 vented the unanimity and uniformity of the two 
 friends growing insipid. There was a story, how- 
 ever, current in Woodburn, but, whether true or 
 false, we cannot vouch, of the two young wives 
 having, in the beginning of their career, insisted 
 upon the tables of their respective houses being 
 furnished with precisely the same dishes as the 
 other, thoughout the year; and that a vigorous 
 rebellion on the part of the two husbands ensued, 
 in which the stronger powers had the victory, as 
 was only right in this case, seeing plain good 
 sense was on their side ; and that, henceforward, 
 the two ladies agreed to make the needful differ- 
 ence in their husbands' tastes, an additional bond 
 of amity between themselves. 
 
 In the important business of dress also, the two 
 husbands exercised a salutary influence. It was 
 all very well, while the one lived at Gloucester,
 
 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 43 
 
 and the other in Craven, and they had nobody to 
 please but themselves, that they should both dress 
 alike — that both should wear the green silk pelisse, 
 and the chip hat, trimmed with green gauze — both 
 wear the blue silk, and the garnet necklaces — -the 
 canary-coloured chambray, or the lavender Nor- 
 wich-crape. They did not think that what suited 
 the one, might not suit the other; for Miss Gibson 
 was d^rk and florid, while Miss Wells was fair 
 and pale; but they were sa'iisfied with a reflec- 
 tion, in tlieir eyes far superior to mere taste, that, 
 at one and the same time, both might be walking 
 out in green pelisses, and with gauze upon their 
 chip hats ; or, seeing company in blue silk, canary- 
 coloured poplin, or lavender Norwich-crape ; but, 
 now that they had the felicity of being dwellers in 
 the same town, this monotony of taste \\ as some- 
 what interrupted ; and beneficially too, by the 
 respective husbands. Gregson could not bear 
 to see his wife in green ; " it might suit Mrs. 
 Browne," he said, "but it did not suit her." He 
 liked white muslin, and pink ribbons; and he 
 declared his wife never looked so well as in the 
 peach-blossom tafFety he brought her from Not- 
 tingham goose-fair, where he had gone to buy 
 cheese, the first autumn after their marriage. 
 Browne, on the contrary, had an exclusive pre- 
 ference for all rich dark colours, clear greens, 
 maroons, purples, and even black. He gave his 
 vvife five guineas to buy a dark-blue satin, and de- 
 clared that, as soon as he could afford it, she 
 should have a crimson velvet. 
 
 In this way, with these permitted differences, 
 everything went on in the most amicable manner
 
 44 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 possible. On Sundays they called at eacb other's 
 houses after church, and sate an hour or two 
 together, unless, as it happened now and then, 
 they both chanced to be knocking at each other's 
 doors at the same moment, having missed as they 
 came out of church; in which case, they would 
 both wait, the one for the other, till their patience 
 was fairly worn out, and then have a chance of 
 meeting "midway in the street. In the course of 
 the first year, however, Browne, who, like most 
 professional gentlemen, was but an indifferent 
 church-goer, fell, in this respect, into his former 
 bachelor-habits, and was generally deep in his 
 papers, in his undress, when his neighbours were 
 all wending their way to church. To save " dear 
 Mrs. Browne," therefore, the ignominy of going 
 to church all alone, Mr. and Mrs. Gregson took 
 the lawyer's house in their way; which was easy 
 for them to do, seeing it was in Church-street, and 
 escorted his wife to the very pew-door. It was, 
 no doubt, a very edifying sight to all the world of 
 Woodburn, to witness this friendship between the 
 two houses. Many people, the middle-aged espe- 
 cially, declared it could not last; that excess 
 always led to its own destruction, and that it was 
 quite possible to have too much even of a good 
 thing, and so on — illustrating their arguments by 
 established truisms, as middle-aged people are 
 very apt to do. Others again, who might be dis- 
 posed to visit with the Brownes, but who " cared 
 not a button about the Gregsons,'' asserted thi? 
 domestic alliance to be foolish and ridiculous. 
 " for how," said they, " could one spend even as. 
 evening with them, without being dragged into
 
 AW ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 48 
 
 an acquaintance with their friends?" And those 
 who were similarly disposed towards the Gregsons, 
 made precisely the same complaint. 
 
 " I like Gregson," some good, respectable 
 father of a family would say; "I have known 
 him ever since a boy. I like his wife very well 
 too; but I've no notion of being compelled into 
 civility to that fellow Browne. I saw too much 
 of him when he lost me my cause !" 
 
 All this, however, mattered very little to the 
 allied houses themselves. " The Miranda and 
 Elvira friendship" was in no danger of being 
 weakened by anything which the " well-fed wits" 
 of "Woodburn could say ; and so we will leave 
 " the everlasting friendship," to talk of other 
 matters. 
 
 Tlie fates had decreed Mr. BroAvne to be the 
 great man of a little town; the elements of such 
 greatness were in him, and his wife was a fitting 
 helpmate. But in life, as in the common every- 
 day affair of climbing a wall, a person, however 
 he may be destined to clim.b, often needs a shove 
 upwards — a helping hand, just to rcacli that par- 
 ticular crack, in which the toe may be insinuated, 
 and then he will make the ascent triumphantly 
 by himself. It was just so with James Browne. 
 He kept his eye fixed on the top of the wall; he 
 meant to ch'mb it long enough before he was an 
 old man. He only waited now for the shove 
 upwards; in other words, he was poor — that is, 
 he was poor for a lawyer. 
 
 When he married j\Iiss Gibson, the only daughter 
 of the rich grocer of Gloucester, he expected that 
 her large fortune would raise liii:; at once. She
 
 46 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 received, however, only one thousand pounds as 
 her marriage portion, and that would do no more 
 than pay certain furniture bills, and keep all 
 straight and handsome till other money came in, 
 or till the old gentleman died. 
 
 The whispered surmise among the Gloucester 
 people, that old Gibson was not as rich as had 
 been imagined, was, within the first year of his 
 daughter's marriage, proved to be the fact. He 
 died; and, after all borrowed monies and debts 
 were paid, between three and four hundred pounds 
 alone remained, even though Samford, now married 
 to Miss Jemima Warwick, had paid a considerable 
 sum for the good-will of the business, only a few 
 weeks before the old gentleman's death. It was a 
 terrible surprise to Mr. and Mrs. Browne; and 
 Samford was charged by him with embezzlement, 
 and all kind of malpractices. Samford brought 
 an action for defamation against Browne, and made 
 public the state of the old tradesman's books; by 
 Avhich he most clearly proved, that he had noi 
 only honestly served his employer, but actually 
 saved the concern from bankruptcy. He came 
 off not only triumphantly, as far as his character 
 went, but with fifty pounds damages. 
 
 All this was the most galling thing that could 
 happen to the Brown es. It was like publishing 
 to the whole world the meagreness of the lady'ij 
 fortune, as well as her exact connexion with 
 trade ; and, as the lawyer himself was known not 
 to be rich, nor to have either a rich or an exten- 
 sive practice, nothing could be easier than t«» 
 calculate what might be the amount of his income 
 
 " The very children of Woodburn, who have
 
 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. ' 4? 
 
 the least turn for figures, may cast up, on their 
 fingers, how much I am exactly worth!" Such was 
 Mr. Browne's unpleasant observation one certain 
 Saturday evening to his wife, who was sitting with 
 him, and who was looking no better pleased 
 than he. 
 
 " But, my dear," said she, " sinking under on?'s 
 misfortunes docs no good ! Rise we must, by 
 some means — that's certain!" 
 
 " But the deuce of it is," said i^er husband, 
 " that all this has been made so public! — why, 
 old Mordan fairly laughed in my face to-day! — 
 and there's an end of our getting the house in 
 Wilton- street." 
 
 Wilton-street, our readers must know, was the 
 St. James's of Woodburn; and the house of which 
 -Mr. Browne now spoke, was one of the aristocratic 
 houses of the place — none but such people, and 
 people of family, had hitherto lived in it ; and to 
 live in it would alone confer some degree of 
 distinction. It had now been vacant six months, 
 and Mr. and Mrs. Brown had, during that time, 
 been casting longing looks towards it. Imme- 
 diately on the death of Mr. Gibson, before the 
 disastrous state of his affairs was known, they 
 resolved to have it, and had even entered into 
 negotiation with the landlord for a long lease ; had 
 given notice to leave their humbler house in 
 Church-street, and thus made it known to all the 
 town. It was, therefore, a most mortifying thing, 
 not only to hear the whole town ridiculing the 
 defeated lawyer in his suit with Samford, but also 
 to know that all ideas of inhabiting the great house 
 must be given up, and that for reasons which 
 
 F
 
 48 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 everybody must understand — the most unpleasant 
 reasons of all — the not being able to afford it." 
 
 " I wish to Heaven the house had never been 
 to let!" exclaimed Mrs. Browne. 
 
 " Or that we had never said a word about it to 
 any creature," added her husband 
 
 " I never spoke of it to any living soul, ex- 
 cepting dear Rebecca," said Mrs. Browne ; "and 
 you know she and Gregson are only like part of 
 our own family," 
 
 " It was known all over Woodburn, the first 
 day we spoke of it," returned he; " people con- 
 gratulated me on the removal : it would be the 
 establishing me at once, everybody said : and that 
 small house adjoining would be turned into offices 
 at such a small expense!" Mr. Browne became 
 quite agitated as he thought of all these desirable 
 considerations which must now, prudence argued, 
 be given up. 
 
 " James, dear," said his wife, " if it really would 
 do you so much good in your profession, to live in 
 a better house, and in a better style, why not do 
 it, as a matter of simple policy ? It would be 
 worth while even to borrow the money for such a 
 purpose— it would soon clear itself off, you know. 
 And now I have said so much, I Mill make one 
 confession which I never made before, not even 
 to Rebecca. I tvas surprised at first to find you 
 living in such a third-rate house as this. Every- 
 body knows that people are looked upon just as 
 they seem to estimate themselves. You may de- 
 pend upon it, James, modesty and timidity are the 
 surest preventions to a man's success in life. It 
 seems," continued she, getting quite warm in her
 
 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 49 
 
 argument, " as if you thought yourself a very 
 third-rate sort of lawyer, to live in such a house as 
 this! I really do not wonder that nobody visited 
 us; and, what we should have dene without 
 Gregson and Rebecca, I'm sure I don't know." 
 
 " It is all true — every word — there's no doubt 
 of it," replied Browne; " but then, what can 
 a man do more than he can ? It was a bold stroke, 
 let me tell you, for me at first to take even 
 this house. I furnished my office handsomely, 
 and managed' any way in the house, for not a soul 
 came near me but Gregson ; and I declare, that 
 the handsome Brussels carpet, and my smart 
 fender and fire-irons, and my new desks, and 
 my clerk, who, because he had nothing to do, I 
 set to engross an old act of parliament, in order 
 that he might look busy, set me up at once. 
 There's a deal in what you say; we must give the 
 world its due for their estimate of us." 
 
 "And that always is," interrupted Mrs. Browne, 
 " according to the show we make ; for the world 
 dearly loves to be dazzled," said she, laughing. 
 
 " I (lit believe," said ]Mr. Browne, " that, if 
 we could get that house in Wilton-street, and 
 look decidedly prosperous, I might command 
 half the county business: just give me a start, 
 and I would snap my fingers any day at Peake 
 and Mordan, although Mordan laughed in my face! 
 I declare I could have knocked the fellow down!" 
 
 " It was unpardonable," returned his wife; 
 " but I tell you what, James, we really must take 
 this house; we must manage it some way. Have 
 you no means of raising the money? It would 
 Boon be cleared off again, you know."
 
 50 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Browne knit his brows, glanced up to the comer 
 of the room, and declared that he could think of 
 no other way than asking Gregson. Gregson had 
 plenty of money, he said ; old Gregson was rich, 
 and his son had been making money since he was 
 one-and-twenty ; he dared to say he would lend 
 him some. 
 
 " That he will," exclaimed his wife — " I am 
 sure he will; for he is d sensible man, and very 
 much your friend ; and, even if he were to make 
 any clifRculty about it, Rebecca would persuade 
 him ; she would do anything in the world for me!" 
 
 It was now, therefore, decided that no stop 
 whatever should be put to the negotiation re- 
 specting the good house in Wilton-street. The 
 world of Woodburn should see, they said, that, 
 although Mr. Gibson had not died rich, and 
 although Browne had lost his suit with Samford, 
 yet, that these things could not affect circumstances 
 so flourishing as his. He could afford, in the 
 very face of a loss, to take a large house and live 
 handsomely ; the inference, therefore, must be, that 
 his profession alone was making a handsome 
 present income. 
 
 Gregson, although he was not much addicted to 
 lending money, made no more objection than 
 even "ood-natured men commonlv make on lend- 
 ing a thovisand pounds; which was the sum his 
 friend requested from him. He said something 
 about sureties ; on which Browne declared that 
 sureties were out of the question ; and if his friend 
 were not satisfied with his own bond, he would 
 at once drop the idea, give up the house in 
 Wilton-street, and stay where he was, although it
 
 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 51 
 
 was SO seriously against his interest to do so: 
 that he was sorry he had asked 'the favour from 
 anybody, because, although Mr. Gibson's death, 
 contrary to expectation, had produced next to 
 nothing, in one other year's time his own pro- 
 fessional returns would have enabled him to 
 make the removal on his own resources, without 
 thanks to anybody ; only by that time the house 
 in Wilton-street would have been let, for such 
 houses as that seldom remained long \n the 
 market. At this stage of the business Mrs. Greg- 
 son came into the room; she knew the subject 
 upon which her husband and Browne -were talking, 
 for she had been plied on the same subject by 
 Mrs. Browne; and she was even now returned 
 home, full of the enthusiasm of friendship, im- 
 patient even to make a sacrifice for her dear 
 Mrs. Browne's sake; " and especially," said she, 
 " at a moment so interesting to us all; for I have 
 set my mind on Sarah's child being born in 
 Wilton-street. It is a dreary house, that of your's, 
 Mr. Browne, in Church -street; I am sure I would 
 not have said as much before ; but it is not exactly 
 tlie riglit home either for you or dear Sarah! 
 And I am sure," continued she, " that if either I 
 or Gregson could do anything for you, even at a 
 sacrifice of our own advantage, we ought to do it, 
 seeing how much we owe to you : but there really 
 would be no sacrifice required from us ; you 
 would be able to pay us back the money in twelve 
 months, for I am quite sure, when people see you 
 living in that good house, and making such a 
 dash, thc-y will think ten times as well of you, and 
 think you have twenty times the business youhave." 
 
 f2
 
 62 AN ACT OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 There were two particulars in this fluent speech, 
 which fixed the attention of Mr. Gregson: his 
 wife said they were under such obligations to the 
 Brownes : he wondered what all those obligations 
 were, but he did not inquire, of course; the other 
 was, that if their friends seemed to be prosperous, 
 the world would help to make them so, and 
 speedily enable them to return the money. He 
 liked Browne, reasoned he with himself, and their 
 wives were old friends; he himself had money 
 lying unemployed in the bank, which was paying 
 but light interest; Browne offered him five per 
 cent. ; there could not, surely, be any great ob- 
 jection to lending it. In short, he yielded. 
 
 One thousand pounds was drawn out of the 
 county bank, and handed over to Browne. A 
 note of hand was duly made out and signed, and 
 given in exchange. 
 
 The same evening, the lease for the great house 
 in Wilton-street was signed and witnessed. The 
 next morning, Mr. and Mrs. Browne were seen 
 by some of their new neighbours elect, to enter 
 the house like people greatly pleased with pos- 
 session; and, in the course of the day, white- 
 washing and cleaning began, and great knock- 
 ings were heard in the adjoining small dwelling, 
 which intimated that workmen had already 
 commenced turning the house into offices for 
 him and his clerks, in readiness for the county 
 business, which was to find its way there. His 
 old masters, Peake and Mordan, lifted up their 
 eyebrows, and looked knowingly out of the 
 corners of their eyes, as if to intimate, that shrewd 
 people like themselves knew what the end of all
 
 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 53 
 
 this would be; and all the little town of Wood- 
 burn blessed itself that it had so fertile a topic of 
 gossipry as the removal of lawyer Browne out of 
 Church-street i'^to the great house in Wilton-street. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 
 
 Ipyou won] d wish a person to profess hii/iself bound 
 to you by " an eternal debt of gratitude," k-ndhim 
 the money'he wants at the very moment he asks for 
 it; in short, do as Gregson did. Whether your 
 friend will not consider the eternal debt of grati- 
 tude cancelled by the first hint about the repay- 
 ment of the money, is quite another thing: that is 
 in the second stage of the business; we are only 
 yet in the first; and Mr. and Mrs. Browne, there- 
 fore, not only professed, but sincerely believed, 
 that no other creature living would have done so 
 much for them. Mr. Gregson was, therefore, 
 without exception, the most generous and noble 
 of friends, and, to the latest day of their lives they 
 should never forget his kindness; and that it was 
 owing also, in part, to " dear Rebecca," whom 
 Mrs. Browne declared " she had doted on ever 
 since the day when she first set eyes on her at 
 Miss Wyndham's school" 
 
 With such energetic sentiments of gratitude, 
 therefore, how could they better prove their sin- 
 cerity than by employing the money splendidly in 
 the purpose for which it was lent. " Everybody 
 knows the intimate terms on which t'^ two houses 
 »re, and therefore," said Mrs. hiowne, with en-
 
 i)4 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 
 
 thusiasm, " as we rise in society, as we unques- 
 tionably must do in Wilton-street, our friends 
 shall rise with us. I shall be proiid to introduce 
 dear Rebecca everywhere. She is very genteel — 
 don't you think her so, Browne?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly," returned lier husband. 
 
 " And I'll tell you what we must certainly do," 
 continued she; " it will be such a handosme way 
 of showing our respect to them ; she and Mr. Greg- 
 son must be sponsors for our little one : they must 
 indeed ! You must drop your idea of your uncle 
 and aunt — they will never do anything for us; 
 and you know I said all along that Rebecca would 
 expect it. And, another thing," exclaimed she, 
 growing quite animated on the subject of her 
 gratitude, " our first boy and girl shall be brought 
 up for each other — shall be educated fur each 
 other — you know they do so in some foreign 
 countries, and among the Moravians, and it 
 answers uncommonly well. It is a beautiful 
 notion — two sweet children betrothed in infancy! 
 Rebecca and I have often and often talked of it — ' 
 and it will be such a delightful bond between us. I 
 am quite charmed with the idea — the children 
 shall be plighted in their very cradles!" 
 
 Mr. Browne smiled at his wife's enthusiasm, 
 and declared he should be quite as ready as her- 
 self to prove his sense of the obligation ; and that 
 he certainly did think the Gregsons ought to be 
 preferred to his uncle and aunt, as sponsors foi 
 the child. 
 
 " Well, after all," said the people of Wood- 
 burn, when they saw how handsomely furnished 
 and prosperous-looking was Mr. Browne's new
 
 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 5ft 
 
 house in Wilton-street, " there must be some 
 mistake about the insolvency of Mr. Gibson. 
 Mrs. Browne must have had some fortune, and 
 not a small fortune either, to enable them to make 
 such an alteration in their way of living." 
 
 " Depend upon it," said ine, " he is getting on 
 in his profession ; everybody who has employed 
 him says that he is a long-headed fellow : how 
 cleverly he managed the cause for the parishioners 
 of "Wellby,. against Sir George Combe, about 
 stopping the Wellby-road!" 
 
 " He is just the man to get on," said a second; 
 " he has no objection to make a little business 
 for himself occasionally." 
 
 " But," argued a third, " this everybody must 
 confess, that, unlike Peake and Mordan, you have 
 some chance with him of getting to the end of a 
 job. They have sadly too much to do ; and, to 
 tell you the truth, I have serious thoughts of 
 employing him in all my lesser business ; Peake 
 and Mordan seem so careless about minor things "' 
 
 " Ha! that reminds me," said a fourth speaker — 
 " Browne's landlord, Mr. Willis, has already trans- 
 ferred his business to him: there has been quite a 
 scene between Willis and his old lawyers — some- 
 thing about a deed that was missing. Browne 
 was, you know, in Peake and Mordan's office, 
 and helped their memory as to the hiding-place 
 of this said parchment." 
 
 '■' Indeed!" exclaimed another, " that will be a 
 capital thing for Browne, for Willis can throw a 
 vast of business into his hands; no one more!" 
 
 Such was a conversation which took place 
 between a knot of Wnodburn gentlemen, as they
 
 56 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 
 
 stood together upon the bowling-green of the 
 Red Lion Inn, about three months after the 
 Brownes' removal to Wilton-street. 
 
 About the same time, three ladies — two spin- 
 sters — Miss Carr and Miss Bensley, and old ]\Irs. 
 Porter, who were waiting the arrival of a fourth, 
 to make up a rubber at whist, held a conversation 
 also on this favourite topic. 
 
 " Did you see Mrs. Browne at church on Sun- 
 day? " asked Mrs. Porter. 
 
 " No," replied both ladies. " But," said Miss 
 Bensley, " I've heard that she was prodigiously 
 grand." 
 
 " Really," said Mrs. Porter, " all eyes were 
 turned on her. She was in maroon-coloured 
 velvet, with three such feathers in her hat, as 1 
 never saw in my life ; and, upon my word, she 
 looked quite handsome!" 
 
 " I've heard gentlemen say," remarked Miss 
 Carr, " that she is handsome, but, for my part, I 
 never admired her! " 
 
 "How in the world!" asked Miss Bensley, 
 " have they made such a start all at once? They 
 say she had no fortune; her father was only a 
 grocer, you know, and a bankrupt, somebody 
 said ; and, as to his profession, it's ridiculous to 
 think of its producing him such an income!" 
 
 " I am sure I do not know how it is," replied 
 Mrs. Porter, " but they seem prodigiously well off." 
 
 " They cannot be living under a thousand a 
 year," said Miss Carr. " I should think they 
 will drop those everlasting Gregsons now," said 
 she, laughing. " How ridiculous they make them- 
 selves!"
 
 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 57 
 
 " At all events," said Mrs. Porter, " they can- 
 not be charged with forgetting their friends as 
 soon as they begin to hold up their heads in the 
 world ! " 
 
 " Did you hear of the christening, ladies?" 
 inquired Miss Carr; " it was absolutely absurd!" 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Porter; " nor have I seen the 
 baby, but they tell me it is a beautiful child." 
 
 Yes," returned Miss Carr, " the child is well 
 enough — but such a christening! Mr. Wilford' 
 told me about it — he was at the dinner, and Mr. 
 and Mrs. Gregson were the sponsors. Such ridi- 
 culous folly, he said, he never witnessed — such 
 kissing and crying — the ladies embracing — and, 
 la! I don't know what — like a couple of senti- 
 mental school-misses — and Mr. Wilford, you know, 
 is not a person to exaggerate." 
 
 " Well, that is absurd! " remarked Miss Bensley. 
 
 " I am sorry to have kept you waiting, ladies," 
 said Mrs. Robinson, laying down her bonnet, and 
 taking the vacant chair; "but I just met with 
 Mrs. and the Misses Jennings, and they insisted on 
 my walking in, for they had been to call on Mrs. 
 Browne this morning, and they wanted to tell me 
 all about it." 
 
 " La ! " exclaimed the three ladies at once "have 
 the Jenningses been to call on the Brownes? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed!" returned Mrs. Robinson. 
 
 " Upon my word!" ejaculated ^liss Carr. 
 
 "And what did they tell you?" asked Miss 
 Bensley. 
 
 *' Oh, everything was exquisite," returned she, 
 laughing; "and Mrs. Browne was in apple-pie
 
 58 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 
 
 order ; — but would you believe it ! — INIr. and Mrs. 
 Sykes Willoughby's card lay conspicuously in a 
 card -basket on the table ; and Mrs. Browne was 
 not long before she began to say, " A charming 
 lady is Mrs. Sykes Willoughby ; they did us the 
 honour to call the other day ! " And then Mr. 
 Browne came in, looking as if his head was full 
 of law-business, and morning-callers were the last 
 thing in his head; but you know, of course, he 
 had been sent for; and presently he dragged in 
 " my excellent friend, Mr. Sykes Willoughby; he 
 and his lady did us the honour to call the other 
 dav!" while poor Mrs. Browne looked ready to 
 die, for this spoiled it all, you know; and he was 
 such a fool that, although she kept frowning at 
 him, he would not understand her looks. It was 
 infinitely ridiculous ! " said she, laughing; " if you 
 had but seen Harriet Jennings mimicking them, 
 you would have died with laughter! " 
 
 " But what in the world made the Jenningses call 
 on them ? " asked Miss Carr ; " and I declare I will 
 make Mr. Wilford tell Harriet Jennings all about 
 the christening, and the embracing of mamma 
 and god-mamma; it will be just the thing for her!" 
 
 " Wonders never will cease, that's certain," 
 returned Mrs. Robinson ; " and so you will all 
 say. j\Ir. John Jennings was persuaded by Mr. 
 Willis to put some law-business — something about 
 manorial rights — into Browne's hands; and they 
 say he has managed the business really cleverly; 
 which so pleased Mr. John Jennings — for the 
 cause had been tried three different terms, and lost 
 each time — that he insisted on his mother and
 
 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 59 
 
 sisters calling on Mrs. Browne ; — you know when 
 people live in the same street, they must be 
 neighbourly." 
 
 " That is the mischief of these little towns," 
 said Mrs. Porter. 
 
 " He knew that," said Miss Carr, " when he 
 went into Wilton-street; for he has an artful way 
 with him, and ambition enough for a cardinal! I 
 wish, however, that the cheese-factor's lady had 
 been there, yvhen Mrs. Jennings called!" 
 
 " She teas there!" exclaimed Mrs. Robinson, 
 " and that made half the joke; for there was such 
 a ceremony of introduction — 'Pray Mrs, Jennings, 
 allow me to introduce to you my dear friend, 
 Mrs. Gregson!— Pray young ladies, let me present 
 to you my beloved friend, Mrs. Gregson i' — and 
 then, when Mrs. Gregson, who, by the bye, has 
 most sense of the two, rose to depart, there was 
 such a shaking of hands, and kissing, and 'When 
 shall we meet again?' and adieus — oh, it was 
 capital ! It is as good as a comedy, every bit, to 
 see Harriet Jennings mimic Mrs. Browne!" 
 
 These two conversations fully explain the pro- 
 gress of events. Mr. and Mrs. Browne had made 
 a bold stroke for fortune, when they removed into 
 Wilton-street. " Faint heart never wins fair lady," 
 had been used as an illustration of his theory, by 
 Mr. Browne himself; " faint heart never wins 
 good fortune;" and, sure enough, fortune seemed 
 not indifferently well pleased by the bold heart ol 
 the Browncs; for, within six months of the time 
 when Mr. Browne sate down in his new private 
 room in his new offices, no less tlian three out of the 
 twelve japanned deed-boxes whicli filled up one end 
 
 e
 
 60 THE TAMIL'S COMPACT. 
 
 of his office, were conspicuously labelled in gold 
 letters, " John Jennings, Esquire ;" " Henry Willis, 
 Esquire ;" " Peter Thomas Denby, Esquire." His 
 two clerks were no longer set to engross old acts of 
 parliament, for they had full employment; besides 
 which, he had an articled clerk of his own — no 
 other than the nephew of Peter Thomas Denby, 
 Esquire; and about his own private room there 
 lay such a satisfactory litter of engrossed folioSj 
 red tape-tied square packets of parchments, and 
 other professional papers, that there was no occa- 
 sion to lay anything about for show; while the 
 splashes of ink on the new carpet, and on his new 
 green cloth-covered table, gave evidence of work 
 being done there. 
 
 AH this was anfiazingly satisfactory; and Mr. 
 Browne began to hold his head quite as high as 
 either Peake or Mordan, and to think, with him- 
 self, that he should live to get the best part of 
 their business out of their haruls. 
 
 Mrs. Browne was no whit less gratified than he> 
 husband ; the Sykes Willoughbys, and the Jen- 
 ningses, the two great families of the town and the 
 neighbourhood, had called upon her; true, the 
 intimacy seemed to pause there; the calls had 
 been punctually returned, but no invitations fol- 
 lowed, nor in the course of three months had the 
 calls been repeated. Mrs. Browne, therefore, was 
 fain to make use of one call, and one set of cards, 
 and to hope that the time would come when 
 these events would be like every-day things. 
 
 In the meantime, " dear Mrs. Gregson" was 
 in no danger of being forgotten. Many and many 
 a time would her friend say to her, when felici-
 
 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 61 
 
 tated on their growing good fortune, "But, my 
 sweet friend, we owe all this to you ! That's what 
 Browne and I often say; and, I am sure if we 
 had no family of our own, and should he wortli 
 millions, we ought to leave every sixpence to you 
 and yours!" But there was a child, which, fo! 
 the present at least, would prevent any unreason- 
 able expectations in the minds of the Greg- 
 sons. The child's christening had made no little 
 talk ill AVoodburn — for the christening and the 
 house-warming were celebrated by the same din- 
 ner, and everything was in accordance with the 
 implied prosperity of the family. What the people 
 of "Woodburn said of this great christening, we 
 have already heard. 
 
 'Sir. Gregson, who, as Browne had said, was a 
 most generous-hearted fellow, rejoiced unfeignedly 
 that his money seemed to be the lucky nest-egg 
 to which his friend could add the golden ones ; 
 and he and his wife accepted the office of sponsor, 
 as one of great honour — Mr. and Airs. Browne 
 promising to stand in the same spiritual relation- 
 ship towards the first young Gregson that required 
 it ; nor was such an event likely to be distant. 
 Furthermore, the mamma apparent, and the 
 mamma expectant, were bent upon a yet closer 
 and dearer family union — the marrying, at some 
 future day, the first son and daughter of the re- 
 spective families. 
 
 The " little husband" was born, and flourishing 
 under the name of Charles Edward, so called after 
 the young Pretender, the songs in whose honour 
 and memory had always been favourites with the 
 " Miranda and Elvira" of the earlier part of our
 
 62 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 
 
 history. Charles Edward, or " Bonnie Prince 
 Charlie," as his mother invariably called him, waa 
 the plighted husband of the first Miss Gregson 
 that should be born to the family in Bridge-street. 
 Never had any romantic scheme, in the days of 
 their early friendship, been so fostered and fondled 
 with as this. It was the unceasing topic of con- 
 versation and castle-building, when the ladies 
 met, and the subject likewise of many an epistle, 
 dispatched on the days when it was not convenient 
 for them to meet. The same system of education, 
 from the cradle upwards, was to be pursued in 
 both cases. They were to be carried out together, 
 and then to walk out together, hand in hand ; to 
 exchange presents of toys and sweetmeats; to be 
 drawn in the same little carriage ; to call each 
 other " little husband," and " little wife," and to 
 have no ideas, all the days of their lives, in which 
 each other should not be blended. The ladies 
 exchanged rings, as tokens of their troth to each 
 other; and Mrs. Gregson, beyond her present in 
 character of godmother, presented her young son- 
 in-law elect with a silver drinking cup, made to 
 order, on which were engraved the united initials 
 of Charles Edward Browne and Lucy Gregson, 
 such being the name the young lady was to bear 
 when she made her appearance; and underneath 
 wa? richly chased a pair of billing doves — " a 
 very pretty conceit," said both Mrs. Browne and 
 Mrs. Gregson, although, we must confess, it was 
 by no means an original one. Nor was this 
 solemn league and covenant entered into without 
 the due consent and accordance of the respective 
 fathers. Both declared themselves perfectly agree-
 
 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS WIFE. 63 
 
 able, provided the consent of the parties more 
 immediately concerned should be obtained some 
 twenty years thereafter. There was no doubt 
 about that, the mothers declared. And, on the 
 night of the christening, the rest of the company 
 bein"- gone, they insisted upon Mr. Browne draw- 
 ing up marriage-articles, in the names of the two 
 children, and a bond also between the respective 
 parents, binding them to throw no impediments in 
 the way of snch a union, but, on the contrary, to 
 further it by every means in their power. Two 
 copies of tliis being signed in the presence of 
 witnesses, by the respective parties, each mother 
 took one into her own keeping, declaring she 
 should only be perfectly happy when she saw 
 that bond ratified, by the happy union of their 
 children. 
 
 It was well that all this signing and sealing was 
 done after the guests had left the house, or Mr. 
 Wilford would have been able to have embellished 
 his christening narrative with yet richer material 
 for the display of Harriet Jennings' comic powers. 
 
 CHAPTER VIT. 
 
 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS WIFE. 
 
 The first child that was born to the Gregsons was 
 a boy; so was the second; the third occasion 
 presented twins, and both again boys. It was 
 very disappointing, but still not without its con- 
 solation ; for the little daughter, when she did come, 
 would be all the more suitable in age for the 
 
 g2
 
 64 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS WIFE, 
 
 "Bonnie Prince Charlie," who, it seemed probable, 
 would be the only descendant of the Brown es. 
 
 Prince Charlie deserved to be called "Bon^iie." 
 Mrs. Jennings, and her witty daughter, Harriet; 
 Mrs. Sykes Willoughby, and even Miss Carr, 
 who always declared that she could endure none 
 of the Brownes, all and each of them allowed that 
 Bonnie Prince Charlie was the handsomest child 
 in Woodburn. 
 
 At l(Migtli, when he was in his fifth year, his 
 little wife-elect was born, and, as had been so 
 long before decreed, was christened Lucy — Mr. 
 and Mrs. Browne standing sponsors, and endowing 
 her with christening cap and robe, silver knife, 
 fork, and spoon, and coral and silver bells the 
 best money could buy. Perhaps our readers 
 wonder, as we are greatly disposed to wonder 
 ourselves, that, in five years' time, the Family 
 Compact had not been broken. It happened, 
 however, that neither the Jenningses, nor the 
 Sykes Willoughbys, nor any first-rate town 
 or country people, had yet grown intimate with 
 the Brownes ; so that no rival had stepped between 
 the friends, nor had any new friends as yet taken 
 the place of the old. Mr. Browne's profession, 
 however, was producing every year a larger return ; 
 he was growing quickly and surely into repute as 
 a lawyer, and the whole twelve boxes which the 
 office contained, and even others out of sight, were 
 now, every one of them, gold-lettered and pad- 
 locked, and contained deeds and writings of so 
 many estates and families. Peake and Mordan 
 had began now to sink old animosities, and had 
 legal consultations with him, even of their own
 
 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS 'WIFE, 65 
 
 especial desire. He had, moreover, tliree hired 
 clei'ks and three articled ones, all gentlemen's 
 sons, each sittinp: at their respective desks, while 
 he himself was always busy, and needed not now 
 to make the most of his papers to produce effect, 
 for nobody questioned now whether he was pros- 
 perous or not. Mr. Gregson said that he was a 
 long-headed, far-seeing man, and knew exactly 
 when to take fortune at the hin;h tide : he must be 
 making now his two thousand a-year; he won- 
 dered when he would think of paying the one 
 thousand pounds which he had borrowed nearly 
 six years before ! JNIrs, Gregson always grew 
 uneasy when this borrowed money was spoken of; 
 for, although Mrs. Browne was her dear and 
 sworn friend, she could not help thinking it the 
 oddest thing in the world that her husband never 
 thought of paying it. But, though she might 
 think this, she did not like Mr. Gregson to have 
 the same freedom of thought. Sometimes, how- 
 ever, he thrust the unpleasant topic upon her, 
 which she would parry thus : — " They could not 
 think of askin<r the Brownes for it — that was out 
 of the question! and, thank Heaven, they did not 
 want it; besides, as Lucy and Charlie we s to be 
 married, it would never signify ; it m ght be 
 reckoned as a part of her portion laid ou for her 
 interest; " and what a good match it wi 1 be for 
 our sweet little pet!" she would say. " fou see, 
 Charles will be the only child, and de-.r Sarah 
 told me the other day, that ]5rowne was in treaty 
 for his house; and I expect, before he dies he will 
 be immensely rich — lawyers have such opportu- 
 nities of buying estates and fine places cheap!"
 
 66 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS WIFE. 
 
 To all wliich her husband would reply, " We shall 
 see in time, but there is many a slip between 
 the cup and the lip; and you must remember 
 that, although Browne has one child, we have 
 five, and four of them boys, and who want pro- 
 viding for; and people in trade, like me, do not 
 like a thousand pounds lying merely at dead 
 interest." 
 
 Mr. Gregson, however, did not ask for his 
 money, and all went on smoothly. 
 
 Little Lucy Gregson was brought up on the 
 same system, physical, moral, and intellectual, 
 which had formed the nursery code of the " Bonnie 
 Prince Charlie." She was bathed in cold water 
 from head to foot every morning, winter and 
 summer; she slept upon a hair mattrass, and was 
 drilled as soon as she could walk. She was made 
 to put by half of all her sweetmeats, comfits, 
 barleysugar, and buns, for her little husband ; for 
 every doll that was given to her, a horse or whip 
 was given to him; three mornings in a week, the 
 nurse-maids walked together, making " Bonnie 
 Prince Charlie" take hold of the hand of " his 
 little wife," and conduct her along; and three 
 evenings in every week likewise, they spent 
 together in play. It not unfrequently happened 
 that the " Bonnie Prince" was wayward, and would 
 not patronise his little wife — perhaps would quarrel 
 with her, and pinch her black and blue — for it is 
 the vainest attempt in the world to compel or 
 control the affections of a child; or little Lucy 
 would kick and scream, when ordered to kiss her 
 " little husband," and would give the most de- 
 cided preference to her own brothers. On such
 
 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS WIFE. 67 
 
 untoward occasions, no pains were spared by 
 either mammas or nurses to effect a reconciliation 
 and preference, generally Avith entire want of 
 success, until even at length a total breach has 
 existed between the parties-matrimonial; the 
 Prince has beaten his wife, and she has returned 
 his ill-will with the united energy of little foot 
 and doubled fist. Then came the after work of 
 pacification. Miss Lucy carried the sponge-cake 
 to the Bonpie Prince, carefully wrapped up, 
 however, that it might not be seen by her, with 
 her mamma's love, and a kiss which she herself 
 was to bestow; and "in return she received the 
 wax-doll, or the pretty basket, which his mamma 
 assured her the Bonnie Prince Charlie had bouErht 
 that very morning with his own money. 
 
 The ivory counters, from which he had learned 
 his letters, had been put by for her use ; so had 
 " his pretty picture-books;" and the two children 
 were bribed by their mammas to sit down to- 
 gether on the hearth-rug, that he might teach 
 and she learn; "for," said Mrs. Gregson, "it 
 will be so sweet, that even her earliest remembrance 
 of books should be connected with him!" 
 
 Everybody in Woodburn knew by this time 
 that the two children were affianced to each other, 
 and infinite was the jesting and merriment wliich 
 the circumstance occasioned. But little of all 
 this, however, came to the knowledge of the two 
 ladies themselves, for, as yet, they visited only 
 with their own set, and there, whatever tliey 
 thought it right to do, was considered not only 
 respectable, but proper; and, beside this, they 
 had still all that romantic heroism of friendship
 
 68 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS WIFE. 
 
 which took pride in suffering together, or for the 
 same cause, even had they known all that was said 
 of them. Still, difficulties and vexations did, and 
 would occur; nursery-maids quarrelled and tittle 
 tattled, and would have sown the seeds of death 
 in any friendship less heroic than that of their 
 mistresses ; but the most serious cause of annoy- 
 ance was from the two little people themselves. 
 
 By the time Bonnie Prince Charlie was ten 
 years old, he had vowed all kind of hatred to, and 
 rebellion against his poor little wife. He had un- 
 fortunately began to associate with young gentle- 
 men of his own age, and among them he had not 
 only found himself ridiculed for his royal appella- 
 tion, but still more, on account of his little sposa 
 He therefore announced to his mamma, in very 
 plain terms, that he hated Lucy Gregson, and 
 would never speak to her again as long as he 
 lived! That he wished she would not talk so 
 much about " little husband" and " little wife," 
 for, that the boys in the street shouted after him; 
 and, moreover, .John Porter and Harry Robinson 
 had made a song about him, which Miss Harriet 
 Jennings had set to music; and that, therelbre, he 
 would hide himself whenever Mrs. Gregson or 
 Lucy came to the house ; and he was very glad 
 indeed that he was going to school, because then 
 he shoula be quite out of the way of any of them! 
 
 Mrs. Browne could hardly believe her own ears, 
 and was quite shocked at her son's obduracy; but 
 he was an only son, and had long since learned that 
 there were few points he could not gain if he were 
 determined ; so he was only the more resolute and 
 violent, in proportion to his mother's resistance.
 
 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS WIFE. 69 
 
 Similar causes of annoyance sprang up also in 
 the path of Mrs. Gregson. 
 
 " It's no manner of use, ma'am," said Lucy's 
 nurse-maid, on one particular day, to her mistress, 
 "my trying to dress Miss Lucy; there she lies, 
 all her length, kicking and screaming, on the 
 nursery-floor, all about going to Mrs. Browne's. 
 And I'm sure, ma'am, if 1 might speak my mind, 
 I never would aforce her, for the Bonnie Prince 
 nipped a piece out of her with his thumb and 
 finger nail, only the last Saturday we were there ; 
 and it a'most threw her into fits to hear his name. 
 I'm sure, ma'am, he's a sad ruffianly boy; and, if 
 you only knowed what I know, you'd never think 
 of him for our little dear's husband — bless her 
 heart — for she's too good for twenty such as he." 
 
 " Nonsense!" replied j\Irs. Gregson, quite 
 offended at the liberty taken by her handmaiden 
 in this implied censure; " Nonsense! you manage 
 Miss Lucy very badly ; but go to her, she must 
 not be screaming thus — she will rouse the whole 
 neighbourhood! She shall go with me to Mrs. 
 Browne's to-morrow." 
 
 On the morrow the little Lucy was dressed aU 
 in her best, and promised a walk with mamma, 
 not a word being said, however, on the intended 
 call on the Brownes. She was taken first to two 
 different houses, put into very good humour by 
 compliments and cakes, and then decoyed by a 
 back street to the very front-door. No sooner 
 did the hated three large steps and the mahogany 
 door present themselves, than the child, who had 
 been merrily talking, and in the height of good 
 humour the moment before, began to scream and
 
 70 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE AND HIS WIFiS. 
 
 kick, and show such determir.ed resistance, as 
 brought all the grand neighbours to their windows, 
 and almost threw the mother into fits. 
 
 " Be still, naughty child," said she, shaking 
 her violently by the arm, and knocking at the 
 door at the same moment; "be still, or 1 will 
 whip you!" 
 
 IMrs. Browne's servants were deaf, or out of the 
 way, for none answered the door; and, who should 
 come up at the very moment, but INIrs. Jennings 
 and her witty daughter, and ISIiss Carr, who all 
 glanced at the perturbed countenance of Mrs. 
 Gregson and her outrageous c^ughter, with ill- 
 suppressed mirth. Mrs. Gregson knocked yet 
 louder, and in half a minute more was admitted, 
 when, vexed and mortified beyond measure, she 
 burst into tears. Mrs. Brov»rne did everything in 
 her power to calm her agitated feelings ; and the 
 little Lucy being assured that the Bonnie Prince 
 Charlie was not at home, nor should come into 
 her presence, was persuaded to sit down on a little 
 footstool in the drawing-room, although she reso- 
 lutely refused to accept either plum-cake or fig, 
 from her mother-in-law-elect. Poor child! she 
 had been bribed and deceived so often, that she 
 had no faith in any of them. 
 
 Bonnie Prince Charlie was sent to school in a 
 neighbouring town. It was a happy day both to 
 •im and his little wife, when they kissed and 
 parted. The parting, however, was the only 
 portion of the affair which had their own free 
 good- will; to kiss, they were persuaded, on the 
 plea that " they would not see one another, nobody 
 could say when ! "
 
 CHANGES WILL COME. 7! 
 
 "When the Bonnie Prince returned home for 
 the holidays, he had, even in the first half-year's 
 terra, imbibed enough of the school-boy spirit, to 
 maintain his own will, " in spite of his mother, or 
 any woman whatever; " and he failed not to make 
 it a main object to affront ^Irs. Gregson herself. 
 The first time, also, he met with his little wife, he 
 set himself about being " as disagreeable as pos- 
 sible." This being in the presence of her brothers 
 — the eldest of whom was about his own age — 
 they took up the quarrel warmly, and all were at 
 feud with him. On the second time of meeting, 
 things grew worse ; George Gregson, the second 
 brother, and he, had a fight, in which he was 
 victor. The next time they were together, Tom, 
 the elder, fell upon him, in the double cause of 
 having ill-used his sister, and fought with a boy 
 so much less than himself. The Bonnie Prince 
 went home soundly beaten, and full of all uncha- 
 ritableness to every one of the family, declaring 
 that, " when the Gregsons came to his school," as 
 was talked of, "he'd pay them off — that he would ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CHANGES WILL COME. 
 
 Mrs, Browne was sitting one morning in her 
 drawing-room, handsomely dressed, and stout and 
 comely — for she had unquestionably improved in 
 appearance as she bad increased in years and 
 wealth — and was now a fine-looking woman, aljout 
 thirty in appearance, though at leubt seven yeani 
 
 H
 
 72 CHANGES WILL COME. 
 
 older. The good house in Wilton-street was now 
 their own, and Mr. Browne was, without a doubt, 
 the first lawyer in that division of the county. He 
 had now ceased to think of the time when his 
 position in society or his fortune were doubtful. 
 The rival firm of Peake and Mordan had ceased 
 to be formidable. Peake was dead, and Mordan 
 had sunk into comparative insignificance. 
 
 Mrs. Browne was thinking, on this particulai 
 morning, bow respectable it looked to have a well 
 made footman in new handsome livery to wait 
 upon one, and to open the door when anybody 
 knocked. She hoped somebody particular would 
 ■ call this morning; it was a thousand pities that 
 the Sykes Willoughbys had called yesterday; she 
 Avished tlie Jenningses were come back from Bath, 
 for Mrs. Jennings' livery was nothing to compare 
 to theirs. How well it would look, too, to send 
 the Bonnie Prince to school, driven by this new 
 servant — for he enacted groom as well as footman — 
 all his schoolfellows, and the masters and all, would 
 think so much better of him. It was so much 
 handsomer, she thought, than to go there in one 
 gig — the father and his two boys, as the Gregsons 
 did. She must confess that the Gregsons were 
 rather common sort of people, and had very com- 
 mon notions about many things : but then, to be 
 •sure, Rebecca had not had the advantaojes which 
 she had had; there was so much in being the 
 wife of a piofessional man — that she knew ye-ars 
 ago, when she refused Samford — for professional 
 men are always gentlemen. She remembered 
 now, perfectly, how v'slgar she had thought Greg- 
 8on when she first knew him. Rebecca might
 
 CHANGES WILL COME. 73 
 
 have been different, if she had married a different 
 sort of person ; then there were so many children 
 — that alone made a wonderful difference; for her 
 part, she thought crowds of children were vulgar — 
 she was most happy in having but one; yet, spite 
 of the children, if she were in Rebecca's place, she 
 was sure she could manage better; she would not 
 be contented with things in such a tradesman-like 
 manner — dining at one — taking tea at six — it 
 really was so .vulgar; and, if it were only out of 
 compliment to her, they might alter their hours ; 
 for she never Icnew when to call, without interfering 
 with some meal. If Mrs. Gregson, however, had 
 onlv half as many callers as she had, and that 
 kind of people too, she would be compelled to 
 alter them. Then, again, she wished Rebecca 
 would have done with that everlasting brown silk 
 gown, and that scarlet shawl, and would dress 
 altogether with more style; for she, with all her 
 love for her friend, could not resist certain feelings 
 of shame and annoyance, when her great acquaint- 
 ance, the Sykes Willoughbys, or the Jenningses, 
 caught Mrs. Gresson in her drawinjr-room. She 
 had, it is true, ventured to say something to her 
 on the subject of her dress; but then, poor Mrs. 
 Gregson had looked so hurt, and had said some- 
 thing too, all in confidence, about her husband's 
 losses in trade, and the money it cost to keep the 
 boys at school; — that she was obliged to study 
 economy; and that she would rather by far go 
 shabby herself, than that little Lucy should, who 
 was designed for Prince Charlie's wife. Oh, it 
 was rather ridiculous and inconsiderate, Mrs. 
 Browne could not but confess, to have ever
 
 74 CHANGES WILL COME. 
 
 thought of marrying her son to Mr. Gregson's 
 daughter. She had not taken into consideration, 
 in those former years of their friendship, how very 
 different their station in society woukl be, and 
 that their son, an only child — a gentleman every 
 inch of him — was never likely to marry a cheese- 
 factor's daughter! No, indeed, he would marry, 
 she had no doubt, into a family as good as the 
 Sykes Willoughbys ! 
 
 At the very moment when Mrs. Brown's reflec- 
 tions had arrived at this ultimatum, the door of 
 the drawing-room was thrown open in the most 
 unexceptionable manner, and the footman, in his 
 new livery, announced " Mrs. Gregson." Mrs. 
 Browne rose with almost a start, yet she assumed 
 a manner of unwonted courtesy, to hide the trea- 
 son that was lurking in her soul. 
 
 " Dearest Rebecca," exclaimed she, kissing her, 
 " you are just the person I wanted! I have been 
 thinkincj of vou all the morning! How are the 
 dear children — and my sweet little Lucy — and 
 Mr. Gregson?" 
 
 " Quite well, thank you, dear," returned Mrs. 
 Gregson ; " but you've got a new servant, I see — 
 is Martin gone?" 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Browne, " but we have 
 so many morning callers, that a man-servant 
 seemed almost necessary ; and Browne wished to 
 give some dinner-parties, and we should have 
 been obliged to hire a man, and that, you know, 
 never looks well ; so, altogether, we thought we 
 had better keep one of our own — the expense is 
 no object at all — and Brown insisted upon my 
 keeping Martin as my own maid; she has such
 
 CHANGES WILL COME 7S 
 
 nice manners, and such an exceUent method of 
 getting up lace and muslin— I declare she always 
 irons Hrowue's shirts — he is very particular about 
 his shirts, you know." 
 
 " It is a fine thing to he you," returned Mrs. 
 Gregson. 
 
 " Bless me, you are not envious!" exclaimed 
 her fiieiul, smiling, 
 
 " Oh dear, no!" said Mrs. Gregson, " I am 
 sure, I rejoiSe that things have gone so well with 
 you. But, do you know," added she, " who are 
 the new people that are come to Moreby Lodge? — 
 you know there was a great mystery about it." 
 
 " No, indeed; I never could learn," said Mrs. 
 Browne. 
 
 " You shall guess," said her friend, looking 
 very well pleased; " I am sure you will never 
 guess, though! — I never w^as so sui'prised in all 
 my Hfe." 
 
 Mrs. Browne guessed and guessed again, but 
 could not guess aright. 
 
 " I'll tell you," said Mrs. Gregson : "Anne Ward 
 and her husband — only think — our own old Anne 
 Ward of the Wyndham House days!" 
 
 " You astonish me!" exclaimed j\Irs. Browne. 
 
 " I knew 1 should," returned her friend. " Don't 
 you remember, a dozen years ago, or more, my 
 telling you tiiat she had written to me, saying she 
 was going to India? She and I were great friends 
 after you left school. Bless me! only to think of 
 those old times — the Miranda and Elvira days I 
 and Mrs. Gregson clasped her hands, and laughed. 
 
 Mrs. Browne looked a good deal annoyed, and 
 her friend resumed : — 
 
 h2
 
 76 CHANGES WILL COME. 
 
 " Anne AVard and I were very good friends: I 
 liked lier very much ; and she wrote to say she 
 was going to India; that was very soon after I 
 was married — it must be fifteen years ago ; and, 
 two years afterwards, slie sent me a long letter, 
 and that pretty India box." 
 
 " Yes, I remember," said Mrs. Browne. 
 
 " I heard no more of her," continued Mrs. 
 Gregson — " not one syllable, whether she was 
 dead or alive, till last night; and then, a very 
 handsome carriage drove up to the door with a 
 lady in it. She sent in her card — Mrs. Barwell. 
 I could not conceive who she was; the servant 
 said his lady supposed I did not know the name, 
 but she begged I would see her. Cf course, I 
 said I should be most happy; and in she came. 
 I was sitting at my work with Lucy and the two 
 boys ; but I could not for my life recall the face, 
 nor conceive who she was : she held my hand, and 
 looked fixedly and pleasantly into my face, and 
 seemed quite to enjoy my perplexity. At last, I 
 said, " Is it Anne Ward?" and then she burst out 
 laughing, just as she used to do. " And now, 
 sit down," said she, for I have ordered the car- 
 riage away ; and 1 am going to take tea with you, 
 and talk over old times." " But, have you 
 dined?" I asked; for, as I had cold fowl, and 
 ton<rue, and cheesecakes in the house, I knew I 
 could offer her a nice little dinner. " Ye-s," ska 
 said, " I dined at one o'clock to-day, for they 
 told me you kept early hours; and 1 am come to 
 take tea with you, and to have a long evening, 
 and to talk over old times." 
 
 " It was very friendly and considerate of her,"
 
 CHANGES WILL COME. 77 
 
 said Mrs, Browne ; " but did she know that I was 
 living here?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Gregson, " she knew that 
 before I told her; but she and I, you know, were 
 at school together nearly two years after you left, 
 and were very good friends. I am sure, I was 
 quite afieeted by her remembrance of me!" 
 
 Mrs. Browne made up her mind that she would 
 call upon her the very next morning, and was 
 rejoiced to think of the servant in livery, who 
 would drive her. " I'm sure, my dear Rebecca," 
 said she, rather bitterly, " you must have done 
 with this old brown silk, and this old shawl, now 
 that carriage-people come to visit you ! and I 
 hope Nancy was neat, and had a clean apron on 
 when she went to the door; people used to well- 
 appointed establishments, and well-dressed ser- 
 vants, notice these things so much; and I am 
 sure, Nancy need not go so slovenly as she does. 
 But, dear me! I did not mean to hurt you," said 
 she, seeing the colour mount to Mrs. Gregson's 
 brow, with an expression of mortification on her 
 countenance; " I only said it out of friendship; 
 but 1 know that people used to fine establishments 
 perceive these things so soon ; and the Barwells 
 must be very rich, for, what a fine place they have 
 made of the Lodge! and I hear they keep three 
 men-servants!" 
 
 Mrs. Gregson made no reply, but looked as if 
 something were labouring in her mind. Mrs. 
 Browne thought so too. " I'm sure, Rebecca, 
 I'm vpry sorry if 1 have given you pain ; but I 
 meant it only in kindness. I have often wished 
 to mention the subject to you. Nancy is hardly
 
 78 CHANGES WILL COME. 
 
 respectable; and, you know, other people may 
 talk, but they never could mention it to you." 
 
 " I am not thinking about that, Sarah," re- 
 turned Mrs, Gregson. " We cannot afford to 
 keep footmen in livery; a female servant must do 
 for us : but I was coming up to-day, even if I 
 had not come to tell you about Anne Ward, to 
 mention something else, which, I am sure, has 
 made me quite wretched of late; and, I really 
 think, neither Mr. Browne nor yourseii should 
 have occasioned the necessity for it." 
 
 " Bless me! what do you mean?" asked the 
 other; " you quite frighten me!" 
 
 " I mean the money Gregson lent to Mr. 
 Browne, years ago." 
 
 " Oh!" said Mrs. Browne. 
 
 " I am sure it has made me quite unhappy of 
 late," continued Mrs. Gregson. " Gregson has 
 lost a deal of money in business — of -course, this 
 is said in confidence to you — -it quite aifects his 
 spirits, and, I fear, his health also; and nothing 
 but absolute necessity would have induced me to 
 mention it; but he threatened, if 1 would not, 
 then he would; and men, you know, want delicacy 
 about these things. I was so afraid he might say 
 anything to hurt either you or Mr. Browne's feel- 
 ings; for I told him all along I was sure it had 
 slipped your memories." 
 
 " You are very good!" said Mrs. Browne; but 
 in a voice tht^t seemed to express the very opposite 
 of her words. 
 
 '♦ Then, may I tell Gregson that you will men- 
 tion it to Mr. Browne?" asked the other.
 
 CHANGES WILL COME. 79 
 
 " Certainly," replied she, but in the coldest 
 possible voice. 
 
 " And now, dear Sarah," again began Mrs. 
 Gregson, who was wounded by the tone of voice, 
 more than by the words, " as I am on disagree- 
 able subjects, let me say one word on another 
 matter, which has caused me more pain of mind 
 than you can conceive." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake!" said i\Irs. Browne, "only 
 one unpleasant subject at a time, if you please!" 
 
 "No, Sarah!" returned Mrs. Gregson, "it 
 shall not be left till another time. I will speak 
 it; you know what I mean, for you must yourself 
 be conscious of it!" 
 
 "Of what?" asked Mrs. Browne. 
 
 "Of coldness and indifference," replied she; 
 " of not having the same regard for me that you 
 used to have. And oh, Sarah, if you really said 
 what old Mrs. Robiusuu has told everybody that 
 you said — that you thought my Lucy badly 
 managed, and my boys so rude, that you would 
 not let dear Charlie come near them — it was 
 unkind! — it was cruel! — it was what I never 
 deserved! nor could I have said it of you and 
 yours, even if I ha.i thought it fifty times the 
 truth!" And poor Mrs. Gregson, fairly overcome 
 by her sense of the injury, burst into violent 
 tears. 
 
 " She's a gossipping old woman!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Browne; " and pray, Rebecca, do not thus 
 give way to your feelings; remember you will 
 liave to walk through the town, and everybody 
 will see you ; and, I protest, I never said one 
 word against dear Lucy. I may have said that
 
 80 CHANGES WILL COME. 
 
 Tom and George were rude; but, bless me! that's 
 no more than I have said of my own son hun- 
 dreds of times! Oh dear! now there's a knock 
 at the hall door! Do, pray, go into my bed-room, 
 and wash your face ! you'll find Martin there ; and 
 tell her to give you a glass of wine!" 
 
 So saying, Mrs. Browne hurried her poor friend 
 out of the drawing-room, just before the new foot- 
 man brought up a party of fine ladies. Mrs. 
 Gregson stood on the second flight, just long 
 enough to let the drawing-room door be closed, 
 and the footman out of sight, and then, without 
 entering the bed-room, or encountering Martin, 
 whom she greatly • disliked, she smothered her 
 feelings, both of pride and sorrow, as well as she 
 could, and let herself out of the house, right glad 
 that tlie fine new footman was no where to be seen. 
 
 The disparaging thoughts which had been occu- 
 pying Mrs. Browne's mind, before Mrs. Gregson 
 made her appearance, were no way weakened by 
 the visit she had just paid. The brown silk gown, 
 and the red shawl, looked even shabbier in her 
 eyes than ever; "and if it indeed were," reasoned 
 sire, " as Mrs. Gregson hinted, that their circum- 
 stances were unprosperous, how little to be desired 
 was her acquaintance, in many ways." Their new 
 friends, all gay and wealthy, would not like to 
 meet the shabhy figure and dismal countenance 
 of poor Mrs. Gregson about the place. Mrs. 
 Gregson did not get stouter as she got older; and 
 really, her friend protested, she began to look 
 quite like the old woman! Then, turning to 
 another branch of the subject, she still cogitated 
 on : " It was so strange that Anne Ward, now
 
 CHANGES WILL COME. 81 
 
 the wife of the rich India Colonel Barwell, of 
 Moreby Lodge, should go in that familiar sort of 
 way to call upon her; and yet, what was this but 
 a proof that she knew her to be low in the world? 
 She never would have called on me," said she, 
 " in that style! No, no, it was plain enough that 
 she knew the true manners of the world ; people 
 holding such a position in society as the Brownes, 
 would call on the new comers—such as tlie Greg- 
 sons could not have volunteered their acquaintance 
 to the Barwells; Mrs. Barwell evidently wished to 
 set the poor friend at ease, and would wait to be 
 called on by the rich one!" 
 
 The flattering unction being thus laid to her 
 soul, she was quite easy on the subject of the 
 Barwells, and then turned her thoughts to that 
 part of her friend's communication, which was 
 most annoying of all — the borrowed money. She 
 must mention it to her husband — there was no 
 doubt of that; but she knew ver well, that, 
 although everything was going on in wordly 
 matters to their hearts' content, and that there 
 was no want of money for any purpose, eitlier 
 for ease or pleasure, nor yet for the purchase of 
 houses or lands, still, it was another thing to 
 raise a thousand pounds, and pay it down for no 
 visible return: they would seem to be a thousand 
 pounds poorer, when this money was j)aid to 
 Gregson. She devoutly wished they never had 
 had it; for " Browne," said she, " must and 
 would have made his way, spite of any impedi- 
 ment; and, I am sure we over-estimated the 
 favour at the time. We have always thought 
 quite too much of the Gregsons; and, if it had
 
 82 CHANGES WILL COMB» 
 
 not been for this horrid money, we ought to have 
 dropped them years ago!" 
 
 With this sense of duty strong upon her, she 
 at that moment opened the drawing-room door 
 for her husband, whose step she heard on the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Mrs. Gregson has just been here," said she, 
 •* the moment he entered; and what do you think 
 she came about?" 
 
 Her husband could not tell. 
 
 " She says," replied Mrs. Browne, " that their 
 circumstances are very bad; and so I can believe, 
 for she looks, and has looked a long time, dread- 
 fully shabby! and she says they must have the 
 money ! " 
 
 " He has been with me about it," said Browne, 
 looking angry and annoyed ; " it is a great 
 shame that he should want money — people always 
 supposed that he was making a property." 
 
 " It's really too bad!" exclaimed his wife; 
 " and what shall you do ? " 
 
 " Do! " repeated Browne, " require six months' 
 notice, to be sure, and pay it in! — It's folly 
 talking of paying a thousand pounds at a day's 
 notice — so I told him ! But what I came at this 
 moment about was, to tell you that Mr. Sykes 
 Willoughby will take luncheon here to-morrow 
 at one ; and I wish you to get some cream cheese 
 — I heard him say he was fond of it — and let 
 everything be handsome ! " 
 
 " Yes," returned Mrs. Browne ; " but I do not 
 know where to get tlie cream cheese." 
 
 " You must get it! " returned her husband; " li 
 it costs five pounds, it must be bad!"
 
 THE NEW FRIEND. 83 
 
 Mrs. Browne having assured her husband that 
 it should be had if money could obtain it, made 
 him listen to the strange history of the new resi- 
 dents at JNIoreby Lodge, and of Mrs. Barwell's 
 visit to ]\Irs. Gregson. 
 
 " You see," said she, " all this was done out 
 of consideration to their humble circumstances : 
 she waits now for me to call upon her. Mrs. 
 Gregson never could have volunteered her friend- 
 ship to people'living at Moreby Lodge." 
 
 ]\Ir. Browne approved of, and acquiesced in, all 
 his wife said; and wished her to pay her respects 
 to the Barwells, without fail, the moment after 
 Mr. Sykes Willoughby liad lunched there, the 
 next dav. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE NEW FRIEXD. 
 
 Mr. Sykes Willoughby lunched with the 
 Brownes the next day — cream-cheese being on 
 the table, of which the important gentleman par- 
 took, commending it even to Mr. Browne's satis- 
 faction. 
 
 All this being so happily dismissed, Mrs. 
 Browne, driven by the new, well-appointed man- 
 servant, in the handsome gig, Avent to make her 
 call upon the new lady of Moreby Lodge. Moreby 
 Lodge was one of those grand places with an 
 humble name; any one who had heard it merely 
 mentioned might have imagined it an unostentatious
 
 84 THE NEW FRIEND. 
 
 cottage or villa, but seeing it, they would eagerly 
 have asked, "What splendid mansion is that?" 
 The very fact of living at Moreby Lodge was a 
 guarantee for fortune and rank; the Sykes Wil- 
 loughhy's place, although pompously designated 
 as '* Castle Willoughby," was not so good a house. 
 It was a very satisfactory thing, therefore, to Mrs. 
 Browne, to be driving up the beautiful grounds, 
 with the feeling that she should be as intimate at 
 Moreby Lodge as if it were her own place — that 
 no doubt she should be staying there a month at 
 a time, and Charlie would be invited to shoot 
 there; — it was certainly a most agreeable thing to 
 have rich and great friends ! " 
 
 Mrs. Browne was commissioned by her husband 
 with his card, and the handsomest apology for not 
 accompanying her, on the plea of important busi- 
 ness with ]\Ir. Sykes Willoughby; but that, at 
 the earliest moment he could steal from his pro- 
 fessional engagements, he would have the honour 
 of paying his compliments to Colonel artd Mrs. 
 Barwell. 
 
 All Woodburn had talked of the improvements 
 at Moreby Lodge; but Mrs. Browne was hardly 
 prepared for the display of wealth and taste, both 
 within and without, which she discovered. 
 
 " It was strange," she thought, as she sate in 
 the drawing-room, waiting for the appearance of 
 the lady of the house, " how the mistress of a place 
 like this, should seek out, and almost, as it were, 
 fly to the arms of a cheese-factor's wife ! There 
 must be something innately vulgar in her tastes; 
 and it must have been certainly without the know- 
 ledge of the Colonel that it was done!"
 
 THE NEW FRIEND. 85 
 
 So reasoneci she, till Mrs. Barwell entered the 
 room. jNIrs. Gregson might well say, it was diffi- 
 cult to recognise in her the Anne Ward of the 
 Wyndham House days. She was tall, and nobly 
 formed, although, from the effect of climate, look- 
 ing older than her real age, and was exquisitely 
 dressed ; with manners of the utmost self-posses- 
 sion, and quiet dignity. Revulsions of feeling 
 may be as instantaneous as lightning; and Mrs. 
 Browne, who,' the moment before, had wrought 
 herself up into a spirit of contempt, felt immediately 
 the most resolute determination to become her 
 intimate friend — to transfer to her the friendship 
 which had for so many years been the property of 
 Mrs, Gregson. 
 
 The joyous confidential meeting which Mrs. 
 Gregson had described as taking place between 
 herself and Mrs. Barwell, was evidently not de- 
 signed to be repeated ; the lady was cordial, but 
 no more. Mrs. Browme enacted raptures, and 
 professed inexpressible delight, and introduced the 
 memory of old times, and Wyndham House ; but 
 it would not take. Mrs. Barwell was cool and 
 measured in all her expressions ; she was no way 
 inclined to overstep the bounds of the utmost pro- 
 priety. It was the most provoking thing in the 
 world! She then ventured upon another topic, 
 " dear Rebecca," as she called her, hoping to have 
 struck a sympathetic chord. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Barwell, " Mrs. Gregson 
 seems most happily married." 
 
 " Mr. Gregson has always been reckoned lich," 
 returned Mrs. Browne. 
 
 *• "What an air of comfort there is throughout
 
 86 THE NEW FRIEND. 
 
 the house!" said Mrs. Barwell, at once kindling 
 into animation — " real substantial comfort — not 
 show. It did my heart good to see her, and 
 those sweet children. . I saw only three, however, 
 the two younger boys and Liicy. I must have 
 Lucy to stay with me here, for I love children! 
 I subscribe with all my heart to what the good 
 German professed, ' Love for Jesus Christ and little 
 children!'" 
 
 " Lucy is a very pretty girl! " said Mrs. Browne, 
 quite annoyed and amazed by these extraordinary 
 observations ; " but Mrs. Gregson spoils her 
 children." 
 
 "Indeed!" replied Mrs. Barwell, coolly: "that 
 she loves them dearly, and indulges them more 
 than many systematic mammas deem prudent, 
 may be the case; but spoiled they certainly did 
 not seem to me ; for children with milder manners, 
 or more gentle, intelligent countenances, I have 
 rarely seen." 
 
 " No, certainly," replied the discomfited Mrs- 
 Browne. 
 
 " And her husband," continued Mrs. Barwell, 
 " there is a frank, cordial expression about him, 
 that won my heart. I should pronounce him a 
 good man in every relation of life, merely from the 
 tone of his voice. It really did me good to see 
 that household." 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Browne, " they belong to a 
 very subordinate class ; people of any standing in 
 society would not visit with them; they want 
 that polish of manner, that je ne sais quoi which 
 distinguishes people of fashion — or education, 
 perhaps, I should rather say."
 
 THE NEW FRIEKi>. 87 
 
 " I often question," said ]Mrs. Barwell, " whe- 
 ther their's is not the class of society, liowever, in 
 which true happiness is most generally found. 
 They, as individuals, are far more independent 
 than persons of fashion — of our own class, Mrs, 
 Browne." 
 
 Mrs. Browne acknowledged this last remark as 
 a compliment. 
 
 " There is," continued Mrs. Barwell, " in our 
 own class, so much sacrifice to convention ; — 
 this must not he done, or that must not be done — 
 not because it is wrong, but because it is not 
 customary for people of a certain rank? to do so, 
 and vice versa. You must rise, and go to bed, 
 and take your meals, according to certain rules 
 which fashion has prescribed ; yoii must ride, 
 when, perhaps, you would rather walk; you must 
 be in London just when you would rather be in 
 the country ; you must go to this place of amuse- 
 ment, although it may be no amusement to you; 
 -md you must not go somewhere else, although it 
 would delight you beyond everything; you mvist 
 not visit witli such and such people, however ami- 
 cable, and clever, and good they may be, because 
 they dine in the middle of the day, or keep no 
 man-servant, or purchase fewer or less expensive 
 dresses in the course of the year than would be 
 reckoned the stylish number." 
 
 " Not so arbitrary as that!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Browne. 
 
 " The spirit which governs the higher grade of 
 the middle classes, in their intercourse with each 
 other," said Mrs. Barwell, " is certainly as arbi- 
 trary." 
 
 i2
 
 88 THE NEW FRIEND. 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Browne, " you, at least, are 
 
 not bound by these rigorous laws." 
 
 •' Not entirely, thank God!" returned Mrs. Bar- 
 well, with animation. " I have, fortunately, a 
 very sensible man for my husband, and who 
 allows me to do just as I please; and I exercise 
 considerable independence of judgment: but, my 
 dear Mrs. Browne," said she, smiling, " you will 
 not convince me that the haut-ton of Woodbum 
 will not be greatly shocked and scandalized that 
 I 'nade a familiar call on the wife of a cheese- 
 f..i i.)r; they will set me down either as decidedly 
 vulgar, or as a mad-woman." 
 
 " I must confess," began Mrs. Browne, and 
 then hesitated, not knowing whether it was pru- 
 dent, with so eccentric a lady, to speak her mind 
 fully. 
 
 " Yes, I know what you would say," said Mrs. 
 Barwell; "and, though 1 should not consider 
 myself accountable to everybody for the common 
 exercise of my free will, I will tell you candidly 
 why I did so. We were girls at school together — 
 that you know. I was poor, and a day-scholar; 
 Rebecca Wells, now Mrs. Gregson, had known 
 some early sorrows of her own, and she was kind 
 to me — very kind, and, I believe, sincerely loved 
 me; she must have told you, for you were sworn 
 friends — " the Miranda and Elvira," said she, 
 laughing: " what a warm friendship we struck up 
 after you left !" 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Browne — who felt angry to 
 think that she had not known all her friend's 
 secrets — " I never heard of it (" 
 
 " Nevertheless," said Mrs Barwell, " wo were
 
 THE NEW FRIEND. 89 
 
 dear friends, and it was a great sorrow to me when 
 she left. My youth was made up of brij>;ht lights 
 and deep shades : my first great sorrow was losing 
 my parents; my great happiness was to live seven 
 years with an uncle and aunt; then came a shade 
 again, and I lived with my grandmother: when 
 you knew me, she was, unhappily, infirm both in 
 health and temper, and the discomforts of that 
 part of myjife were great; she was poor and 
 proud; my education Avas the result of a legacy, 
 left hv my uncle for that express purpose. What 
 did I not owe to that uncle and aunt!" There 
 was a slight tremor in i\Irs. Barwell's voice, but 
 she continued: — " My uncle and aunt dealt in 
 tea — yes, Mrs. Browne, I assure you they kept a 
 shop — a little commission-shop, which produced 
 them but a small income. 1 lived with them 
 seven years from the time when I was five years 
 old. It was a golden time — I do not believe 
 there was one shade upon it! I shall never 
 forget the happy, kind countenances of my uncle 
 and aunt; the little shop, and all the neat little 
 packets of tea sealed up ready for customers ; and 
 the neat little back parlour, and the tea-table at 
 which we three sat; and how I used to run out to 
 help the customers when we were at meals, to 
 save my uncle the trouble — for I lov^^d him 
 dearly! I declare, I have a foolish fancy for all 
 little tea-shops, to this very day. Then, I re- 
 member the holidays that came now and then; 
 and the joy it was Avhen Christmas-day fell 
 on a Saturday or Monday, and the shop was 
 closed for two wlu)le days together, and we could 
 thus extend a pleasure — even stop out all night;
 
 90 THE NEW FRIENI>. 
 
 and my good uncle used to laugh, and say what 
 a fine thing it must be to be a gentleman, and 
 lead a life of Sundays! Bless me 1" said Mrs. 
 Barwell, now really wiping her eyes, " I am 
 quite a child when I think of these things ! And 
 then, in summer, when a cousin came over for a 
 week, to manage the shop, and we all set ofT in. a 
 post-chaise somewhere — often to the sea side ; and 
 then, no children just let loose from school, were 
 happier than we! How we used to pick up 
 shells; and write our names on the firm sand, and 
 watch till the tide washed them out; and batlie in 
 the sea, and come home so hungry; and make 
 acquaintance witli our fellow-lodgers; and even 
 set off on an excursion in a spring-cart, hired for 
 the day — for we were anything but aristocratic in 
 those days! How often have I thougi-t of those 
 things!" 
 
 Mrs. Barwell paused; her auditor made no 
 remark, for she thought her the oddest person she 
 had ever known; and presently Mrs. Barwell 
 resumed. 
 
 " I assure you, when I was in India, and my 
 fortune had changed so completely, I never thought 
 of those times or persons with shame or disgust; 
 and I determined, that when I came back to Eng- 
 land I would throw myself, once more, among 
 the middle classes, and witness, at least, such 
 happiness as I enjoyed in my youth. I loved 
 Rebecca Wells. 1 knew that she had married one 
 of her own class; she had written to me, and told 
 me of her husband and her children ; and when 
 we indeed returned to England, and all the island 
 was before us to choose from, and the Colonel
 
 THE NEW FRIEND. 91 
 
 most generously gave me leave to please myself, 
 I came down here, found this pretty place on 
 sale, which our solicitor in London purchased 
 for us, and here we now are ; nor was it till two 
 days ago I saw Mrs. Gregson, for I determined not 
 to apprize her of our coming, that I might witness 
 her pleasure. Nor was her pleasure inferior to 
 mine; and I rejoice to think, that, with all her 
 good feeling and affectionate nature, she belongs 
 to a class where she may dare to be happy in the 
 most rational way." 
 
 " I fear you will be disappointed in her," said 
 Mrs. Browne, to whom almost every word in this 
 long speech had been displeasing. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you say so," returned she, 
 " for you must have had opportunities of knowing 
 her so well; but I am an obstinate person, and 
 I must judge of people and things for myself." 
 
 " I beg," said Mrs. Browne, afraid lest she had 
 committed herself, " that you will rightly under- 
 stand my words. I fear rather that you have 
 over-estimated the happiness of tradespeople, as 
 a class; they always appear to me to want refine- 
 ment." 
 
 " It may be so," said Mrs. Barwell, "but my 
 uncle and aimt were truly refined in mind and 
 manner; he was more of a gentleman than most 
 men of fashion, because his refinement aiul deli- 
 cacy was that of the heart. If I have to discover 
 that such as he and his incomparable wife are but 
 the exceptions to the class, my disajjpointment 
 will be a bitter one!" 
 
 " Of all the absurd women that ever I saw," 
 said Mrs. Browne, that same evening, to her hus-
 
 92 THE NEW FRIEND. 
 
 band, " Mrs. Barwell is the absurdest. She has 
 the most outre notions about tradespeople being 
 so much happier, and so much more desirable as 
 acquaintance than the gentry, that really I felt it 
 almost like a personal affront!" 
 
 " She must be an extraordinary person," said 
 Browne. 
 
 " It was the most ridiculous thing in the world," 
 continued she, " to hear her talking about some 
 old shop-keeping uncle of hers, -a horn she was 
 brought uo with." 
 
 " People generally wish to drop svich low con- 
 nexions," remarked her husband. 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Browne, " she is one of 
 those people who pride themselves on eccentric 
 opinions; one would think, to hear her talk, that 
 she would be only too happy to exchange Moreby 
 Lodge for a little tea-dealer's shop, with only a 
 back parlour. I protest I never heard such non- 
 sense as she talked; she'll be a famous subject for 
 Harriet Jennings. I must tell her, the first time 
 I see her! And then, to hear her raving about the 
 Gregsons! Would ycu believe it? — she says they 
 came into this neighbourhood — bought Moreby 
 Lodge — on purpose to be near the Gregsons!" 
 
 Mr. Browne, although not much given to 
 laughter, burst out into a loud fit of merriment, 
 and inquired what Colonel Barwell said to all 
 this? 
 
 " I did not see the Colonel," replied Mrs. 
 Browne; " but he must be a Jerry Sneak, for 
 she says he lets her do just as she will in all 
 these fancies. She came down and took the 
 house, and seems to rule everything, I am con-
 
 THE NEW FRIEND. 93 
 
 vinced, oy many things she said, that they are not 
 first-rate people!" 
 
 Her husband agreed Avith her; and so the con- 
 versation ended. 
 
 If the sworn friendship had been growing cooler 
 and cooler between ]Mrs, Browne and Mrs. Greg- 
 son, this coming in of a third friend put an end to 
 it at once. 
 
 Mrs. Browne had, as we saw at the commence- 
 ment of the last chapter, admitted into her mind 
 many causes' of dissatisfaction ; but greater than all 
 was the fact, which jNIrs. Barwell had unwittingly 
 revealed, that she had formed another friendsliip, 
 of which she was permitted to know nothing. 
 She had been deceived in the very beginning; "and 
 ihink," pondered she, " what would she have been 
 but for me? She owes everything to me. as she 
 has avowed hundreds of times; but tliis is what 
 one gets by throwing away one's friendship on 
 common people!" The "Miranda and Elvira 
 friendship" seemed little short of insanity ; and 
 she most heroically dragged forth a hair trunk, 
 containing, under lock and key, all the letters she 
 had ever received from Mrs. Gregson, tied up in 
 yearly packets, and variously inscribed — " From 
 my sueet friend, Elvira, 179 — " — " Letters and 
 notes from the sister of my soul, from 1799 to 
 1802"—" Poems, by my beloved Elvira, 179—." 
 She could not go through even the inscriptions of 
 them. She was at a loss how to destroy them, for 
 they were so many, they would smother any ordi- 
 nary fire; they were so foolish, they nuist not be 
 seen by any one. She locked the })ox again, and 
 ordered Martin to carry it into the lumber garret.
 
 94 THE NEW FRIEND. 
 
 These niemorials of " eternal friendship" being 
 thus removed from view, she took the signed and 
 sealed Family Compact, and, without vouchsafing 
 it a single glance, tore it to pieces, and thrust it 
 deep down into the very centre of her dressing- 
 room fire. 
 
 Things were not arrived quite at this stage with 
 Mrs. Gregson ; she, as she said, had felt the grow- 
 ing coolness of late, with great distress of mind. 
 She was not conscious, in her own heart, of any 
 decrease of aftection. Nay, she was sure that 
 the tears she had shed about her friend's indiffer- 
 ence, proved that she still was faithful as ever; 
 still, although she, perhaps, had not yet changed, 
 she was in that state when she was capable of 
 being changed; and the very comparison, whicb 
 she could not help drawing, between the assump- 
 tion of superiority on the part of Mrs. Browne, 
 whom, she knew, was reckoned by everybody in 
 Woodburn only as an upstart, and the genuine, 
 open-hearted aifection volunteered to her by Mrs. 
 Barwell, by whose slightest notice all Woodburn 
 reckoned itself honoured, wrought that very change. 
 She was satisfied to let Mrs. Browne slide out of 
 her heart, seeing that a better one was willing to 
 take her place; and one, more especially, who 
 was satisfied with Mr. Gregson as he was; and 
 who thought the children neither rude nor spoiled; 
 and who declared, that Lucy must go and spend 
 weeks with her. That was more than Mrs. 
 Browne had done for years, although she was 
 affianced to Charlie; and now that affair — that 
 Family Compact — seemed of doubtful wisdom to 
 her mind. She determined to mention it to Mrs.
 
 THE NEW FRIEND. 95 
 
 Barwell, and, if she thought so too, to withdraw 
 herself and her daughter from it. There was a 
 sweet satisfaction in her mind at the thought of 
 this: " It will prove," she said, " that I have some 
 spirit." 
 
 The Family Compact was explained to Mrs. 
 Barwell, on the next occasion of their meeting, 
 and her counsel required. 
 
 " Such schemes," . said Mrs. Barwell, " never 
 coflld succeed; nor is it desirable that they 
 should. Young Browne may, and very probably 
 will, grow up a most unfit husband for your 
 Lucy; how, then, could you urge such a union? 
 Besides, it places the young people themselves in 
 so unpleasant a position towards each other. I 
 should expect dislike rather than affection to be 
 the consequence." 
 
 " So it has been," said Mrs. Gregson; " they 
 have disliked each other for years. Lucy is a 
 dear, affectionate girl, and has love enough for all 
 the world ; but she detests Prince Charlie — we 
 always called him so. Charles Edward is his 
 name; and ' Bonnie Prince Charlie' was the name 
 he went by throughout Woodburn — the very boys 
 used to shout it after him." 
 
 " Poor child!" said Mrs. Barwell. 
 
 " It was his mother's doing!" returned the 
 other. 
 
 " The greater the pity," replied she; " a nick- 
 name is a cruel thing! But what kind of boy is 
 lie? lie must be fourteen or fifteen now." 
 
 " lie will soon be eighteen," said Mrs. Gregson; 
 " he has been at Rugby, and is to go to Cam- 
 bridge, I believe : he is to be a barrister, they say. 
 
 K
 
 96 THE NEW FRIEVD. 
 
 He is a fine youth, I hear; but I have not seen 
 him now for nearly two years. He never comes 
 near us; for he has a deal of his mother's spirit 
 about him; likes mixing with great people, and 
 all that kind of thing; and Lucy dislikes him so 
 much, that I never ask him to come now." 
 
 '* You must say no more about this. Family 
 Compact," remarked Mrs. Barwell ; " never men- 
 tion it to Lucy ; you can talk it over easily with 
 Mrs. Browne; most likely she will be as glad to 
 abandon the idea as you, if she has not already 
 done so, which is most likely." 
 
 " She thinks, I have no doubt," replied Mrs. 
 Gregson, " of Prince Charlie marrying some great 
 person's daughter; for you see Browne has great 
 influence among the county families; and I am 
 sure that youth carries his head high enough for 
 anything. I know well that they all of them 
 despise us, because we are connected with trade; 
 which is very absurd, you know, if one only re- 
 members what AL-s. Browne's father was — a 
 common grocer!" 
 
 " Do not let it pique you at all, dear Mrs. 
 Gregson," said AL-s. Barwell, smiling; " let young 
 Browne marry some great person's daughter, if 
 he please; you may make Lucy far happier by 
 marrying her to such a tradesman as my dear 
 aunt married, even than by marrying her to many 
 a man with a title." 
 
 " But," said Mrs. Gregson, " one naturally 
 wishes to see one's children rise in the world." 
 
 " She need not do better than you have done," 
 returned her friend, " with that fine, English- 
 looking, manly husband of yours."
 
 THE NEW FRIEND. 97 
 
 Mrs. Gregson was gratified by the compliment 
 on her husband, but still she was not satisfied. 
 
 " Have no concern about Lucy," said Mrs. 
 Barwell; "she will marry well, never fear; only 
 leave her to choose a husband for herself." 
 
 This conversation was decisive. JNIrs. Gregson 
 packed up her copy of the Family Compact, and 
 sent it, with the following note, to Mrs. Browne. 
 
 Bridge-street, October 21, 1820. 
 My DEAR Sarah — I would not, for the world, 
 hold you bound in any way contrary to your 
 wishes. I know tiuit your feelings are not what 
 they used to be towards us. I therefore send you 
 my copy of the Family Compact, wishing entirely 
 to withdraw from it. I shall leave Lucy free to 
 choose for herself; believing that young people 
 brought up so differently as ours have been, never 
 would be happy together. Besides, Lucy's feel- 
 ings have long been anything but affectionate 
 towards Prince Charlie; to whom, hov.ever, I 
 wish all happiness and prosperity. 1 am, dear 
 Sarah, yours, as ever, 
 
 Rebecca Gregson. 
 
 Mrs. Browne was infinitely annoyed at receiv- 
 ing this packet and note: she had destroyed, with 
 great enerjjy of disgust, her copy of the Compact, 
 as we know, above a week ago. She wished 
 sincerely that she had only taken time about it, 
 and been cool, like Mrs. Gregson ; for she was 
 conscious of an exquisite bitterness in tlie way 
 she had proceeded in the affair. She returned 
 the following note: —
 
 98 THE NEW FRIEND, 
 
 My dear Mrs. Gregson — I am happy to see 
 that we continue to think alike, on the more im- 
 portant topics at least. I have long since, con- 
 sidering the great alteration which so many years 
 have produced in our respective positions in 
 society, given up the idea of the Family Union — 
 supposing, of course, that your good sense had 
 led you to do the same. 
 
 I destroyed my copy of the foolish Compact 
 long since; and wish now I had apprized you of 
 the circumstance, as it might earlier have deter- 
 mined you. Perliaps, however, Mrs. Harwell may 
 have been your counsellor; her good sense wouiu 
 have dictated such a step. 
 
 With most affectionate wishes for your liappi 
 ness, and that, also, of your whole family, I am, 
 dear Mrs. Gregson, yours sincerely, 
 
 Wilton-street, Oct. 21st. Sauah Browne. 
 
 The very day after this note was written, 
 Colonel and Mrs. Barwell drove to the Brownes'. 
 At that time, a series of dinners was just commenc- 
 mg in VVoodburn It was the on dit of the little 
 town, that parties would be unusually gay and large 
 this season, in compliment to the new residents of 
 Moreby Lodge, whom everybody seemed disposed 
 to honour. Mr. and Mrs. Browne were intending 
 to give a dinner and gsand evening party, which 
 should eclipse everything of the kind, and at wliich 
 everybody who was (inyhody was to be invited, 
 especially as Mrs. Barwell was to be played olf as 
 Mrs. Browne's old and dear friend. 
 
 The Barwells, as we said above, called on the
 
 THE NEW FRIEND. 99 
 
 Brownes, and were, of course, received with 
 every mark of respect and cordiality. Tlie servant 
 was ordered to inl'orm his master of the Colonel 
 and his lady being there — Mrs. Browne not failing 
 to inform them that her husband seldom left his 
 office ibr morning-callers, but tliat, on the present 
 occasion, he would do so without hesitation ; accord- 
 ingly he came in, bowing and professing himself 
 honoured. The Barwells apologized for taking him 
 from more important business; they liad called, 
 they said, merely to beg their company to dinner 
 on the following Monday. " A very unctrenionious 
 invitation for a first dinner," thought both husband 
 and wife; but both declared, in one breath, that 
 they should be most happy, and certainly would 
 have that honour. 
 
 " Quite a family dinner," said Colonel Barwell, 
 " to meet some I'riends of my wife's — Mr. and 
 Mrs. Gregson, I believe." 
 
 Had Mr. and Mrs. Browne been dropped down 
 at once from a seventh iieaven into a snow-wreath, 
 they could not have felt a greater shock tlian 
 they did at these words; yet, although chagrined 
 beyond measure, they both still spoke of " great 
 honour," and " great pleasure." 
 
 When Mrs. Barwell saw the change which 
 passed over the countenance of both tlie lawyer 
 and his wife, when they found that they were 
 invited merely to dine with the Gregsons, she 
 was sure the evening would be anything but 
 pleasant. She was riglit; for Mrs. Gregson was 
 no better pleased to meet the Brownes than they 
 to meet with her. She wished to keep Mrs. 
 Barwell's friendship all to herself; and, now thai 
 
 k2
 
 100 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 the breach was widening between herself and her 
 old friend, she felt jealous of any attention shown 
 to her by the new. All was coldness and con- 
 straint. Mr. Gregson and the Colonel alone, got 
 on comfortably. He was, as Mrs. Barwell had 
 said, a plain, honest, cordial-hearted man, without 
 pretence of any kind; and the Colonel found him 
 a far more entertaining companion than Mr. 
 Browne, who, spite of all his money-getting, still 
 was but one of a very common class. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 There was no longer now any attempt to conceal 
 Uie breach between the two houses; that dinner 
 accomplished more than many months of ordinary 
 intercourse could have done. The Brownes were 
 infinitely annoyed to be placed on a par with the 
 Gregsons; and their study through the evening 
 was to prove their superiority — to prove to Mrs. 
 Barwell how ill she had assorted her guests; 
 while poor Mrs. Gregson, whose jealousy was 
 excited by equal attention being shown to the 
 Brownes, was out of humour, and in every way 
 showed to the least advantage. 
 
 When the evening was closed, and the two 
 ladies retired to Mrs. Barwell's dressing-room to 
 put on their bonnets and cloaks, they received the
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 101 
 
 attentions of Mrs. Barwell's woman with thfe most 
 dignified silence, and, without exchanging so much 
 as a word with each other, paired ofi' from the 
 Lodge with their respective husbands. 
 
 No sooner was Mrs. Greg^on seated beside her 
 husband in their gig, than she began — " How 
 disrespectful of the Brownes to drive off at that 
 rate, as if we should poison the very high road! 
 They are the most upstart, unbearable people in 
 the world!" 
 
 " Browne's horse is so much swifter than ours, 
 we could not have kept up with them," said Mr. 
 Gregson. 
 
 " Then they might have kept our pace, one 
 would think," said his wife; " if it had been 
 only out of civility, they ought to have done it. 
 Nothing is so rude as to dash past one in the way 
 they did ! But, did not you think the evening 
 very stupid?" 
 
 " No," said Gregson, with the most provoking 
 coolness; " I enjoyed it. The Colonel is a very 
 sensible man." 
 
 " But, did you ever see anything like those 
 Brownes?" persisted she. 
 
 " In what way?" asked her husband. 
 
 " Oh, in every way I" returned she; " dressed 
 as she was ! — just as if to out- blaze Mrs. Barwell 
 herself. I should really like to know how many 
 gowns she has in a year I — and Browne is an ill- 
 looking, very mean-looking man ! I always thought 
 there was not a bit of the gentleman about him ; — 
 60 different to Colonel Barwell!" 
 
 " He is not particularly civil to me just now," said 
 Gregson : " I have displeased him by pressing
 
 102 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 for the repayment of that inoney : but his civility 
 or incivility is of very little consequence to me. 
 You ladies, however, seem to have brought your 
 friendship to a very abrupt termination," added 
 he, laughing. 
 
 " La! George!" exclaimed his wife; " don't 
 say a word to me about friendship! — I shall never 
 endure the word again as long as I live. I have 
 known, for years, that we were not at all of 
 accordant characters; but then, it was an old 
 thing — it had become almost a custom. Her 
 pride and her arrogance, however, have quite 
 cured me now. And why need I put up with her 
 airs of superiority ?" continued she, " when a lady 
 like Mrs. Barwell solicits my friendship!" 
 
 " Only don't be too hot about this new friend- 
 ship," said her husband ; " and, for my part, I 
 think married women with families growing up, 
 ought not to have much time for friendships out 
 of their own houses." 
 
 " Now tliat is ill-natured of you — very ill- 
 natured, and extremely uncalled for too !" said Mrs. 
 Gregson; and then, dropping into a meditation on 
 the increasing chagrins of the evening, she spoke 
 not another word till they reached their own 
 door. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Browne, as has been said, dashed 
 past the humbler gig which contained the Greg- 
 sons, in very grand style. 
 
 " What a very haiidsorae service of plate that is 
 of the Barwells!" said Mrs. Browne: " but the 
 dinner was nothing extraordinary; the arrange- 
 ment of the second course was decidedly bad." 
 
 Ml. Browne made no reply; he was looking at
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 103 
 
 the hasty shadow which, in passing, they flung 
 upon the moonlight bank ; but he was thinking on 
 a subject that vexed him greatly. 
 
 " Did you notice the chandelier in the little 
 drawing-room?" asked his wife. 
 
 Her husband replied simply, " No." 
 
 " We must have something of that kind in our 
 drawing-room, before we have our party. I got 
 the add less from Mrs. Barwell — they had it from 
 London; but I did not tell her that I wanted one 
 for ourselves. I shall not let a creature know a 
 word about it till it is up. But, bless me! what 
 are you thinking about?" said she, as her husband 
 still drove on in silence. 
 
 " I'm provoked beyond measure," at length 
 said he ; " I thought you told me that Gregson's 
 circumstances were bad! ' 
 
 " To be sure," returned she; " Mrs. Gregson 
 herself told me so — more fool she for t;.lking of 
 such things. She said that Gregson's spirits, and 
 even his health suffered, in consequence." 
 
 " Gregson was with me again yesterday, about 
 that money," said Browne; " very pressing and 
 disagreeable he was." 
 
 " I thought you were to have six months 
 notice," said she. 
 
 " So I ought to have had," replied he; "but 
 it seeras I had engaged — iiow I came to do so, I 
 cannot tell — to pay it in on demand." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed she. 
 
 " He brought me the note-of-hand, or I should 
 not have believed it," continued Browne. " I 
 therefore, supposing of course that his circum- 
 stances were embarrassed, let him have five hun-
 
 104 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 dred pounds, which I happened to have in the 
 office at that moment; and then came a demand 
 for five years' interest!" 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty pounds!" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Browne ; " impossible ! I am §ure the interest 
 was regularly paid." 
 
 " I knew," continued her husband, " that there 
 was two, or at most three years' interest due; but 1 
 must say, five seems incredible. However, to 
 that he stands, and most insolently he behaved 
 about it." 
 
 " I M'ould not have met them at the Barwells','' 
 said Mrs. Biowne, " had I known it! Five years' 
 interest! — impossible ! 
 
 " Seven liundn d and fifty pounds, however," 
 said Browne, " lie had from me yesterday — I sup- 
 posing, all the time, he was on the verge of bank- 
 ruptcy ; and M'hat do you think comes out now?" 
 
 " 1 really cannot tell," said liis wife. 
 
 " Thai he actually is in treaty for the Elms!" 
 exclaimed he, in a tone which said. Can anything 
 exceed that? 
 
 " The Elms! ' almost screamed Mrs. Browne; 
 " the very place that you designed for yourself — 
 for which you have aire:idy drawn the writings. 
 I'm glad 1 did not speak to Mrs. Gregson to-night. 
 And she talk of poverty, and try to excite my 
 pity ! A deceitful, double-faced woman! I despise 
 lur!' exclaimed she, in bitter energy. " But, 
 liad he really the face to tell you about it himself?" 
 asked she, a few seconds afterwards. 
 
 " No," said her husband ; " I should have 
 known nothing of it, but from Colonel Barwell, 
 who, it seems, was in his confidence."
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 105 
 
 " And betrayed it !" said Mrs. Browne, laugh- 
 ing; " now that is capital." 
 
 " So I suppose," said Browne, " for he looked 
 prodigiously foolish at first; but afterwards he 
 went on talking about it in the most absurd way 
 possible. I suppose it is to be his country-seat: 
 he even talked of the fine quantity of game on the 
 land, and his preserves !" 
 
 " How perfectly ridiculous!" exclaimed his 
 wife. " But how in the world can all this have 
 been done, and you know nothinfrof it — you, who 
 were to have been the purchaser?" 
 
 " Mordan is at the bottom of it," said Browne; 
 " 1 have seen hitn and Grcgson together a deal, of 
 late. I must confess that I am provoked — ex- 
 cessively provoked — especially as we were deceived 
 with that miserable plea of poverty." 
 
 " I see now," said Mrs. Browne, " why that 
 woman wore that oUl gown and shawl. 1 wish to 
 goodness we had had nothing to do with them: 
 they owe everything to us; and this is the return 
 they make! But, thank goodness! we've done 
 witli the Gregsons now!" 
 
 If it was an amazement to Mr. and Mrs. Browne, 
 to find that Mr. Gregson was the purchaser of the 
 so-inuch-to-be-desired estate, called the Elms, 
 with its villa-residence, hot-houses, walled gar- 
 dens, seven acres of lawn and shrubbery, and 
 two hundred acres of tine meadow land, with 
 right of fishing, and preserves for game — I'ar 
 greater was the surprise of Mrs. Gregsun hcrsdfi 
 when this agreeable fact came to her knowledge. 
 On one particular day in November, Mr. Gregson 
 came into the parlour, where his wife and daughter
 
 106 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 were sitting at their work, looking very well 
 pleased, and rubbing his hands together, as was 
 his fashion when any joke was lurking in his 
 mind. He told his wife that he wanted her to 
 drive out with him; that he wished she would 
 order in some cold meat, and let them take an 
 early dinner, for that he wanted to be off in half 
 an hour. Half an hour is a short time for a lady 
 to dress and eat an early dinner in; and, more- 
 over, Mrs. Gregson often required a good deal ot 
 coaxing to induce her to go out at all ; but her 
 husband looked so good-humoured on this par- 
 ticular day, and, for a November day, it was 
 singularly bright and pleasant; and, over and 
 above all, Mrs. Gregson had a new velvet bonnet, 
 and a very handsome cloak trimmed with fur, 
 which had been ordered since her quarrel with 
 Mrs. Browne, and which she was not at all disin- 
 clined to wear, more especially as there was a large 
 head to the gig, capable of defending her iiand- 
 some apparel from the weather, even if it changed. 
 She did not, therefore, make any objection to 
 ordering in the cold meat, nor to being ready to 
 set out in half an hour, although she had no idea 
 where they were going. 
 
 Gregson did not make his wife his confidant in 
 weighty matters, nor yet in trivial ones : it was 
 his way to keep his concerns entirely to himself ; 
 t is tiie way of many husbands, and a bad way it 
 is. In consequence, therefore, Mrs. Gregson 
 often drew very wrong inferences, and formed 
 very erroneous opinions; as, for instance, when 
 she stated to Mrs. Browne that he had experienced 
 losses in trade, and that his mind was troubled in
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 107" 
 
 consequence; whi(;h statements being proved to 
 be false, naturally excited Mrs. Bi'owne still mcire 
 against her. 
 
 Away drove Mr. and Mrs. Gregson, on their 
 way to the Elms, having the hap to meet 
 Mrs. Browne, driven by her well-appointed ser- 
 vant, scarcely one hundred yards from the green 
 gates which led up to the house. Very cold 
 indeed was the momentary greeting which the 
 ladies exchanged in their rapid transit; for Mr. 
 Gregson, being in such unusually good spirits, 
 drove very fast himself that day. Mrs. Browne 
 knew that Gregson had bought the Elms, although 
 his wife did not; and, supposing that they were 
 on their way to the place, felt as if they had 
 committed the unpardonable sin — never thinking 
 of the day when she and Browne, with a thousand 
 pounds of Gregson's money in their pocket, went 
 first to look at the great house in Wilton-street. 
 
 " Are you going here?" asked jNIrs. Gregson, 
 as the green gates were suddenly opened by a little 
 boy, who had been stationed at them for more 
 than an hour, by Gregson's orders: I thought no 
 one was living here." 
 
 Gregson smiled to himself, but said nothing; 
 while liis wife, satisfying herself that her husband 
 had business there, sedulously admired the ever- 
 greens and the red berries of the mountain-ash, 
 which were conspicuous in the well-grown shrub- 
 berries. A man, who seemed to be v.aiting for 
 them on the drive, neared the door as they 
 approached, and, very subnn'ssively touching his 
 hat, placed liimself at the horse's head the ino- 
 luent Mr. Gregson drew up at the door. 
 
 L
 
 1(^8 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 " I would rather wait here till you have finished 
 your business," said Mrs. Gregson, as her hus- 
 'band held forth his hand to assist her to alight. 
 
 "No, no; I want you within," said he, accom- 
 panying his words with a very comical smile. 
 
 Mrs. Gregson accordingly alighted, and, her 
 husband giving her his arm, they entered the 
 house together, she wondering, the while, at all 
 this unwonted ceremony. 
 
 " This is a pretty house," said her husband, 
 when he had hurried her through the lower 
 apartments, scarcely giving her time to notice 
 anything, " and a very convenient one; pleasant 
 views, too, from the parlour windows; and the 
 bed-rooms so airy and cheerful; good attics too — 
 :«xcellent attics; good enough for anybody to 
 sleep in!" 
 
 " Why, really, Gregson, you might have the 
 place to sell," said his wife; " what are we come 
 for?" 
 
 " Would you not like such a parlour — drawing- 
 room I suppose you would call it — as this?" said 
 he, leading her into a beautiful drawing-room on 
 the first floor. You would almost outdo Mrs. 
 Browne in a room like this; a piano for Lucy 
 vvould look well standing there—would it not?" 
 
 "How you talk!" exclaimed his wife; "it's 
 quite tantalizing! You know we never could 
 afford a house like this;— why, Sir Henry Forrester 
 was quite one of the first county gentry!" 
 
 " And so you don't think we could afford it?" 
 said he; "well, perhaps we couldn't; but I want 
 you to see the bed-rooms before we go." 
 
 Mrs. Gregson thought her husband very odd;
 
 THE RIVAL HODSES, 109 
 
 and, still wondering whatever he meant, followed 
 him from room to room. At length they came 
 down stairs again, and into the pleasant little 
 breakfast parlour, where a fire was burning, and 
 two old chairs, which had been left after the sale, 
 standing. " Now sit down," said Mr. Gregson, 
 seating himself in great ease, and pointing to the 
 other, which he had just dusted with his pocket 
 handkerchief — for he was not unobservant of his 
 wife's new cloak — "and tell me how you like this 
 house!" 
 
 "What nonsense 1 Gregson," said his wife; "tho 
 house is vei'v well; but it can never signify any- 
 thing to us." 
 
 " But, Rebecca," said he, " suppose I were 
 thinking of buying it, should you like to live 
 here?" * 
 
 " To be sure I should like it, of all things I" 
 replied she. 
 
 " Well, then, here you shall live ! " exclaimed 
 he, " for the house is mine I — I've bought it, and 
 paid for it!" 
 
 " You don't say so ! " exclaimed his wife. 
 
 " It's as tru3 as that my name is Gregson!" 
 said he. " Fifteen thousand five hundred pounds 
 have I paid down for this place!" 
 
 " You ! " returned she — " you, that I thought 
 had had losses — that I fancied was out of nealth 
 from anxiety about money-matters — have you 
 laid out more tlian fifteen thousand pounds on a 
 country-house — with five children — four of them 
 boys! Oil, for shame! And you let me wear 
 my old gowns till I was the town's talk — till that 
 wretch, Mrs. Browne, taunted me about my shabby
 
 l]0 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 dress! — and you, all the time, had plenty, and 
 could be laying out your fifteen thousand without 
 saying a word of it to me I" 
 
 " So! so!" said he — " don't be out of humour, 
 now, or I shall be sorry I bought the -place at all. 
 I thought you would have been delighted, and 
 that I should have had thanks at least;" and Mr. 
 Gregson got up from the chair on Mhich he was 
 sitting. 
 
 " Well, I must confess," replied his wife, " that 
 I am a little vexed that you never said a word to 
 me about it. I don't like people doing things in 
 that close way. But, now the secret's out, and I 
 know that you have plenty of money, I'll dross 
 handsomely, if it's only for the crt-dit of the 
 family ! " 
 
 " Why, what would youtiave?" asked Greg- 
 son, just on the verge of ill-humour — " had you 
 not twelve guineas from me, only the other day, 
 for a cloak and bonnet? But, upon my soul, 
 women are the most unreasonable creatuies on 
 the face of the earth, else that might have satis- 
 fied you, one might think!" 
 
 " Oh yes, that was very good, very handsome 
 of you," said she, beginning to mollify as soon as 
 she ssiv her husband's anger mounting to hi? 
 brow; " and I'm sure I'm quite delighted with 
 this place, only I can hardly believe it is ours; 
 and I must just run up stairs again, to look at the 
 rooms — it will all seem so different, no" I know it 
 is ours — and I want to see if there are any good 
 cupboards — I'm sure there are, though, for I 
 noticed them!" 
 
 Gregson stood at the hall-door, battling with the
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. IH 
 
 ill-humour which had clouded his mind, while his 
 wife went alone from room to room, growing prouder 
 at everj' step, a.id thinking with herself, that now 
 she would outshine Mrs. Browne; tliat now she 
 would give grand pa-^ties, and have a servant in 
 livery, and consume with envy the heart of her 
 quondam friend. 
 
 Wonderful things happen every now and then, 
 to give the world something to talk about. The 
 French Revolution was a grand topic; so were 
 the wars of Napoleon Buonaparte. Luddism 
 formerly, and Chartism now, may do for awhile: 
 a comet, .the north-west passage, an interesting 
 murder, or tlie Will of some eccentric old money- 
 saver, all serve as excitements to keep tlie public 
 mind from stagnating. So happened it in the 
 little wiirM of Woodburn. From time to time 
 some salutary wonder occurred, whereon the 
 public curiosity was fed, and thus prevented from 
 dying of inanition. It had been a world's wonder 
 when the Brownes removed into Wilton-street: 
 the extraordinary friendship of the two ladies, and 
 the affiancing of the young son and daugiiter, had 
 been a profitable subject also. So had bten the 
 coming of the new people to Moreby Lodge; the 
 breach between the old friends; and the whispered 
 rumour which iiadjustgot abroad, tliat Mr. Gregson 
 was embarrassed in his circumstances: but greater 
 than all was the wonder and the talk, when it was 
 told that Mr. Gregson himself was the purciiaser 
 of the Elms — a place desired by so many. Not a 
 party m^t in \\ Oodburn, either for dinner, tea, or 
 cards, at which this subject was not introduced, 
 aod fully descanted upon. It was talked of in 
 
 1.2
 
 112 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 the butcher's shop, and in the barber's; and, 
 wherever Mrs. Gregson went for tlie 7)e.x.t month 
 — and she did not stay within dours, by any 
 means as much as she had been accustomed to — 
 was she congratulated upon her husband's pur- 
 chase. " When do you go to your beautiful 
 place, Mrs. Gregson?" said one; and, "Will you 
 allow us to walk through your beautiful grounds, 
 Mrs. Gregson?" said another; whilst upholsterer 
 and furnishing ironmonger came across the street, 
 hat in hand, begging, if she had five minutes to 
 spare, that she would do them the favour to walk 
 in and look at something very new or beautiful 
 which tliey would show; and that, even if such 
 things were not wanted at the Ehns, they were 
 sure she would be pleased, and they would be 
 honoured, &c. &c. 
 
 Mrs Gregson was a woman to be flattered by 
 these, bv no means disinterested marks of atten- 
 tion; and, waking or sleeping, the Elms, with the 
 dignity it conferred, and the means of successful 
 rivalry which it would afford, was never out of 
 her mind. 
 
 Whilst Mrs. Gregson was thus happily occupy- 
 ing her thoughts, Mrs. Browne was making pre- 
 paration for her grand party. Invitations were 
 issued three weeks beforehand; a house-decorator 
 was sent for from London; a distingui-hed French 
 cook, it was rumoured, v.'as engaged for the occa- 
 sion; the various coachmen and carriers brought 
 in large boxes and hampers, labelled "glass," and 
 ordered to be taken " with care;" so that evidences 
 of preparation were sufficiently visible to keep the 
 Brownes' dirmer and evening party in the mind of
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 113 
 
 everybody. Martin, Mrs. Browne's woman, also 
 communicated to her confidantes, tiiat her mistress 
 had a new vplvet dress, with a plume of ostrich- 
 feathers for her head, and a new and very costly 
 suit of pearls come down from London ; so thai 
 not even the Queen of England could Kxik bettei 
 tlian she would; for her mistress, she said, was 
 very handsome — everybody said so, who saw hei 
 in full dress. 
 
 The important day at length came. The new 
 chandelier was hung, and looked splendidly ; every- 
 body who was invited, failed not to be there 
 There wece the Sykes Willouglibys ; the Jenningses, 
 male and female; the three gentlemen who so 
 many years before, as we related in a former 
 chapter, stood on the bowling-green of the Red 
 Lion, talking over Mr. Browne's earlier prospects; 
 and there were also tw^ of the ladies — the other 
 two being dead — who, that same day, interrupted 
 their game at whist, to discuss Mrs. Browne's 
 appearance at church. Colonel and Mrs. Barwell 
 of course were there, the latter splendidly dressed — 
 "proving," as Mrs. Browne said, "that she knew 
 what was due to the occasion." There were also 
 the rich county-banker, and his wife and daughters; 
 
 a Mr. Serjeant , from London, and three 
 
 barristers ; besides all the families of any note, 
 for many miles round Woodburn. How the house 
 in Wilton-street held them all was a wonder; but 
 everything was admirably arranged, everybody 
 said; and everybody said, at the same time, that 
 Mr. Browne's income ought to be very good 
 indeed, to support their style of living.
 
 114 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 It was on this evening that Mrs. Barwell saw, 
 for the first time, " the Bonnie Prince Charlie," 
 or ratiier Charles Edward Browne, now grown a 
 tall, manly yoiitli. She had considerable curiosity 
 about him, from his early connexion with her 
 friend, Lucy Gregson; and, from what Lucy's 
 mother had said, was not at all disposed to think 
 favourably of him. 
 
 " Who is the young man with the fine coan- 
 tenance and brown hair, that has just entered?" 
 said slie to Mrs. Browne, as they were sitting 
 together, a few minutes before dinner? Mrs. 
 Browne looked delighted. " Allow me the honour 
 of introducing him. I did not notice that he had 
 entered." 
 
 The introduction was made. This, then, was 
 the " Bonnie Prince," of whom such ridiculous 
 stories had been told. « His countenance was 
 unquestionably good ; nor were iiis manners to 
 be objected to. Mrs. Barwell studied him then 
 attentively through the evening, for indications of 
 disposition and character, and her final decision 
 was much less favourable than the first impression 
 had been. It was in vain that his mother besought 
 him, by hints and looks, to pay attention to the 
 daughters of the less dignified guests, or to dance 
 with certain ladies, who had been seated all the 
 evening. '• He wants benevolence ; he is assum- 
 ing and selfisli," said she to herself. " Mrs. 
 Gregson was not altogether wrong; I am glad 
 that the Family Compact was put an end to !" 
 
 When Mrs. Greirson next saw Mrs. Barwell, 
 •he eagerly inquired for news of this important
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 116 
 
 night. " Only to think," said she, " of them 
 figuring away in this style ! If they were the first 
 nobility they could do no more!" 
 
 " If they were only the first gentry," returned 
 Mrs. Barwell, " they would do a deal less ; the 
 effort would not be visible, by which all this is 
 done. It is the straining every power — the ten- 
 sion of mind and means — which makes entertain- 
 ments of this extravagant kind in tlie middle 
 classes so painful — so melancholij, I think! If 
 they would but use their common sense, and live 
 according to their means, instead of aping and 
 trying even to surpass their wealthier fellow-sub- 
 jects, what a different class they might be! — and 
 how much happier!" 
 
 " But surely," said Mrs. Gregson — in whose 
 mind the desire to give great entertainments was 
 beginning to develope itself — " surely, people of 
 the middle classes have as much right as the 
 higher to see and entertain their friends!" 
 
 "Unquestionably," said Mrs. Barwell; "but, 
 unfortunately, they are so seldom willing to enter- 
 tain those who are capable of being tlieir friends; 
 they are always striving after the acquaintance of 
 the class above them, and that very class which 
 will not be their friends, and emulating them in 
 expense. How absurd it is! — because they pos- 
 sess every means of becoming as refined, as intel- 
 lectual, as capable of enjoying the most elevated 
 pleasures, as the very highest! Why, tiien, do 
 they not ? and make their own class, with its inde- 
 pendence of conventionality, what it might be — 
 the very happiest class in society." 
 
 "Well, I am sure I don't know," was Mrs,
 
 116 THE RIVAL HOUSES, 
 
 Gregson's unargumentative reply. " Don't yon 
 suppose, tlien," asked she, the moment after, "that 
 Mrs. Browne's entertainment gave her any plea- 
 sure r 
 
 " I do not believe," said Mrs. Barwell, " that 
 she had half the satisfaction in her entertainment, 
 although it cost so mucli, and her rooms were so 
 completely filled, as my good uncle and aunt used 
 to have, when their half-dozen old friends came 
 to take tea with them at six, and eat a slice of 
 seed-cake, and drink a glass of good wine — for the 
 old man was very choice in his wine — at nine, 
 and away again at ten." 
 
 " I ain sick of that old uncle and aunt," thought 
 Mrs. Gregson. 
 
 " No," continued Mrs. Barwell, without, of 
 course, knowing her companion's thoughts, " there 
 was more cordial enjoyment — more real heart and 
 good fellowship, in the meeting of those quiet, 
 undignified people, who were capable, neverthe- 
 less, of discussing, and well too, the topics of the 
 day, literature included, than in all the racket and 
 show of common entertainments. There was a 
 vacuum, too, in that little society, when my good 
 uncle and aunt died, which never could be filled 
 up ; and I am convinced that those old friends 
 never met, without talking of those whom they 
 had lost, and drinking a cup of good fellowship to 
 their memory. On the contrary, in society such 
 as this, which constitutes the bon-ton of Wood- 
 burn, and at the head of which is our friend 
 Mrs. Browne " 
 
 " Don't call her my friend," interrupted Mrs. 
 Gregson.
 
 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 112 
 
 " Well, as you please about that," said Mrs. 
 Barvvell. " What I would insist upon is, that 
 there can be no sympathy— no atftction — no 
 friendship — in society composed of such elements 
 as met last week. If the Brownes were to die 
 to-morrow, or, which is more likely, to ruin 
 themselves in behoof of those wiih wiiom they 
 wish to associate, none would pity them — none 
 would open their doors to receive them I ' 
 
 " Nor would they for others, in a similar case," 
 said Mrs. Gregson. 
 
 " To be sure not," replied Mrs. Barwell; " that 
 would be expecting too much from society, as it 
 is now constituted. For what do those common 
 herds of people meet together? Not for friend- 
 ship, or any moral improvement — or the enjoy- 
 ment of conversation — or fine music — or any 
 rational pleasure whatever; but to see how good 
 a dinner a certain person can set out; what know- 
 ledge he has of wine; what is his show of plate; 
 what number of servants he keeps ; how he 
 dresses : and, on the entertainer's part, not how 
 much positive happiness he can give his guests, 
 but how, by all possible means, he may surpass any 
 similar entertainment given by any of his acf(uaint- 
 ance. I am not, by any means, an unciiaritable 
 person; on the contrary, I generally ascribe the 
 best motives to every-day actions, and my sym- 
 pathies are almost universal; but these things arc 
 to . barefaced for me to be deceived by then)." 
 
 " I'm sure I shall never venture to a.^k you to 
 a party at the Elms; and yet, yua know, we shall 
 be expected to give parties there, quite Jifferent 
 to anything in Bridge-street."
 
 118 THE RIVAL HOUSES. 
 
 "In the matter of parties at the Elrr/i," said 
 Mrs. Harwell, " do, my dear Mrs. Gregson, let 
 me be your good angel. Do not attempt to out 
 shine Mrs. Browne, nor eve« to vie with her, be- 
 cause your husband has bought that pretty place, 
 and may probably disconnect himself from trade." 
 
 " No — that he never will," interrupted Mrs. 
 Gregson: "I wish he would! I am sure he is very 
 rich; but he is so close about money-matters!" 
 
 " But why should he disconnect himself with 
 trade?" asked her friend. "Your elder sons are 
 now growing up to take part with him in busi- 
 ness — to allow their father occasional leisure; 
 but, depend upon it, a man accustomed from his 
 youth upwards to business, is never so happy 
 as when reasonably employed by it. Besides, 
 Mr. Gregson is not old enough to retire yet; nor 
 his sons old enough, or experienced enough, to 
 conduct the business themselves. In ten or fifteen 
 years, when they are married, and begin to under- 
 stand what responsibihty really is, then advise 
 Mr. Gregson to retire from business, and to take 
 to gardening or farming, or to sink down, if he 
 like it better, into the quiet old gentleman. But 
 for Heaven's sake, my dear friend, do not think 
 of rivalling Mrs. Browne : the effect upon your 
 children would be lamentable! But perhaps I 
 have already said too much," added she, observing 
 a change pass over Mrs. Gregson's countenance. 
 " If I have wounded your feelings in any way, I 
 sincerely regret it; for I have a deep interest 
 both in you and your children, and I earnestly 
 wish them well — Lucy especially: she may be 
 made a noble character!"
 
 THE RIVAI, HOUSES. 119 
 
 Mrs. Gregson laid her han'l on her friend's arm, 
 really touched bj' what she had said of the 
 children. " No, I am not offended," she said; 
 '• I would not be offended by anything you 
 might say; but I would not for the world that 
 (iregson heard all you say; he seems to have 
 misgivings, now he has bought the place! He 
 talks of It tting it; he has let the land, you know. 
 And, only think wiiat a coming down that would 
 be, not to co there after all that lias been said 
 about it; what a triumph it would be to Mrs. 
 Browne I" 
 
 " Never, mind Mrs. Browne," said Mrs. Bar- 
 well, laughing; " you really make that poor lady 
 of too much consequence! But, depend upon it, 
 you will go to the Elms after all!" 
 
 " I doubt it," said Mrs. Gregson. 
 
 " Trust me," replied her friend, " as the spring 
 comes on, and your husband sees how sweet it 
 looks when the leaves are out, and the garden in 
 order, he will be as impatient to get there as 
 yourself.** 
 
 " So I said the other day," returned she, " and 
 we'd quite a quarrel about it." 
 
 " That was a pity!" said Mrs. Barwell; "but, 
 for the future, do not say too much on the subject. 
 Leave everything to work its own course, and I 
 shall be wonderfully deceived in Mr. Gregson if 
 all be not as you wish." 
 
 u
 
 120 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 
 
 The spring came on singularly early, and with 
 unusual beauty. The shrubbery at the Elms was 
 full of spring flowers, and Mr. Gregson, who, 
 through the winter, as his wife had said, was filled 
 with misgivings about his bargain, and reluc- 
 tance to give up his old habits, to assume a higher 
 style of living, although to rank a step higher in 
 society, no sooner saw the violet-bed sprinkled 
 with its white and blue flowers — no sooner scented 
 the first waft of sweet-briar odour, than he was 
 filled with an insatiable longing to become a 
 dweller in the country. He walked rapidly through 
 the grounds; he then sauntered quietly about; 
 gathered the violets with all the eagerness of a 
 school-boy, and peeped into the hedges and bushes 
 of laurustinus, and into the low boughs of the 
 young firs, to see if there were yet any birds'-nests. 
 All at once, he thought how delighted his young 
 people would be to be there — to live there. He 
 had damped all their hopes in the winter; he had 
 even been angry when they had called the Elms 
 pleasanter than Bridge-street. It is wonderful 
 what influence the first breaking out of spring — 
 young, generous, genial spring — has upon our 
 moral being. Mr. Gregson wondered he had never 
 thought of the pleasure his children would have 
 there before; of the pleasant relaxation it would 
 be to the elder, after business; what a sweet and 
 proper home for Lucy, now so womanly in het
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 121 
 
 appearance, and so very pretty too; to say nothing 
 of the happy holidays the young boys might spend 
 there. He reproached himself for having been 
 selfish; he wondered no longer at his wife's 
 reluctance to give it up ; gathered another bunch 
 of violets ; took another whifFof sweet-briar odour, 
 and then walked on rapidly to talk to the gardener 
 about the green-house and vines, and tell him, 
 that as the family would be there early in the 
 season, he must prepare his garden-crops. He 
 next ordered the labourer to take down the board 
 which announced that the place wanted a tenant; 
 and then, giving the man a shilling, rode home in 
 good humour, both with himself and all the world. 
 
 Mrs. Gregson needed no pressing to become 
 mistress of the Elms; her husband's impatience 
 equalled her own : they therefore, that same 
 evening, walked into the town to order Mr. 
 Stirrup, a man of universal business, to meet 
 them the next morning at the Elms, to consider 
 what was tirst to be done, in order that the 
 removal might take place as early as possible, 
 (ireat pleasuie indeed had Mrs. Gregson in com- 
 municating this intelligence to Mr. Stirrup, for 
 thus she knew it would not be long before it 
 reached the people in Wilton-street— Mr. Stirrup 
 l)eiiig always employed for them, in one way or 
 ntlier, either to rectify Venetian blinds, to cure 
 a smoky chimney, or to correct some new 
 cooking apparatus, or fifty other little jobs — he 
 being, as Mrs. Browne had often said, her right- 
 hanci man. 
 
 Tiiat very night, Mr. Stirrup having to take 
 home a patent cofiee-pot which had leaked
 
 122 WHO SHALL BE GKEATE5T? 
 
 informed Mrs. Browne of the intended change^ 
 and, while Mr. and Mrs. Gregson, after tea, were 
 eagerly talking it over, Mr. and Mrs. Browne like- 
 wise, after tlieir dinner, Mere talking it over too. 
 
 " And so the Gregsons are reallj' going to the 
 Elms at last," said Mrs. Browne, an hour later in the 
 same evening, to Mrs. Jennings and her daughter 
 Harriet, now approaching the meridian of life, 
 with whom she was taking her coffee. 
 
 " We have hitherto visited at the Elms," said 
 Mrs. Jennings: "we knew the Jukfses intimately; 
 and Sir Iliniy Forroter, wiio built it, was my 
 cousin. It would make him come out of his 
 grave, it' lie knew that his pet place, over which 
 he spent so much taste and so much money, had 
 gone to tlie (irrgsons! Bless me, what changes 
 there have been in Woodburn since those da;ys!" 
 
 Both Mrs. Browne and Miss Harriet Jennings 
 thought it tis well that the old ludy should not 
 particularize all tiie changes whicli Woodburn had 
 seen in the last twenty years; therefore that subject 
 was dropped. 
 
 " Have you heard," said Mrs. Browne, " of 
 the death of Major Barwell, the Colonel's brother?" 
 
 Tiie ladies had, but they solicited any further 
 particulars. 
 
 " The Major," said Mrs. Browne, " has, I 
 understand, left one daughter; but where she is 
 I do not know; nor does anybody, that I can 
 find. The IVIajor, it seems, left by will forty 
 thousand pounds, to be laid out in landed property 
 for his daughter. She is to be such a great 
 heiress, and will inher't, it is said, ail the Coloneifl 
 property ! "
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 123 
 
 " Unless," said Mrs Jennings, " it is left to 
 that Miss Gregson ; for they tell me that she is 
 as niueh at Moreby Lodge as at her own home." 
 
 " It's quite absurd," said Mrs. Browne, " the 
 way they have taken to that girl. I met the 
 carriage yesterday, and tliere she was, stuck up 
 beside Mrs. Barwell, with feathers in her hut!" 
 
 " Oh yes," said Miss Jennings, " she is quite 
 assuming the young lady." 
 
 " We shall have her coming out in the winter," 
 jaid Mrs. Browne, " chaperoned, of course, by 
 Mrs. Barwell." 
 
 " Do you know," said Miss Jennings, " that 
 manmia took, her the other day for Miss Wilmot, 
 Mi's. Sykes Willoughby's beautiful niece, and 
 isked after her aunt and the young ladies!" 
 
 " Upon my word, I did," said Mrs. Jeimings. 
 ' There she was, in Mason's sliop, buying lace — 
 ■Iressed beautifully. And, whether it was that the 
 bonnet gave her the look, or whether she imitates 
 Miss Wilmot, or whether my sight is not so good 
 as it vvas, I can't say; but certainly I did take 
 iier for Miss Wilmot; and a great comjjliment it 
 was. for Miss Wilmot is beautiful. She was then 
 with Mrs. Barwell," continued the old lady, 
 '■and, 'I beg your pardon,' said I, as soon as I 
 saw Mrs. Barwell, ' I thought you were a young 
 lady I knew: I mistook her,' said I to Mrs. Bar- 
 well, 'for Miss Wilmot.' 'You are not the 
 first person who has done so,' said Mrs. Barwell; 
 '1 myself tliiiik them very like, but Lucy Gregson 
 has rather the advantage in height.' " 
 
 " Lucy Gregson like Miss Wilmot — and taller 
 tool" exclaimed Mrs. Browne; "I wonder what 
 
 m2
 
 124 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 
 
 we shall have next! Liicj^ Gregsoii is a raw 
 girl, without any style at all! But 1 assure you, 
 Mrs. Barvvell has the (>ddest notions and tastes ! 
 Now, rU tell you what she herself told me!" 
 And then Mrs. Browne edified the two ladies with 
 the history of the uncle and aunt who kept the 
 little tea-shop, and also of th-e early acquaintance 
 with her as a school-girl, when she lived with her 
 ancient grandmother. 
 
 " I do not wonder at her low tastes, then,'' said 
 Mrs. Jennings. 
 
 " And yet she is a perfect gentlewoman,"' said 
 Miss Harriet; "living in the woild, you know, 
 has made her that; and, for my part, 1 think her 
 manners excellent." 
 
 " No doubt of it," returned Mrs. Browne; "she 
 is, as you say, a perfect gentlewoman; hut what I 
 tell yourof her early days, and her peculiar tastes 
 and predilections — for every word of what I have 
 told you I had from her own mouth — may account 
 for the strange mixture of good sen&e and ab- 
 surdity there is in her." 
 
 Many of the wise people of Woodburn, besides 
 the Jenningses, thought it rather a strange fancy 
 of Mrs. Barvvell, to be so very intimate with the 
 Gregsons, and to have almost, as it seemed, 
 adopted Lucy. True, the Gregsons had by this 
 time left their house in Bridge-street, and had 
 assumed altogether a higher style of living: 
 still, he bought cheese as formerly: and slie, with 
 all her striving, did not rise above the wife of a 
 rich tradesman; and the people of Woodburn, 
 therefore, wondered on. 
 
 How ofter had Mrs. Gregson censured her
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 125 
 
 friend INIrs. Browne, for aping the style and 
 bearintj of a person of fa>^luon I for hungoing and 
 thirsting, as it were, after the notice and intiiuacy 
 of tlie county families — the Sykes W illoughbj's, 
 and the rest of them! But in censuring her, she 
 onlv (lid what we all, more or less, do every day — 
 Dlained her for that, from the temptation to which 
 she herself was exempt. She had not, however, 
 been settled many month-s in her new hal>itation, 
 possessed at the same time of the knowlctlge that 
 her husband was undoubtedly, a man of pro-perity 
 and substance, than she too began to have >imilar 
 aspirings. , Another sentiment also gnverned her, 
 no le^s strong than personal ambition — the desire 
 not only io rival, but to cmtshine Mrs. Browne. 
 
 Whilst thev had lived among the ciierse ware- 
 houses in Bridge-street, whatever might iiavc been 
 the amount of lier husband's income, or however 
 expensive might have been the style of living they 
 had chosen to adopt, she well knew that they 
 must rank many degrees below the wealtliy soli- 
 citor who inhabited his own large house in 
 Wilton-street; but things had now taken a little 
 turn; their present residence was as nmeii above 
 the Brownes", in Wilton-street, as their former one 
 had been below it. They seemed to have de- 
 cidedly turnrd a corner in the great patiiway of 
 society; they had left their old acquaintance be- 
 hind them, and were going forward throuuh new 
 prospects, and with new people, among whom 
 they might naturally I'orm connexions. Mrs. 
 Gregson, therefore, dro[)ped all ititimacy with 
 her less dignified acquaintance, and was " not at 
 home" when Mrs. Mason, the drapers wife, who
 
 126 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 
 
 hcd hired a fly for the occasion, drove over to tfce 
 Ehiis, to make her first call; and, in order to cut 
 the intimacy more decidedly, went a shopping to 
 the county-town, as many families — the Syk-es 
 Willoughbys and the rest did — on the plea that 
 there was neither style nor variety in Mason's 
 fancy goods. The countenance of Mrs. Barwell, 
 a lady whose station in society was un(]uestionable, 
 and who visited everybody, was a great happiness 
 to her. Little did Mrs. Barwell know the seeds 
 of ambition which were springing up to vigorous 
 growth in her friend's heart. True, she was not long 
 in making the discovery, that Mr. and Mrs. Greg- 
 son, although tradespeople, were not characterised 
 by her uncle; and aunt's single-mindedness and 
 simplicity, yet nobility of heart; and she began to 
 fear that her search after happiness, like that of 
 many others, would end in disappointment: yet, 
 for the present at least, she persisted in hoping 
 the best. Besides this, she had volunteered pub- 
 licly, as it were — publicly, at least, as it had be- 
 come — her friendskip to Mrs. Gregson, to whom 
 she knew that no mortification could be so cruel 
 as the withdrawing of it. Mrs. Barwell, too, had 
 been let into the secrets of the rival houses; she 
 liked the Brownes no better than Mrs. Gregson 
 liked them herself, and she would not willingly 
 give them the least triumph over her. Still, she 
 had a difficult part '.o act. Mrs. Gregson was 
 not satisfied with her as a half and half partisan; 
 and her moderation and good sense view of things 
 continually threatened disunion between them. 
 Then tbllowed the long lexers of deprecation ; the 
 bitter self-condemnation; the visit of tears; the
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 127 
 
 humility; and the gratitude — more oppressive 
 than all. 
 
 Spite, however, of all this show of attachment, 
 and willingness to be guided, no human being ever 
 was more perversely determined to take her own 
 course than was poor Mrs. Gregson. Her true 
 mode of reasoning, stripped of all its sentiment- — 
 for at this time she tried to impose upon herself 
 a belief of disinterested attachment to her new 
 friend — was something like this: — "Here we are 
 now at the Elms — a dozen steps higher in society 
 than in Bridge-street, and I have fairly put an 
 'end now to all Bridge-street intimacies. Gregson 
 after all, it seems, is very rich — rich enough to 
 write esquire after his name. Our house is most 
 handsomely furnished; we have a gardener, a 
 groom, and women servants — more than ever I 
 kept in my life before; and, before long, I'll have 
 a servant in livory, and a handsome phaeton of 
 my own. I know I can have them; for I have 
 remarked many little tendencies to show and 
 stylishness in Gregson, of late; and, wliy should 
 we not show the world that we know Iiow to 
 make use of good fortune? What ivill Mrs. 
 Browne say to ' the Gregson s' carriage I — to their 
 gardener, and groom, and footman?' Oli, it's 
 cajiital ! Poor Mrs. Barwoll, after all her riot 
 about thos(! old-fashioned tradespeople, will soon 
 find in England, now-a-days, that those mainicrs 
 are gone l)y: people iiave not now the same miser- 
 able notions that they had forty years ago; besides, 
 those people were poor — so different to us, even 
 if that way of life would satisfy one Mrs. Barwell 
 is a very good sort of woman; but she gives
 
 128 WHO SHALL BE. GREATEST? 
 
 advice on what slie knows nothing about. She, 
 were slie in our case, would do as we do — not as 
 she advises. She is, nevertheless, an excellent 
 person, and, as I know it mortifies tlie Brownes 
 that we should be so intimate, I am diterniined 
 to keep lip tlie warmest friend.'^liip with her; and 
 I really think she is fond of Lucy, and Lucy is 
 much improved since she has been so much at 
 Moreby Lodge : for there is a something about 
 rich people, and people accustomed to society, 
 that one cannot accjuire after one's habits are 
 formed. I fear I never shall do proper justice to 
 our fortune ; but, if dressing well w ill do, I will' 
 dress well I — and I'll go into good society too — 
 nor will I worry about the saving of sixpence, as 
 I have done! There's one tiling, however, that 
 does vex me; the Barwells never ask us to any of 
 their large parties. She pretends not to like Mrs. 
 Browne, and yet, the Brownes dined there only 
 last week; and, what was most provoking of all, 
 she sent Lucy home the day before, although I 
 had got her a dress on purpose! I declare, if I 
 had not the greatest respect for her in the world, 
 I could have quarrelled with her about it; and, 
 after all, much as I like her, I would far rather be 
 invited t(i t!u ir great parties, and be thus treated 
 as an equal in society, than as a humble friend, 
 who, like a governess or an upper servant, is to 
 leave the room the moment a guest enters. How- 
 ever, I shall make no quarrel about it. I shall 
 choose my own opportunities, and I'll make 
 them all, bv one means or another, the steps of 
 the ladder by which LU climb!" 
 
 So woi'ked, day after day, the mind of poor
 
 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? \'29 
 
 Mrs. (Jregson; and many of tlie schemes slie had 
 devised, which, a few months bHibre, would have 
 seemed like wild chimeras, realized themselves 
 in a manner which surprised even her ; for 
 instance, that of having a carriage which should 
 outvie the Brownes'. But, in the first place, a 
 word must be said about Mr. Gregson. He, as 
 our readers may have premised, from his secret 
 way of purchasing the Elms, and misleading his 
 wife with regard to his circumstances, was not in 
 the hai)it of confiding to her his intentions. He 
 was naturally kind and indulgent; but he was 
 close-tempered, and liked to do everything in his 
 own way. His wife, therefore, was not aware 
 that a process similar to that which was going on 
 in her mind, was operating also on his, and that 
 he wa-; no little flattered by the attentions of 
 Colonel and Mrs. Barwell; and that a desire to 
 show iiimself to the world as a wealthy man, was 
 beginning to take hold of him. He was begin- 
 ning to covet the influence winch a nsan possesses 
 from being known to the rich — from being sur- 
 rounded by that which money can alone obtain. 
 Had ids wife known all tlnse wmkings of his 
 mind, she would have been wonderfuliy delighted. 
 However, she did not; and therefore a second 
 surprise was in store for her. 
 
 Wiien Gregson walked in the garden and shrub- 
 bery of the Elms, in the early s|)ring-time, as we 
 mentioned, he thought how- the boys would enjoy 
 having iiorses to ride during the vacations. He 
 accordingly, as soon as he came to reside there, 
 bought: a Couple of hackneys for tin ir use. They 
 had, however, now left school, and were gone, the
 
 130 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 
 
 one to pursue liis legal, and the other his clerical 
 studies; for Mr. Gregson, having placed the 
 hereditarj- business in the hands of his elder sons, 
 selected the bar and tlie church for his younger. 
 more especial!}' as a rich living was in the gift of 
 Colonel Barwell, who, he hoped, might be induced 
 to bestow it on his son — at least, thought hC; if 
 we manage our cards well! In the absence ol 
 these youths, therefore, the horsi^s were nox 
 neededs and to the fair they accordingly were 
 sent — Mr. Gregson himself riding over to see 
 them sold. The next day he returned, the groom 
 having brought home, half an hour before, a most 
 valuable horse, which, he said, his master intended 
 to drive with the last new one. 
 
 Gregson, when he returned, told his wife that 
 he had been a great fool, for that he had bought 
 a horse w hich had cost more than four times the 
 price of the two hackneys; and that, moreover, as 
 he thought it woukl be a sin not to have a suit- 
 able carriage, he had also ordered a new britchka, 
 like Colonel Barwell's — exactly like it, colour 
 and all I 
 
 Mrs. Gregson was overjoyed. The Brownes 
 themselves had nothirig in the shape of a carriage, 
 to compare wit!i the Barwells' britchka. She 
 thanked her iiusband joyfully, and then began to 
 think how she must certainly have a new bonnet — 
 nay, a complete new dress, for her first appear- 
 ance in the carriage — so should Lucy ; and now 
 they should, indeed, dazzle the eyes of all Wood- 
 burn 1 She hold a council with herself, whether 
 she should tell Mrs. Barwell. How would Mrs. 
 Barwell take it? for, she fancied her friend had
 
 WHO SHALL BE SUEATEST? 131 
 
 often looked cool, whenever she made an effort to 
 be like her richer neighbours. " She wants us," 
 reasoned Mrs. Gregson, "to be like those horrid 
 tea-people! I know it so well; and how absurd 
 it is of her I I should not wonder if we are nearly 
 as rich as Colonel Barwell himself! I don't think 
 I will tell her! I must have Lucy at heme, how- 
 ever, to go with me to , that we may get our 
 
 dresses home against Sunday;" it being Mr. 
 Gregson's intention, as he had said, to drive to 
 church in the new britchka. 
 
 To Moreby Lodge, therefore, Mrs. Gregson 
 drove in her very best apparel, although in the 
 old gig, to fetch home Lucy. Mrs. Barwell was 
 looking extreme!}" happy as she entered, and had 
 an open letter in her hand. 
 
 " Sit down, my dear friend," said she; " I want 
 you to congratulate me! — I am going to have a 
 daughter of my own — a full-grown daughter — 
 older even than Lucy — to live with me altogether, 
 for me to love, and to educate just in my own man- 
 ner! Now congratulate me!" said she, as Mrs. Greg- 
 son, who was not at all pleased at what she heard, 
 fearing that Lucy would thus lose the regards of 
 the lady of Moreby Lodge, still remained silent. 
 
 " I do congratulate you," said Mrs. Gregson, 
 but in a voice which was anything but congratu- 
 latory ; " I'm sure I do; but who do you mean?" 
 
 " 1 told you," said Mrs. Barwell, " of the death 
 of my liusband's brother — ho who left the money 
 to purchase the estate for his daughter — it is she. 
 She is a beautiful girl, I am told. I have not 
 seen her, however, for seven years — not since we 
 parted >\ith her at Madras, when she came to 
 
 N
 
 132 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 
 
 England for her education. She was then eleven; 
 she is now, consequently, eighteen." 
 
 " But," asked Mrs. Gregson, by no means 
 pleasantly interested for this young lady, " how is 
 it that she has been in England all these years, 
 yet you have not seen her?" 
 
 " When she came to England, seven years ago," 
 said Mrs. Harwell, " she was intrusted to the care 
 of her mother's sister, in London, who was a lady 
 of a large independent fortune. After Mary 
 Anne had been three years at school, her aunt 
 took her into France, and thence into Italy. At 
 Florence her aunt became acquainted with a cele- 
 brated Marquis, m horn she married. He had 
 been eoneerneu deeply, it seems, in some rebellion 
 against the Austrian government — has been im- 
 prisoned, and has suffered dreadfully, I believe. 
 He has been now restored to liberty, but on the 
 sole condition of perpetual banishment; they are 
 going to South America, and Mary Anne is to 
 be restored to us. It is, as far as I am concerned, 
 a most h;ippy circumstance; and I doubt not of 
 its being a fortunate one for her. Colonel Bar- 
 well and myself set off to-morrow for Dover — we 
 are going into Italy to fetch her. I was going to 
 send Lucy home this afternoon, for it has taken 
 us quite by surprise. Lucy is now with the 
 gardener in the hot-house, selecting some plants 
 for herself. Perhaps you would like to Malk to 
 her," said Mrs. Barwell, seeing that Mrs. Greg- 
 son a))peared unaccountably siUnt. 
 
 " Oil, no, no I — that is, not unless you want to 
 get rid of niel" said she. 
 
 '• No, indeed, I am most happy to see you,*^
 
 \^'H0 SHALL BE GREATEST? 133 
 
 said Mrs. Barwell, smiling. " You will, perhaps, 
 stay the day with me, fur it will be three months 
 before we return: we intend going on to Rome." 
 
 " Wiien do you go? — to-morrow, did you say?" 
 asked INIrs. Gregson, thinking directly, that they 
 would not then see the new britchka at church. 
 
 •Yes, to-morrow," said IMrs. Barwell; "we 
 are quite impatient to set off: Moi'gan iias l)een 
 packing since six o'clock this morning. Mary Anne 
 was extremely fond of us in India; she is a sweet 
 girl, and her letter is quite affecting; you niu.-t 
 read it: it shows a very good heart; and I love her 
 for her devotion to her aunt. Tiiey have been in 
 prison, you see — both of them," said she, the 
 t«;ars starting to her eyes, as she followed Mrs. 
 Gregson's progress through the htter. " Poor 
 thing I — and so young too — she must have suffered 
 a great deal ! " 
 
 " Yes, certainly!" said Mrs. Gregson, returning 
 
 the letter. " But I have to drive to ; 1 want 
 
 to go a shopping, and came for Lucy to go with 
 me; 1 am sorry, therefore, that 1 cannot stop the 
 day with you. But I hope now that you will 
 commis>ion me with anything, in your absence; 
 and Gregson, I am sure, will be most happy to 
 be the Colonel's steward, or bailiff, or anything, 
 while he is away. What can we do for you? " 
 
 " Thank you," returned Mrs. Barwell; " the 
 Colonel is now gone down to Woodburn, to talk 
 to your husband. He wants him to sell the 
 carriage-horses — they do not exactly suit us — and 
 the lirltchka too." 
 
 '• Indeed!" said Mrs. Gregson, who determined 
 to take this opportunity of telling her friend of
 
 134 WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? 
 
 the new acquisition ; " and do you reallj' mean to 
 sell the britchka? Do you know, Gregson ad- 
 mired it so much, that he has ordered one just 
 like it for ourselves." 
 
 Mrs. Barwell's countenance wore an instan- 
 taneous expression very like disgust. 
 
 " Well, only see now!" thought Mrs. Gregson; 
 " I do believe she is vexed that we should drive 
 a britchka like them ! " but sne still continued the 
 topic on which she was speaking. " It is to come 
 home on Saturday," she said; " and I want Lucy 
 to go with me to buy new dresses; for you know 
 we must be all of a piece!" 
 
 The necessity for Mrs. Barwell to make any 
 observation, was prevented by Lucy coming in at 
 that moment. " Oh, mamma, are you here?" 
 she exclaimed; " and has Mrs. Barwell told you?" 
 she asked, eagerly. 
 
 " About the young lady coming?" inquired her 
 mother. 
 
 " No, no, not that! May I tell her, dear Mrs. 
 Barwell?" asked Lucy of that lady. 
 
 " You may," said Mrs. Barwell, but in a voice 
 much colder than ordinary. 
 
 "Then, mamma," said Lucy, "you must know 
 that I was coming home this afternoon in the 
 most beautiful little carnage! — so low and easy, 
 and so well-built! — with the loveliest pair of 
 ponies that ever you saw in your life; and it's a 
 present to you from — whom do you think? — from 
 Colonel Barwell ! " 
 
 Mrs. Gregson wished she had said nothing 
 about the britchka; she made a hundred protesta- 
 tione of gratitude and delight — said tliat she always
 
 
 WHO SHALL CE GREATEST? 135 
 
 preferred a low carriage to a high one— that she 
 was not particularly fond of britclikas— that it 
 was all her iiusbaiid's doing — that she must thank 
 the dear Colonel herself — she must go tliat very 
 instant — she would drive to Woodburn, and find 
 him at the warehouse, with her husband.'" 
 
 " Do no such thing," said Mrs. Barwell, very 
 d(>cided!y ; " Lucy has tiianked him : he hates 
 gratitude — at least, he hates many thanks. But 
 the best of the ponies is, that they are perfectly 
 safe; you or Lucy may drive tliem; Lucy drove 
 them fourteen miles yesterday; and, as you have 
 
 to go to ^= , you had better drive there at 
 
 once^ — you are here so far on your way." 
 
 " Do mamma!" exclaimed Lucy — all anima- 
 tion — " I will drive you!" 
 
 " But shall we not need a servant with us?" 
 asked Mrs. Gregson; " Josepli drove me here; 
 he has his best clothes on, and he looks respect- 
 able." 
 
 " Thpre's no room for Joseph," said Lucy; 
 " and, besides, as he is here with the gig, he shall 
 take home my plants. I will go and order them 
 to be packed;" and away she went. 
 
 Mrs. Gregson, although she again spoke her 
 thanks, could not help feeling a little mortified 
 that no seat had been provided for a servant. 
 " Mrs. Barwell," thought she, " never goes out 
 attended by less than two servants; but I suppose 
 they thinly we have no business with one at all: 
 the very ponies, I am told, are so quiet that 
 Lucy can drive them: and thus the present was 
 not without its mortifying drawback. 
 
 n2
 
 136 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GROWING GREAT. 
 
 "I AM glad we are going to Italy for three months," 
 thought Mrs. Barwell to herself, as Lucy and her 
 mother drove away in the little pony phaeton — 
 "and that the britchkaisgoing to be sold too! How 
 it would have vexed the Colonel to see the Greg- 
 sons driving in such a one ! What a want of good 
 common sense there is in those people, after all I 
 and, I begin to be very much afraid that my 
 feelings tortards her liave been excited rather by 
 enthusia-^m than judgment!" 
 
 Contrary to Mrs. Barvvell's advice, Mrs. Greg- 
 son, who was deliiihted by the elegance of the 
 little town-imiltcarriage,and the perfectly-matched 
 and faultless ponies, and the harness — the like of 
 which had never been seen in Woodburn — forgot 
 at once the want of an attendant groom, and 
 ordered Lucy to drive into Woodburn, up Wilton- 
 street, that Mrs. Browne might have a chance of 
 seeing them; and so to Bridge-street, where she 
 might catch the Colonel before he had finished 
 his business with her husband. 
 
 Mrs. Blowing it happened, had just been calling 
 on the Jeniiingses, and was walking up the street 
 as Mrs. Gregson and her daughter drove into it. 
 The ladies had craved all familiar greetings since 
 the day on which they dined together at the 
 Barwetls' ; on this particular occasion, however, 
 Mrs. Gregson said to her daughter, "Let us stop
 
 GBOWING GREAT. 137 
 
 and speak to her, for I know it will half kill her 
 to see us with this sweet equipage!" 
 
 Lucv accordingly checki^d the speed of the 
 ponies, as Mrs. Browne approaeiied. Mrs. 
 Brownt, in the meantime, had been speculating 
 with herself who, in the world, the ladies could 
 be: before Lucy, however, began to prepu-e for 
 a halt, she had recognized ihem; and that, too, 
 with a sentiment of envy and aversion. She very 
 well divined why, on this particular occasion, the 
 ceremony of recognition was to take place, and 
 she determined to mortify their vanity. Assuming, 
 therefore, a look of indifference, she passed the 
 already pausing carriage with the coldest recog- 
 nition, leaving them, as she hoped, to feel very 
 foolish, especially as many people were in the 
 street, all of whom, attracted by Mrs. Gregsou in 
 her new carriage, were looking on. 
 
 " Was there ever in tiiis world such a malicious 
 woman?" exclaimed Mrs. Gregson to her daughter, 
 feeling mortifit d, and, spite of the new carriage, a 
 little foolish also, at the bootless halt which they 
 had made. Fortune, however, had not deserted 
 her. It happened that tiiey had stopped bei'ore 
 the only shop in Wilton-street; and, although she 
 had never dealt there in her life, no sooner did 
 the ponies draw up to the pavement, than the 
 shopman, who was standing at his door, rushed 
 forth, filled with the hope of a new customer; 
 and, with ready wit, she resolved to avail herself 
 of this mistake, to cover her disgrace, and aligiited, 
 following him into the shop, though she knew not 
 what to purchase. Mrs. Browne, whose senses, in 
 the meantime, were all alive, listened for the sound
 
 138 GROWING GREAT. 
 
 of the advancing wheels, which, not "'.omiiig to 
 her ears, hurried her to her own door-steps, that 
 she might thus have an opportunity of louking up 
 the street in a perfectly natural manner. Their 
 house was not above twenty yards distant; and 
 she had the vexation of seeing tlie shopman 
 bowing Mrs. Gregson across the pavement; so 
 that she entered her own door, quite undecided 
 in her mind whether, after all, they had not been 
 only stopping at the shop — which was a very 
 vexatious thing! 
 
 When Mrs. Gregson reached the warehouses in 
 Bridge-street, she found that Colonel Barwell was 
 just gone. Her husband was looking vexed, and 
 a new britchka was standing in the yard. 
 
 " Is that our new carriage?" said she: "well, 
 it is liandsome — and how like the Barwells' ! But 
 I'm in luck's way: I want you to see the present 
 I have had made to me!" and she drew hiin from 
 his desk to the counting-iiouse window, to see the 
 pony phaeton, in which Lucy was sitting, while 
 one of the warehousemen and her two brothers 
 were rapturously admiring the whole faultless 
 equipage. 
 
 " What do you think of that?" exclaimed she. 
 " A present to me from Colonel Barwell!" 
 
 " I hate those low carriages — drawn by a 
 couple of rats!" said Gregson. 
 
 " Now, really!" said his wife. 
 
 " And for what must he give you a carriage?" 
 continued he. 
 
 " Out of kindness, to be sure," said she: " I 
 always knew that the Barwells liked us." 
 
 " I tell you what, Rebecca," said he — " those
 
 GROWING GREAT. 139 
 
 Barwells are as proud as Lucifer! Do you know, 
 the old Colonel looked as angry as any tiling when 
 I showed him fhe new britchka." 
 
 " I thought it was not to come till Saturday," 
 said she. 
 
 " It came home last night," returned her hus- 
 band; "and he would hardly look at it, but said 
 directly, that he would sell his own britchka : now, 
 that's what I call rank pride! He was offended 
 that we should have a britchka as well as he." 
 
 '* Nothing of the kind!" said Mrs. Gregson; 
 
 " I can set you right on that score. Mrs. Barwell 
 
 told me that the Colonel was come down here on 
 
 purpose to ask you to sell the carriage-horses and 
 
 he britchka; and she knew nothing of our having 
 
 ine." 
 
 " I don't know," said he, doubtfully; " but not 
 one word did he say about my selling anything 
 for him — only, point blank, as rude as could be, 
 ' I shall sell my britchka' — the first moment I 
 spoke about mine." 
 
 " 1 don't think he meant to be rude — I'm sure 
 I don't," replied Mrs. Gregson, rather perplexed 
 in her own mind, notwithstanding; " but perhaps 
 I mistook Mrs. Barwell's meaning," said she, 
 determined to preserve peace between the two 
 houses, at all events; " I dare say I did: but of 
 this I am sure, that she told me distinctly, that 
 thej' were going to sell the carriage-horses and 
 the britchka: she said the Colonel was come to 
 Woodburn about it, and was going to call on you, 
 I thought she said, to a>k you to sell them. But 
 I dare say it was only to bid you good-bye, or to 
 tell you of the present he had made me; and that
 
 140 GROWING GREAT. 
 
 would account for his looking vexed when yoil 
 showed him that you had got a carriage. I can't 
 help wishing that it had not come home till 
 Saturday, and then they would have been gone." 
 
 At that moment Lucy and her two brothers 
 came in, full of enthusiasm about the ponies, and 
 impatient that their father should go out to see 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Gregson reckoned himself a judge of horses, 
 and of all that bel()ng( d to them; and he could 
 not but confess, " that for ponies they were very 
 fair; that the harness was of a good make; and 
 that the phaeton was well built. But, ever since 
 he was a boy," he said, " he had had a contempt 
 for ponies and low carriages — they were only fit 
 for old women !" 
 
 " Get along with you!" said Mrs. Gregson, 
 pushing him from her and laughing. " And now 
 Lucy,'^ said she, " we will just drive to the 
 pastry-cook's and get a mouthful of something, 
 and then drive to ." 
 
 Befoie the next Sunday, all the world knew that 
 the Barvvells were gone abroad, and that the Colo- 
 nel had made Mrs. Gregson a present of that beau- 
 tiful phaeton and pair of ponies, in which she had 
 been driving about all the week; and, as they 
 made their appearance at church in the new 
 britchka, which resembled the Barwells' as nearly 
 as one carriage could resemble another, no doubt 
 was entertained but that the Colonel had either 
 given his to Mrs. Gregson, or that Mr. Gregson 
 had bought it. 
 
 Very mortifying indeed was it to Mr. Gregson 
 therefore, on the Monday morning, when Mr
 
 GROWING GREAT. 141 
 
 Mason, the linen-draper, wlio had stopped him 
 in the market-place, observed, " So, you've got 
 the Colonel's old carriage, I hear — may I ask 
 what you gave him for it? I think of buying a 
 second-hand one myself: only a second-hand 
 price, I suppose; and*, between friends, got it for 
 an old song, 1 dare say!" 
 
 " My good fellow," said Mr. Gregson, very 
 much piqued, " you don't know mu,jh about 
 carriages! Why, man, mine's spic and span 
 new ! — oiJy came from the maker's la>t week 
 You're thinking of my wife's pony-phaeton — 
 that was a present to her from Colonel Barwell!" 
 
 " Its a lu(;ky thing to be your wife !" exclaimed 
 Mr. Mason; but, being determined to say some- 
 thing disagreeable, because Mrs. Gregson had 
 cut his wife's acquaintance, as well as left his 
 shop, he added, " But Gregson, everybody says 
 you have got the Colonel's old carriage, for they 
 are as like as pea to pea ! " 
 
 " What an envious old scamp it is!" muttered 
 Mr. Gregson to himself, as he walked onward to 
 his warehouse. And the idea that everybody 
 thought he had got the Colonel's old carriage, 
 haunted him all day. 
 
 " Where did the Colonel sell the britchka and 
 the horses?" asked Mrs. Gregson, from one of the 
 Moreby Lodge grooms, whom she met one day 
 near the Elms; for an unpleasant susi)icion lurked 
 in her mind, that they had given serious ofl'ence 
 by having ordered this biitclika of their own; in 
 consequence of which, her husband had not bf sn 
 favoured with the commibsiou.
 
 142 OROWING GREAT. 
 
 " Master sent 'em to Tattersal's, said the man; 
 " and the britclika went to London too." 
 
 " He talked of selling them in this neighbour- 
 hood,' remarked Mrs. Gregson. 
 
 " He altered liis mind the night afore he set 
 off," replied the groom, " else we'd orders to take 
 'em to Mr. Gregson's," said he, touching his hat 
 
 Mrs. Gregson gave the man half-a-crown, 
 although the information was gall and wormwood 
 to her; and he went off laughing to himself, for 
 he knew the rumour in Woodburn of Mr. Greg- 
 son having the old carriage; and he supposed the 
 lady's questions had reference to tiiis subject. 
 
 It is not at all an extraordinary case, that when 
 people rise ever so little in the world, their 
 acquaintance are filled with envy and all unchari- 
 tableness. It seemed to the Gregsons to be 
 especially so in their case; for all Woodburn 
 appeared to be at feud with them since they had 
 been noticed by the Barwells, and had removed 
 to the Elms; but more particularly so, since they 
 drove to church in a handsome carriage. 
 
 " Hang the britchka!" exclaimed Mr. Gregson 
 to his wife, several weeks afterwards; " I wish I 
 had never had it! I can go nowhere in Wood- 
 burn, but people, out of sheer malice I am sure, 
 are saying something to me about its being a 
 .second-hand affair; — as if I were in the habit of 
 iuying second-hand things! — as well ask if my 
 coat is second-hand!" 
 
 " They know well enough," said Mrs. Gregson, 
 »' that it is not second-hand; but it is all their 
 envyl I told you I met that Mrs. Browne, when
 
 GROWIXU GREAT. 14S 
 
 Lucy and 1 first dr.ove into the town in the pony- 
 phaeton ; and she looked ready to eat us I Besides, 
 how can they take thebritchka for the Barwells'? 
 — they might See that flie Colonel's crest is not 
 on it, nor ever was." 
 
 " The mischief is," said Mr. Gregson, " that 
 the Barwells went a^ay just when they did. If 
 they had only staid one Sunday longer, all would 
 have been right." 
 
 " If they had staid one Sunday longer, all 
 would have been wrong — worse than it is," 
 thought his wife : " they then never would have 
 forgiven us; and even now I am frightened at the 
 thoughts of tiieir coming back again!" 
 
 The Barwells, however, did not come back 
 again so soon as was expected. INIrs. Gregson 
 hoped tliat she might have a letter, but none 
 came; and, at the end of three months, she and 
 Lucy drove to Moreby Lodge, to inquire from 
 the housekeeper when the family might be ex- 
 pected. " Not at present," was the answer: 
 " Mrs. Barwell liked the continent so much, that 
 they were going a tour into Switzerland, and into 
 Vienna, she believed; and it would certainly not 
 be before the end of autumn that they would 
 return; which would make it upwards of twelve 
 instead of three months." 
 
 This information was quite a relief. " Perhaps," 
 thought she, " they never will return !" It a-lmost 
 seemed to her more desirable they should not; 
 for she could not help fearing that the same 
 measure of favoui* would not be dealt to them ns 
 formerly.
 
 144 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A HELP TO GREATXESS. 
 
 'Though the Bai-wells were out of England, and 
 
 Mrs. Gregson had cut all her former Woodburn 
 
 acquaintance, and although no new ones had 
 
 been formed with any of the higher families, either 
 
 -of the town or its neighbourhood, since they re- 
 
 ^raoved to their new house, yet Mr. Gregson, 
 
 who loved to sit down to a table surrounded by 
 
 guests, contrived that there should be no lack of 
 
 visitors at the Elms. Many a ricli farmer and 
 
 ■his family, the purchase of whose dairies was an 
 
 ■hereditary thing to Gregson, came to dine and 
 
 -stop all night. The young Gregsons also had their 
 
 acquaintances, who came of an evening, and 
 
 smoked cigars in the shrubberies, or played at 
 
 bowls; wiiilst the clergyman of Woodburn, a Mr. 
 
 Vincent, a quiet old bachelor, and the apothecary 
 
 and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Dawes — the three 
 
 standing dishes of every table, as Mr. Gregson 
 
 called them — were always ready and willing to be 
 
 entertained. 
 
 Mr. Gregson, spite of his aspirings after gen- 
 tility, which it had given hisMife such satisfaction 
 to discover, " was not," as he said, " one to reject 
 a good thing, because it was no better." If he 
 could not visit with the J-"nningses, and the Sykes 
 VVillouglibys, and all tha\ set, there was no reason 
 why he should turn heriait He would have such
 
 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 145 
 
 as he could get; and, if they were not so grand, 
 why, they were all the merrier — that was tlie only 
 difterence. And, as for a dance, they could have 
 one any time — for he liked young fellows that 
 could dance in their boots, and girls that would 
 not turn up their noses at a partner, because he 
 had not new white kid gloves I' 
 
 Thus easily satisfied, Mr. Gregson kept the 
 Elms all alive ; and every Sunday, and not unfre- 
 quently once or twice in the course of tiie week 
 besides, gave a dinner, and dined out likewise ; driv- 
 ing his wife and daughter to substantial granges, 
 and farm-houses, and old manor-hou^^es, tliat had 
 come a little down in the world, across the country, 
 through roads intended for taxed carts, or those 
 with no springs at all, in his handsome britchka, 
 very little, of course, to its improvement. 
 
 Now, let it not be supposed that there was any 
 philosophy in Mr. Gregson's thus being satisfied 
 with society merely of his own class. In the secret 
 of his heart he wished to take a stand among the 
 country gentry — to visit wherever the Brownes 
 did; but, though he was striving after it by all 
 means in his power, he never confessed as much 
 to his wife. 
 
 She, on the contrary, was always railing against 
 farmers and farmers' wives, and was thinking, 
 with herself, that she would give anything to 
 know the secret by which the Brownes managed 
 to get the footing in society they did. At length 
 she came to the decision, that the cause of this 
 difference must be in the husbands. Browne 
 never would do as her husband did; he never 
 would make hiai5elf part and parcel \\ ilh farmers,
 
 ^•^6 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 
 
 and such like; he never would be content with 
 tenants, while landlords were to be had.* 
 
 Partly on the plea, therefore, of being out of 
 health, and partly on that of the state of the 
 roads, which tried and injured the carriage-springs 
 so much, she began to decline invitations, making 
 up her mind not to comprcjmise her claim to a 
 higher class of society, by connecting herself 
 entirely with this; but to wait lor Mrs. Harwell's 
 return, and trust to fortunate circumstances open- 
 ing the way to visiting among Mrs. Barwell's 
 frieiids; especially as Lucy was now growing so 
 womanlj^, and so handsome. 
 
 We have said before, that Mrs. Gregson seemed 
 to be a favourite of fortune; for she seldom 
 earnestly desired anything, which, by one means 
 or other, was not brought about. Accordinglj^, 
 the very next autumn. — about the time when the 
 Barwells were expected to return — an accident 
 happened, which occasioned the family to become 
 acquainted with the Sykes Willougiibys. It 
 occurred thus: — 
 
 One fine breezy autumn afternoon, Mr. Greg- 
 son and his eldest son were out with their dogs 
 — for they had become great sportsmen since 
 they lived at the Elms — and were looking out for 
 a covey of partridges, which lay in a large plant- 
 ation bordering a small lake which formed the 
 extreme bound of the Willoughby estate in this 
 direction, and which, at this point, joined Mr. 
 Gregson's land. Young Sykes \Villou-.,^liby and 
 his sister, and that very Miss Wilmott for whom 
 Lucy had been n)istaken, were rowing about the 
 lake; while a fine Newfoundland dog was m the
 
 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 14.7 
 
 water, with which all the party were amusing 
 themselves. For frolic, or from want of thought, 
 the young man called the dog to enter the boat — 
 the young ladies, laughing and screaming, and 
 protE'Sting he should not; and, as he still swam 
 nearer, and still was urged by his master to do so, 
 one, or both of them, started up, and upset the 
 boat. It was the act of an instant; and, in the 
 same instant, Mr. Gregson, who was a strong 
 man, and a good swimmer, threw off his coat, and 
 sprang into the water to their rescue, not, how- 
 ever, before he had ordered his son to run home 
 instantly ior.the britchka. The sagacious creature 
 wliich had been the innocent means of the acci- 
 dent, caught hold of lAIiss Wilmott's dress, and 
 drew her to land; whilst Mr. Gregson bore Miss 
 Wilioughby out of the water, and then returned 
 to her brother, who, being but an indifferent 
 swimmer, yet sustained himself from sinking, by 
 having caught hold of the boat as it resettled 
 itself in the water. Their peril was imminent; 
 and nothing but Mr. Gregson's presence, and 
 presence of mind, could have saved them all. 
 
 They had not to wait long for the carriage, 
 into which Mrs. Gregson had most thoughtfully 
 put a quantity of cloaks and blankets — pleased 
 beyond measure to. have thus an opportunity of 
 rendering service so essential to the Sykes Wil- 
 loughbys. Tiie two young ladies, dripping wet, 
 and frightened half out of their senses, were 
 wrapped in blankets, and put into the carriage, 
 together with their brother, who all the while 
 made ligiit of the affair; it was then closed, and 
 young Gregson mounted the box beside his 
 
 o2
 
 '■4 8 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 
 
 tatlier, who, altiiough he was wet to the skin, 
 merely wiapped a couple of great coats about 
 him, and diove home with the utmost expedition. 
 They found the gates set open to receive them, 
 and Mis. Gregson herself at the hall door, with 
 servants, who insisted upon carrying the young 
 ladies up stairs to bed. It was in vain they pro- 
 tested that they were only wet, and that there 
 was no danger; and that, if dry clothes might but 
 be sent for, they were able to go honia. Mrs. 
 Gregson would hear of nothing but their going to 
 bed. A fire was burning in the chamber, and in 
 the dressing-room likewise, where ti.ey found 
 warm night-clothes and flannel gowns, and Lucy, 
 full of tender anxiety and willing kindness. At 
 length, all sorts of Mann cordials had been pre- 
 sented, and everything liad been done that could 
 be devised, and the two were left in bed in the 
 very best chamber; whilst young \\ iiloii^hby, to 
 whom far more attention had been oti'eied than 
 he was willing to accept, was left in btcl also, in 
 the second-best room, in which, likewise, a good 
 fire was burning. By the time all tliis was done, 
 and the running about of servants had pretty 
 nearly ceased, and Mr. Gregson, who wa-^ positive 
 about not going to bed, had changed his clothes 
 and drank two strong glasses of hot negus, Mr. 
 Dawes, the apothecary, for whom Mrs. Gregson 
 had sent off express, arrived. Nothing, he de- 
 clared, more judicious could have been suggested, 
 had he been there himself; and then, assuring the 
 young people that they might look upon them- 
 selves as having been once saved by Mr. Greg- 
 son, and twice by his wife, he forbade any of them
 
 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 149 
 
 io leave their rooms, or even their beds, until he 
 had seen them next morning. He next volun- 
 teered to take Castle Willoughb}' in his way 
 home, that he might nuUifj- any alarm, by the 
 good report which he could take. 
 
 Mrs. Gregson thanked him; but, the moment 
 she had heard his report, she had, she siiid, sent 
 off a sen-ant on horseback, that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Sykes Willoughby might be made perfectly easy. 
 
 These young people could not, by any means, 
 be called bad-hearted; and yet, now that all 
 danger was over, thev wished any bod v had saved 
 them, rather than the Gregsons. 
 
 " How vexed mamma will be," said Miss Wil- 
 loughby to her cousin, " to have to thank that 
 horrid ]\Irs. Gregson, about whom Mr<. Browne 
 has told such absurd things! — and him tool — 
 did you ever see such a vulgar person?" 
 
 Young Willoughby, although he had not a 
 chamber-companion to whom he could express 
 his sentiments, amused himself by thinking how 
 he would amuse others, by what he culled " the 
 humours of the house." 
 
 Mrs. Sykes Willoughby never thought, at the 
 first moment, about whom she had to thank; she 
 felt too much overjoyed to know that they were 
 safe, to scruple about the means by which they 
 were saved. After a fit of hysterics, therefore, 
 her husband being out shooting in anotlier part 
 of the county, she ordered her close carriiige, and, 
 accompanied by her maid, drove to the Elms, 
 althougli her dinner had been waiting half an 
 hour. Never did a more welcome vi.-ion present 
 itself to Mrs. Gregson, than that of this carriage
 
 ISO A HELP TO GREATNESS. 
 
 driving up to her door. Mr. Gregson flew to the 
 carriage steps to receive her; and she entered the 
 house, leaning upon his arm, and pouring out 
 protestations of everlasting gratitude. She was 
 placed in a cushioned chair by the drawing-room 
 fire; with the greatest possible respect; and, after 
 Mrs. Gregson had " feared," some dozen times, 
 " that she was ill," or " that the fatigue would 
 overdo her," or " that she might sutler from this 
 excitement," she yiehhd to her request to see her 
 chiklren, and was accordingly ushered up stairs 
 by the mistress of the house herself, who failed 
 not, all the while, to insist up6n the doctor's 
 injunctions being attended to — that the young 
 people sliould be left quiet till he had seen them 
 next morning. 
 
 A sound of laughter and merriment proceeded 
 from the ciiamber which held the two young 
 ladies, as they a])proached the apartment. 
 
 " Nobody that hears this would believe that, 
 two hours ago, they were just between life and 
 death," said Mrs. Gregson, as she presented the 
 softly-stepping Mrs. Sykes Willoughby to their 
 bed-side. 
 
 The young ladies protested that they were 
 quite well ; tliat they had had an excellent dinner 
 — thanks to Mrs. Gregson — and that now they 
 were quite well enough to be ducked a second time; 
 and they hoped, therefore, the carriage was come 
 for them, with plenty of dry clothes. Mrs. Sykes 
 Willoughby, however, woidd not hear of their 
 returning home, nor yet of their rising. She 
 then commenced a weak lecture on boating, and 
 on playing with dogs on water; and declared, that
 
 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 161 
 
 they should never sufficiently thank tlieir good 
 neighbour. Pretty much the same scene took 
 place in her son's chamber, excepting that he 
 out-talked his niotiier, laughed loud at all her 
 fears for his health, and, in the end, was per- 
 mitted to get up, dress in the fresh clothes that 
 had been brought, and accompany his mother 
 home. 
 
 This adventure, of course, made a great talk in 
 Woodburn; and Mrs. Browne, who knew Mrs. 
 Greg,-on would be overjoyed to have a door thus 
 opened to her acquaintance with the Sykes Wil- 
 loughbys, lost not a moment in making a call the 
 next morning, being resolved to depreciate the 
 Gregsons' part of the affair. 
 
 " It may he a dangerous piece of water," said 
 she, as she sate Mith Mrs. Sykes Wil.'oughby, in 
 her morning-room; "but ray son, who cannot, by 
 any means, be reckoned a rash young man, has 
 been there times without end; besides, considering 
 that Mr. Henry can swim, and as the dog was 
 with them, there was no danger of them being 
 drowned — the dog alone would have saved them.'" 
 
 '• You have such excellent spirits! " said Mrs. 
 Sykes Willoughby, who, from alarm and excite- 
 ment overnight, was suffering this morning from 
 a nervous attack; " I assure you I have had 
 visions of drowning people before my eyes all 
 night! " 
 
 " Mr. Henry himself," continued ^Irs. Browne, 
 " says that Mr. Gregson never touched him — he 
 swam — and Neptune certainly drew Mi.~s VVilmott 
 'o land — there are the marks of his tectli in the 
 ^ck of her dress — line fellow! — You ought to
 
 152 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 
 
 have his picture taken. Besides, if you knew the 
 Gregsons as well as I do ! " — Here Mrs. Browne 
 stopped abruptly, and shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " I grant," observed Mrs. Sykes Willoughby, 
 seeing that the other waited for her to speak, 
 " that one does not like to be under obligations 
 to that sort of people. If it had but been some 
 poor man that one could have pensioned, and 
 thus made comfortable for life I — but with such as 
 they, one has no means of returning the obligation." 
 
 " Yes, you have — by visiting with them!" said 
 Mrs. Browne, sarcastically, well knowing that .to 
 Mrs. Sykes Willoughby, one of the most exclu- 
 sive people in the whole county, this was Avhat 
 would be particularly unpleasant. 
 
 " Impossible ! One could not do that," said she. 
 
 " Tliey are dreadfully vulgar," replied Mrs. 
 Browne; we endured them as long as we could. 
 She was an early liumble friend of mine — a sort 
 of companion before I married. They are under 
 great obligations to us, and we did not wish to 
 mortify tliem; but, upon my word, they are such 
 as you could not visit." 
 
 Just as these words were spoken, Mrs. Sykes 
 Willougliby's maid knocked at the door, to say 
 that IMrs. Gregson had brought home the young 
 ladies. 
 
 " Make my best compliments to Mrs. Gregson," 
 said she, " and say I am extremely unwell this 
 morning. You can say, Stowel. that I have not 
 left my room, and regi-et I cannot see her; but I 
 will have the honour of calling to make my ac- 
 knowledgments, the first moment I am able to gc 
 out; — and send the young ladies to me." 
 
 i
 
 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 153 
 
 The message was delivered, and Mrs. Gregson 
 was mortified; and the young ladies having 
 offered her wine and cake, and sate and chatted 
 with her, as a necessary mark of attention, in the 
 absence of Mrs. Sykes Willoughby, saw her 
 depart, and then ran np stairs to make a long 
 history of all that liad happened, and to laugh 
 at them all, with Mrs. Browne, and to assure 
 their mother that there really was no danger 
 of their being drowned, considering that Henry 
 could swim, and that they had Neptune with 
 them; and that Mrs. Gregson, and even Miss 
 Gregson, .though she was so pretty, and all the 
 family too, were the most amusing people they 
 had ever seen ; and that it was ahiiost worth 
 another ducking to pass another such night and 
 morning. 
 
 By the time Mr. Sykes Willoughby came 
 home, the adventure came to be considered a 
 mere joke. No sooner, howevei', did he hear it 
 rehited, than he treated it in a very different 
 manner. " It was the most dangerous piece of 
 water,'' he said, " he knew anywhere : tliat it was 
 nonsense talking of Henry swimming — lie could 
 do no such thing; and that, supposing Neptune 
 had saved one, or at most two, they, by that time, 
 would have been insen^sible; and, who must have 
 summoned help?" He said, in short, that thej' 
 were fools and blockheads, and talked like asses! 
 and that every one of them owed their lives to Mr. 
 Gregson; and that he himself should go and 
 made his acknowledgments to that gentleman; 
 and that he was happy to know tliat he had so good 
 a neighbour, who would look alter iiis madcaps in
 
 154 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 
 
 his absence; that he had heard many excellent 
 things of INIr. Gregson, and he should be proud 
 to shake hands with him. 
 
 Mrs. Sykes Willoughby, who always took her 
 opinions from the most energetic speaker, no 
 sooner heard her husband express himself thus, 
 than she thought that certainly they had been 
 very remiss; and that she herself, she then remem- 
 bered, had promised to call the first time she went 
 out. She therefore proposed to her husband, 
 that they sliould drive to the Elms together, and 
 that they should take Mrs. Gregson a present of 
 fruit — a fine pineapple, and some of their beautiful 
 grapes. Her husband thought nothing could be 
 more proper; and, between three and four o'clock, 
 just as tiie Gregsons had done dinner, it was 
 announced that the Sykes Willoughbys' carriage 
 was coming up the drive. Most happy was Mrs. 
 Gregson to think that she and Lucy were well 
 dressed, that tiiere was a good fire in the drawing- 
 room, and that she herself had swept up the hearth 
 before diiuier. " It is an excellent plan to have 
 a hearth-lirush always at hand," thougiit Mrs. 
 Gregson, as, in a very agreeable flutter of spirits, 
 she walked into tlie drawing-room. 
 
 While the gentlemen were busy talking on a 
 variety of topics, wliich grew out of this adventure 
 at the jiitle lake, the ladies likewise were keeping 
 up what seemed like an animated conversation. 
 At length Mrs. Sykes Willoughby spoke of the 
 views from the windows, which, she said, she had 
 always preferred to her own. 
 
 " You know this hou£«, then," said Mrs. Greg- 
 son.
 
 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 155 
 
 Mrs. Sj'kes Willoughby knew it well; she had 
 spent, she said, many happy hours there. Thej 
 knew Sir Henry Forrester, who built it; and her 
 recollections of the place were all pleasant, 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mrs. Gregson, you would then 
 like to go over it again. I think you will say, 
 that in our humble way we have made it com- 
 fortable ; though we don't pretend to vie with 
 Sir Henry Forrester." 
 
 Mrs. Sykes Willoughby declared that nothing 
 would give her greater pleasure; and accordingly, 
 Worn kitchen and larder up to the very attics, did 
 Mrs. Gregson take her visitor; not omitting by 
 any means to open any drawers, or presses, or 
 cupboards, which conlained either handsome 
 dresses, stores of linen, plate, or china, or might, 
 m any 'way, give the lady of Castle Wiiloiighby 
 an idea of their being people of substance, and 
 wlio understood, likewise, all that was needful in a 
 handsome establishment. When they returned 
 to the drawing-room, they found the gentlemen 
 had also disappeared — Mr. Gregson thinking he 
 might as well show his neighbour, whom he knew 
 to be an amateur farmer and breeder of cattle, 
 his fine brood sow; and so, from the sow to all his 
 other out-door possessions, not forgetting his six- 
 stalled stable, every stall of which was occupied. 
 
 During the absence of all pai'ties, Lucy had 
 ordered in some of the best wine in the best 
 decanters, with a heaped silver basket of rich 
 cake; all oi' which stood upon a massy silver 
 waiter of great value. The fruit which Mrs. 
 Sykes Willoughby had brought, and which, in 
 the meantime had come in, stood also upon the 
 
 p
 
 156 A HELP TO GREATNESS. 
 
 table. The ladies then sat down to await the 
 gentlemen's return; and, while INIrs. Gregson 
 poured forth thanks for the fruit, Mrs. Sykes 
 WilIougliI)y commended the cake, which she con- 
 descended to eat. 
 
 " Upon my word," said Mrs. Gregson, helping 
 herself a second time to some of the grapes, 
 " these are much finer flavoured than their's at 
 Moreby Lodge." 
 
 " You have seen Mrs. Barwell since her re- 
 turn," said Mrs. Sykes Willoughb}-. 
 
 " No I Is she returned?" asked Mrs, Gregson, 
 hastily; and, the next moment, was sorry she had 
 done so. 
 
 " She returned three days ago," said the other. 
 " I saw her yesterday ; she is looking remarkably 
 well: I understand you are very intimate with 
 her." 
 
 " Extremely so," returned Mrs. Gn-gson, now 
 determined to make all right. " She is my dearest 
 friend; but she loves to surprise one; she took 
 me by surprise when they first came; she cannot 
 have been out yet, or she would have called on me." 
 
 " We dined with them at the Brownes', yester- 
 day," said Mrs. Sykes Willonghby. 
 
 " Wonderful people the Brownes are," said 
 Mrs. Gregson, more mortified than she would 
 have told, at what she had heard ; " very won- 
 derful people! Mr. Gregson lent him the first 
 money he ever had; he, in fact, furnished that 
 nouse for him in Wilton-street; and I knew her 
 as a girl; her Aither was a small grocer in 
 Glouc( ster, and died a bankrupt!" 
 
 ** She is an extremely clever person," said
 
 GROWING GREATER. 157 
 
 Mrs. Sykes Willoughby, " nevertheless, and gives 
 excellent dinners; — Mr. Sykes Willoughby prefers 
 dining there even to the bishoo's." 
 
 Just then came in the gentlemen. " We are 
 making an unconscionable call, Mrs. Gregson," 
 said Mr. Sykes Willoughby; but your good hus- 
 band has been decoying me into liis farm-yard." 
 
 " It is a wonder you have found your way in 
 at all, then," said his wife, rising; " he is so pas- 
 sionately fond of animals," added she, addressing 
 Mrs. Gregson. 
 
 After Mr. Sykes Willoughby had taken a 
 couple of gJasses of wine, which he greatly com- 
 mended, and said a few civil things to Lucy, and 
 thanked iNIrs. Gregson for the good care she had 
 taken of his young people, they made their adieus 
 and departed, leaving ^Irs. Gregson much more 
 uneasy to hear that the Barweils liad returned, 
 than pleased that the Sykes Willoughbys had 
 called. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 GROWING GREATER. 
 
 It was then too late to drive to Moreby Lodge; 
 but the next morning Mrs. Gregson and her 
 daughter did not fail to make their visit of 
 welcome. She had scarcely slept the whole night, 
 so full of anxiety was she, fearing lest tliey had 
 offended past redemption ; "and if so," thought she, 
 " what a triumph to the Brownes ! And yet, per- 
 haps, after all, there is no need for ap])rehension ; 
 it was but a small thing to give offence by — just
 
 158 GROWING GREATER. 
 
 admiring their carriage; and, really if they are 
 offended, they are, as Gregson says, full of rank 
 pride! However, offended or not, all I desire is, 
 that the Brownes should not have a triumph over 
 us; and, now that we have begun so well with the 
 Sykes Willouglibys, if I can but keep up anything 
 like the old intimacy, I shall be satisfied." 
 
 Full of the determination to keep up at least 
 something like the old intimacy, she entered the 
 drawing-room where Mrs. Barwell sat(» at her 
 work, and with her a lady, a visitor, reading. 
 Mrs. Barwell's manner was kind, was unquestion- 
 ably kind, towards Lucy; she also expressed plea- 
 sure in again meeting her mother. An uninterested 
 spectator would have said any one must be 
 satisfied by it; but Mrs. Gregson felt that it was 
 very different to their former meeting; heart was 
 now wanting; that very charm which hitherto had 
 made Mrs. Barwell's lightest word so different to 
 other people's professions of affection. She tjiought 
 perhaps this difference was occasioned by the 
 presence of a stranger, and therefore she ma- 
 noeuvered all kind of ways to send Lucy and the 
 lady into the garden or green-house, or to go 
 there herself with Mrs. Barwell. But none of 
 her hints were taken, and thej' still sate together, 
 talking on common topics. Towards Lucy, how- 
 ever, as we said, much of her former cordiality 
 remained. She regretted that her niece was not 
 then at home; she and her uncle were g(me out 
 for a ride on horseback. " The Colonel," said 
 she, " is so happy to have a riding companion; and 
 Mary Aime rides admirably; but I must, neverthe- 
 less, find you some amusement; you can turn over
 
 GROWING GREATER. 159 
 
 these volumes of engravings, which we collected 
 in Germany; they are, many of them, very fine. 
 I have some excellent Italian and German music 
 for you. I hope you practise as much as you 
 did, and that you love music even more. I did 
 not forgft you when I was abroad." 
 
 Whilst ^Irs. (iregsoii heard the kind voice of 
 Mrs. Bar\v(4i tluis speaking to her daughter, she 
 felt as if she could throw herself on her neck, and 
 weep and pray that they might be as ibrmerly; 
 but v.ith tills relenting mood came the thoughts 
 of the old uncle and aunt who sold tea, and who 
 had been Inld up to her as constant examples; and 
 she knew that with the old intimacy must come 
 the counsels and the warnings, which were so 
 abhorrent to her spirit; and therefore she deter- 
 mined to let things take their own way. 
 
 They talked, of course, of the adventure of the 
 little lake, and of Mr. Gregson's heroism; and 
 then she told of the Sykes VVilloughby's call, and 
 the present of " beautiful fruit;" and dwelt rap- 
 turously on tlie " charming conversation and 
 manners" of the whole family; adding, "what an 
 advantage it would be to Lucy to be acquainted 
 with them I" Had any peculiar expression passed 
 over Mrs. Barwell's countenance whilst she was 
 thus talking, it would instantly have stopped her, 
 or have qualiKed what she meant to say; but none 
 did: she differed from her on some points, and 
 acquiesced in others, in the most cool and natural 
 way possible, but rather as if with an acquaint- 
 ance than an intimate friend; and therefore, Mrs. 
 Gregson said more than at first she intended, as 
 •♦' to elicit some more decided sentiment. She 
 
 p2
 
 160 GROWING GREATBB. 
 
 told her that the Sykes Willoughbys would dine 
 with them soon; that Mr. Gre<j>oii liad asked 
 them, and that they liad declared it would give 
 them ))leasure; and she hoped, then (ore, that 
 Colonel and Mrs. Barwell would meet tiieni. It 
 might have been the most common tiling in the 
 world for the Sykes Willoughbys to dine with the 
 Gregsons, from the manner in wliicli Mrs. Barwell 
 accepttd the invitation, " for whatever time 
 it might be;" adding, that " the day before, they 
 had dined with them at INIr. Browne's." Mrs. 
 Gregson did not choose to make any observation 
 respecting the Brownes' giving great diimers, lest 
 even a glance might throw her observation back 
 upon herself; but she did venture one remark, 
 just as a sort of memento of old times, that " the 
 Brownes were going on just as usual. She sup- 
 posed Mrs. Barwell had heard that they had 
 bought a great estate somewhere in the north of 
 England." Mrs. Barwell said that she had; that 
 a great deal was said about it the last night; it 
 appeared to be a very fine estate; and, added she, 
 smiling, " he is now lord of a manor, and she 
 lady of a castle; young Browne too is up there 
 shooting; we had moor-fowl from the estate, and 
 fish too from the lakes." 
 
 " Upon my word!" ejaculated Mrs. Gregson, 
 with an upward jerk of her head. 
 
 Now, as it happened that the Gregsons' re- 
 moval to the Elms was the mainspring of the 
 Brownes' possessing themselves of this estate, 
 which lay on the borders, whilst Mrs. Gregson, 
 therefore, is finishing her call at INIoieby Lodge, 
 we may as well say a few words on the subject. 
 
 I
 
 GROWING GREATER. 161 
 
 The Elms, as we be>fore remarked, had been 
 the place, of all others, which Mr. and IMrs. Browne 
 had desired to possess for themselves. Sorely 
 galling, therefore, was it, not only to see it in the 
 hands of another, and that other, ?*Ir. Gregson 
 himself, but also to be conscious that he (Browne) 
 as a lawyer, with whom the deeds, in pa?t, had 
 been deposited, hid been gulled out of it by a 
 lawyer more cunning than himself. They, how- 
 e\'er, were politic people; and it never was sus- 
 pected by the world, nor even by the Gngsons, 
 that they had had the slightest wish to possess it. 
 To every -one, therefore, they dejji-eeiated the 
 place. " Tiie title was not the best in the world," 
 Browne said; "and it would be well it' Ciregson 
 did not find in the end that he had a dear bargain." 
 " The house was damp, and the water was bad," 
 Mrs. Browne said; "she had it from excellent 
 authority." She even persuaded old Mrs. Jen- 
 nings that siie herself had told iier so; ajd the 
 poor old lady, whose intellects were now none of 
 the clearest, actually fancied that Sir Hemy For- 
 rester's iKHisekeeper had told her so. 
 
 As the Gregsons, therefore, now were landed 
 proprietors, it was not to be expected tliat the 
 Brownes could remain satisfied with n)ereiy a 
 house in Wilton-street, to whicii not even half an 
 acre of land belonged. Many were tlie places he 
 turned his eye upon — becoming more and more 
 ambitious the longer the idea dwelt with him. 
 Perhaps, liowever, the circumstance of the Greg- 
 sons having two carriages might aet as a spur to 
 his andjition; certain it is, that about that time 
 he, too, began to drive a pair of horses, and
 
 162 GROWING GREATER. 
 
 actually set off, he and Mrs. Browne, to some- 
 where in the North, with four post-horses. It 
 made a gieat talk in Woodburn at the lime: an 
 old client, it Mas said, was on his death-bed, and 
 Mr. Browne was sent for to make his will; and 
 then, it was said, that he was appointed ward to a 
 minor of weak intellects; and, shortly afterwards, 
 that he had purchased a vast estate in Northum- 
 berland, to which all kinds of manorial privileges 
 were appended; that the family house was a fine 
 castle; and now, this very autuum, young Browne, 
 and some of his college friends, were gone up 
 shooting there. 
 
 The Woodburn people, after this, no longer 
 wondered at any expense that the Brownes went 
 to: tiiey were looked upon as among the richest 
 people of the neighbourhood; and their dinners, 
 and her dresses and evening parties, and young 
 Browne's college life, and his shooting excursions 
 in the North, to vi^hich he set out from VVocd- 
 burn, accompanied by a keeper, pointers, do;^- 
 cart, and two Joe Mantons, said to have cost a 
 hundred guineas, no longer made a nine days' 
 wonder, but were only regarded as every-day 
 occurrences. But there was yet one family with 
 whom their doings still excited attention; and that, 
 it is needless to say, was the Gregsons. " I 
 wonder what will be the end of all this I" and 
 " Well, to be sure!" and, " Was ever the like 
 heard!" and, "Those people are the most extra- 
 oidinaiy that ever lived!" accompanied by all 
 kinds of significant nods and looks, were heard at 
 the dinner-table, and by the fireside, at tiie Elms, 
 whenever the Brownes were talked of; neither
 
 GROWING GREATER. 163 
 
 Mr. nor Mrs. Gregson ever seeming to remember 
 that they were doing the very tilings themselves, 
 though, perhaps, in a less exalted style, as the 
 people they were censuring. The fact was, that 
 these two families were, and had been for years, 
 like rivals in a race; — the moment one seemed to 
 be getting ahead, the efforts of the other were 
 excited to shoot pa'^t, by some excelling piece of 
 grandeur or expense. 
 
 Having said thus much to bring up the career 
 of the Brownes to the present moment, we must 
 return to Mrs. Gregson, wliom we left sitting 
 with Mrs. JBarwell. When she reviewed her call 
 at Moreby Lodge, it was impossible to say what 
 her exact feelings were. It was evident to her- 
 self, that Mrs. Barwell was now quite willing that 
 she should take a rank in society above ti-ades- 
 people; that she was not going to be surprised, 
 nor yet to regret, their giving great dinner parties: 
 she herself was treated no longer, either " as an 
 humble friend, or as an upper servant;" the very 
 thins she had wished for, seemed to have been 
 brought about — she was treated as an ((lual m 
 rank. But what did all this imply? that Mrs. 
 Baruell had ceased to feel the solicitude and 
 affection of an earnest friend. Very pr()i)ably so; 
 but, argued Mrs. Gregson with herself, on these 
 terms I stand belter with the world: on these 
 terms I shall not again be bored with those ever- 
 lasting old shop-keepers! and I am not cpiite sure 
 whether all that interference, and giving advice, 
 was not impertinent; at all events, siie never 
 would have done so with Mrs. Browne: another 
 thing, Mrs. Browne never would have permitted
 
 164 GROWING GREATER. 
 
 it, for, wit!) all her faults, she does not want 
 spirit! To Lucy, certainly, she is as kind as 
 ever; and if I can but make Lucy and Miss Bar- 
 well friends, all will be right; and, if so, I think 
 things are much better as they are. 
 
 Mrs, Gregson, hcnvever, could not forget the 
 affair of tlie britchka, and she felt a little anxious 
 about tlnir first being seen by the Barwells in it; 
 it would, however, she thought, be better to take 
 all quietly, and as a matter of course, and go to 
 church in it as usual. Still, she could not help 
 wondering what kind of carriage they would have — 
 whether a new one, and anything like the old; 
 and this wonder she expressed to her husband. 
 
 " I have seen them driving in two carriages," 
 said ht — " one sees them everywhere! — one, a 
 sort of britclika, but nmeii lower and lighter than 
 ours — a splendid little lliing — drawn by a pair of 
 grey cobs. If he had made you a present of such 
 a thing, there would have been some sense in it ! 
 The other is a large, heavy carriage, with four 
 black horses, and postilions." , 
 
 " Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Gregson, 
 
 " They seem inclined to cut a pretty dash!" 
 said her husband. 
 
 " They are, at all events, determined that we 
 shall not imitate them again," thought she; and, 
 someway, slie was troubled all day by the idea of 
 this surpassing equipage; for she fancied it had 
 a mortifying reference to tiiem. 
 
 In a i'fw days, the very coach and lour brought 
 Mrs. Barwell to return Mrs. Gregson's call, and 
 to introduce Miss Barwell to Lucy. Spite of her 
 cordiality to Lucy, Mrs. Gregson felt still more
 
 GROWING GREATER. 165 
 
 impressed by the punctiliousness of her demeanour 
 to herself. " There will be no danger now," she 
 thought, " of her dismissing her carriage, and 
 insisting upon taking tea with us at six o'clock, as 
 she did in Bridge-street; but then, I've got rid of 
 the old tea-shop ! " 
 
 Whilst Mr. and Mrs. Gregson were tiiinking, 
 one day, very seduously, about giving their first 
 great dinner-party, there came formal cards of 
 mvitatioii to them to dine with Colonel and Mrs. 
 Barwell on the 30th instant, which was then two 
 weeks (iff; and cards also for tiie same evening, 
 for Miss Gregson, and Mr. Thomas and IMr. 
 George Gregson; — quadrilles to commence at 10 
 o'clock. All the house was at once put into 
 a dehghtful flutter. Mrs. Gregson liad never 
 seen her husband so well pleased before. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said he, laughing and rubbing his 
 hands; " you may talk as you will about Mrs. 
 Barwell's good sense, and philosopliy, and friend- 
 ship for vou, but you see she's every bit as weak 
 as other people! We never were good enough 
 to go to their parties till somebody greater than 
 themselves had noticed us; and, it seems I may 
 thank the young Sykes Willoughbys" tumbling 
 into the water, for the honour of dming at Moreby 
 Lodge." 
 
 His wife joined him in laughing, as if she thought 
 he was right; but in trutli, she knew that the true 
 cause of their being invited to dine with a grand 
 party at Moreby, was because they had forfeited 
 the esteem of its mistress — they were no more to 
 <ier now than common acquaintance.
 
 166 GROWING GREATER. 
 
 A most properly worded note, stating that Mr. 
 and Mrs. Gregson would have the iionour of 
 dining at Moreby Lodge on the 30th instant, was 
 written atid despatched — the same likewise, on 
 behalf of the young people; and, INIr. GregSon 
 being unusually good-humoured, gave his wife 
 two twenty pound bills, telling her that he should 
 expect to see both Lucy and herself looking as 
 well as anybody, if it were only to bhow that they 
 knew how to do things handsomely. 
 
 It would not be quite the thing, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Gregson decided, to give their dinner before 
 the SOth, therefore that subject was dismissed 
 for the present; besides, said the lady, I shall like 
 to see how Mrs. Barwell manages; for I would not, 
 for the world, do anything shabbily. 
 
 Before they gave their dinner, it so happened, 
 however, that she had a double opportunity of 
 seeing how a great entertainment was managed; 
 for, the very week after the invitation came from 
 Moreby Lodge, one came also from Castle Wil- 
 loughby,for the 7th of the following month — dinner 
 and evening party, the young Gregsons and Lucy 
 also being included. Anybody may conceive 
 what an everlasting subject these two important 
 events would furnish; morning, noon and night, 
 if they were not talked of, they were at least 
 thought of. It was several days before Mrs. 
 Gregson could decide upon what she would wear; 
 at length she fixed upon black velvet, with a 
 lurban of gold tissue. 
 
 In this dress, therefore, she made her appear* 
 ance; aud, as she had the good taste not to ov&t'
 
 GROWING GREATER. 167 
 
 load herself with indifferent jewellery, she looked 
 very well. '• Not unlike a gentlewoman," thought 
 Mrs. Barwell, as she saw her enter the room. 
 
 To Mrs. Gregson's delight, the Brownes were 
 there — she too in black velvet. Not a word of 
 recognition passed between them, but a look of 
 triumph on Mrs. Gregson's part, and of con- 
 temptuous indifference on that of Mrs. Browne. 
 This latter lady, however, had greatly the advan- 
 tage in one respect; she was quite at her ease, 
 while her quondam friend was by far too con- 
 scious, too solicitous to look pleased, either to be 
 easy or natural. 
 
 It was- riiore than a year since INIrs. Gregson 
 had seen Browne ; it w-as more than three years 
 since she had been in his company, and she was 
 now forcibly struck by his appearance: he looked 
 so old, so anxious, so abstracted, so shrunk as 
 it were into himself. She could not but remark 
 •the difference between him and her husband — 
 stout and open-visaged, full of enjoyment as he 
 appeared, and listened to as an oracle by a circle 
 of country gentlemen, to whom Mr. Sykes Wil- 
 loughby had introduced liim, as a breeder of the 
 finest pigs in England; whilst poor Mr. Browne sate 
 in a corner of a sofa, speaking to no one, and, if 
 addressed, looking as if roused from a reverie for 
 a moment, and then relapsing into tiie same state 
 of abstraction as before. 
 
 " How dreadfully Mr. Browne looks to-night !" 
 said she to ^Irs. Barwell. 
 
 " Poor man!" she replied, without glancing 
 towards him, " he is wearing himself out." 
 
 Q
 
 168 GROWING GREATER. 
 
 " By his profession you mean," said Mrs, 
 Gregson. 
 
 " He is making haste to grow rich too fast," 
 observed Mrs. Barwell. 
 
 Mrs. Gregson made no answer, for she felt as 
 if a reproach were implied; and, the next moment, 
 dinner was announced. The sight of the costly 
 dinner-service of solid silver, all of the most 
 exquisite workmanship, filled the heart of poor 
 Mrs. Gregson with despair. " I never can come 
 up to this," thought she. " I wonder what kind of 
 dinner-service the Brownes have: 1 wish I could 
 know!" She inadvertently glanced across the 
 table to whnre Mrs. Browne sate, and their eyes 
 met. It .seemed as if Mrs. Browne had divined 
 the thought which was in her rival's miiul, and 
 she smiled as if in derision ; that smile, and the 
 consciousness of the thought, made Mrs. Gregson 
 blush; and that blush was excessively mortifying, 
 particularly as she felt that Mrs. Browne's eyes 
 were still upon her: in her heart she hated her. 
 In the course of the evening, however, her 
 triumph came, for everybody admired Lucy ; — such 
 a sweet countenance, and so beautiful; and she 
 danced so well too — not even the beautiful Miss 
 Wilmott surpassed her. To her mother's great 
 delight, she observed that young Sykes Willooghby 
 danced with her five times. She wished that 
 " Bonnie Prince Charlie" had brtt been there, to 
 have seen how he would have gone on, and 
 whether he would have paid her any attention. 
 He, however, was in the North ; and, spite of her 
 secret wish that he had been there, she Mi
 
 GROWING GREATEK. 16D 
 
 annoyed when everybody regretted his absence: 
 but he will be back, said they, in tune for the 
 ball at Castle Willoughby; and then, thought she. 
 1 shall see iiim. 
 
 Whilst Lucy was dancing with Henry Sykes 
 Willoughby, Tom Gregson was dancing with 
 Miss Barwell. " Do you see how well they are 
 matched?" whispered Mr. Gregson to his wife. 
 His words conveyed the idea he intended, and a 
 new ambition a-t once took possession of her. 
 
 ]Mr. and ]Mis. Gregson went home delighted. 
 It svas a great coming down, to Tom and George 
 to go next morning to the warehouse, anfl make 
 entries in the great ledger about anything so 
 vulgar as cheese. Their father himself felt rather 
 indisposed for business, and told them that he 
 should not go down to Woodburn that day, but 
 tiiat they must do double duty for him. Whether 
 or not they did so may be a questionable thing. 
 
 The great party at Castle Willoughby was now 
 the oliject towards wliich all desires were turned. 
 Mrs. Gregson bought brocaded satin for tliis 
 occasion; Lucy, who before had wor;i pink satin, 
 was now to be dressed in white, with blush roses 
 in her hair. Her father himself took extraordinary 
 interest in her appearance, while he gave to each 
 of his sons ten pounds, that they might still farther 
 replenish thf ir wardrobes. 
 
 " Now, boys, you must mind your p's and q's, 
 let me tell you," said he, " for the Boimie Prince 
 will be there!" 
 
 All the Gregsons indeed kept this in view; and 
 not oidv that the son wa^ to be there, but that 
 the parents were to be there also. " And I'll mind
 
 170 GROWING GREATER. 
 
 and not be put out of countenance again by that 
 woman," thought Mrs. Gregson. All those ex- 
 pectations o.f meeting the Brownes, hpwever, were 
 destined to be disappointed. The Brownes were 
 not there, and Mrs. Gregson had the mortification 
 of hearing everj-body regretting the circumstance. 
 
 " I am sorry we shall not see Mrs. Browne to- 
 night, nor yet Mr. Charles Edward," said one. 
 
 " Gone into the North, did you say, Mrs. 
 Sykes Willoughby?" asked another. 
 
 " Yes," was her reply, " quite unexpectedly. 
 I had a note only a few hours ago." 
 
 " Something about a law-suit !" said a gentle- 
 man, who carried his hands under his coat-laps, 
 and looked very knowing: " well, if it do not lead 
 him into Chancery." 
 
 " What! something wrong about his title?" 
 asked Mr. Gregson. chuckling, because Browne 
 had said the title to the Elms was bad. 
 
 " Can't say— can't say I" repeated the gentle- 
 man who hid his hands; and, further than that, 
 the Gregsons could that night get no information. 
 Again Lucy was much admired, and again she 
 danced with young Sykes Willoughby, and again 
 Tom danced with 5liss Barwell. Everything 
 seemed to the Gregsons as it should be; and, in 
 the dark of the winter morning, they drove away 
 from Castle Willoughby, in apparent good humour 
 with all the world. One subject, however, was 
 about equally paramount with pleasure in their 
 minds, and tiiat was curiosity respecting the 
 Brownes. 
 
 " rH tell you what," said he to his wife, as they 
 drove along, " that fellow has got to the end of
 
 GROWING GREATER. 171 
 
 liis nietiHs! There'll be a smash up there before 
 long I and I must look, after my five hundred 
 pounds!" 
 
 "Have not 30U got that money yet?" asked 
 Mrs. Gregson, in surprise. 
 
 " No," returned he; and, so as I've bothered 
 him, he'd have paid it before now if he coukl ! 
 What a fool I have been I And now I tliink of it, 
 there was a queer rumour some four months ago. 
 Upon my word, though, I'll look sharp after my 
 money now! What nmst he be buving estates 
 for, and can't pay his debts?" said he, growing 
 angry as he thought of his probable loss. 
 
 " I'm siire I would have it!" said his wife. 
 
 "Never fear but I will!" said he, "if I sell 
 him up for it." 
 
 The next day, Mr. Gregson failed not to present 
 himself at Browne's office, and, in his absence, 
 demanded to see the confidential clerk. To him 
 he presented his demand for five hundred pounds, 
 borrowed money, and three years' interest. The 
 clerk said he had no orders to pay it, but that he 
 would communicate with Mr. Browne. 
 
 " When will he be back?" asked he. 
 
 The clerk could not tell. 
 
 " What! he's in hiding, is he?" asked Gregson. 
 
 The clerk was taken a little by surprise, yet, 
 after a moment's hesitation, he said, " No such 
 thing!" 3Ir. Browne was at Morpeth; he could 
 give Mr. Gregson his address, if he wished it. 
 
 "Now, harkee!" said Gregson, "I know much 
 more than you are aware of. You wiitc, there- 
 fore, and tell Browne so; and tell him if he don't 
 send me an order on his banker, by return of 
 
 Q2
 
 172 CONCLUSION. 
 
 post, for principal and interest, why, I'll send an 
 execution into the house ! — that's all." And, strik- 
 ing his fist upon the table, and looking very 
 determined, as if he knew a great deal more than 
 he chose to confess, he got up slowly from his 
 chair, and then, drawing down his waistcoat and 
 drawing ii|) his person, he added, " Now, you 
 see and ttU him every word I have said I 
 
 The clerk said that he would, but he was sure 
 Mr. Gregson was under a gross mistake, and, he 
 must confess, had not behaved like a gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Gregson did not choose to bandy words 
 with IMr. Browne's clerk, and therefore, merely 
 nodding, as much as to say, he knew what he was 
 about, left the office. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Mrs. Barwell, whose good opinion of Lucy 
 Gregson had been raised still higher by the 
 modesty and propriety of her behaviour, the two 
 evenings she had been in her company, was quite 
 willing to make her the associate of her niece; 
 and therefore, a few days after the party at the 
 Willoughbys, she drove to the Elms for the 
 purpose of inviting her to spend a few days with 
 her. Nothing could have given Mrs. Gregson 
 greater pleasure, nor was Lucy less pleased; but 
 her mother had ulterior purposes to serve, of which 
 she knew nothing. 
 
 Several weeks had now passed on, aud two
 
 CONCLUSION. 173 
 
 subjects were beginnintr to be deeply interesting 
 to the Gregsons. In the first place, Lucy being 
 frequently at Moreby Lodge, afforded opportuni- 
 ties for her brother Tom to go there too. Tom 
 was reckoned handsome, and, his mother flattered 
 herself, would be found irresistible by any young 
 lady, let her be ever so considerable an heiress 
 But caution and circumspection, and all kind of 
 prudent virtues, were needful, lest the suspicions 
 of the uncle and aunt were excited, and thus not 
 only her hopes for her son defeated, but all inti- 
 macy between the families cut off for ever. 
 
 After Lucy had paid two visits, her mother pro- 
 posed that Miss Barwell should return them by 
 one long visit. There was considerable demur 
 and difficulty on Mrs. Bamvell's part, but at last 
 she consented, that " certainly she should visit 
 them before long, but that Lucy must not object 
 to give three visits for one." Lucy, therefore, 
 paid another visit, and then Miss Barwell was 
 allowed to go to the Elms for two days. " Two 
 days are as nothing!" said Mrs. Gregson to her 
 husband; " however, we must make the most of 
 them!" 
 
 Tom was never at the warehouse for one single 
 hour. He drove Miss Barwell out in his mother's 
 pony phaeton; she and Lucy rode out together 
 on horseback, accompanied by him; they played 
 at chess together; he turned over the leaves of 
 her music-book, and even sang with her; for, 
 among his other accomplishments, Tom Gregson 
 saug very well. His father and mother were 
 delighted. 
 
 " Fair and softly," said Mr. Gregson, rubbing
 
 174 CONCLUSION. 
 
 his hands, " and he'll carry the day. There is 
 nothing like being first in the field!" 
 
 A few days afterwards, Mrs. Gregson met Miss 
 Barwell in the Sykes Wil lough bys' carriage: there 
 was Mrs. Sykes Willoughby, and her son, and Miss 
 Barwell; and the two young people were laughing 
 and talking together. It was a very unpleasant 
 thing to see: and the more so, as she did not 
 doubt but that this match would be thought 
 desirable by all parties. She had laid out young 
 Sykes Willoughby for her own daughter; but if 
 this connexion were to be formed with the Bar- 
 wells, there was an end to both her schemes at 
 once. 
 
 This scheme of securing the heiress for Tom 
 was the subject first and foremost in the Gregsons' 
 mind; but there was another subject also, which 
 was hardly less interesting, and that was the 
 growing rumour respecting the embarrassments of 
 the Brownes. 
 
 The family was still in the North, although, it 
 ■was said, that they were daily expected; and 
 Gregson was waiting for that daily return, to have 
 his claim satisfied — Browne having himself written 
 to assure him of payment being made the first 
 moment he came back. Week after week, how- 
 ever, went on, without their returning, and all 
 Woodburn began to talk; something, evidently, 
 was wrong. There was a law-suit, some said, 
 and that this grand estate in the North would all 
 go to pay off law-expenses. The fact was, that 
 this estate was the property of a certain Mr. 
 Warrilow, a person of weak intellects, whose 
 wardship Browne had, by some means, obtained.
 
 CONCLUSION. 175 
 
 He was pensioned with a farmer on the estate, at 
 small cost, and Browne had taken possession of 
 the whole as his own. It happened, however, 
 that Warrilow had an uncle, or cousin, a shrewd 
 man of business, in Glasgow, of whose existence 
 Browne had been unaware: this person had now 
 come forward in his relative's behalf, and threat- 
 ened all kind of desperate actions at law, And dis- 
 graceful disclosures, if everj'^ penny were not 
 refunded, and all given up as it had been received 
 m trust, ten years before. Ten years of expendi- 
 ture, such as the Bi'ounes' had been, who never 
 looked for a day of reckoning, had made awful 
 inroads into the funds of the estate; to say nothing 
 of the ten years of rent, which had all gone. 
 
 Browne knew, from the first, that there was 
 nothing but ruin and disgrace before him, yet he 
 clung to possession as a drowning man to a twig, 
 and tried all means which his lawcraft could 
 suggest, to delay, at least, the day of reckoning. 
 It was this which had taken, and now kept, the 
 Brownes in the North ; for Browne, unlike Greg- 
 son, in all his schemes of self-aggrandizement, 
 made his wife his confidant; najs in fact, it was 
 believed that she was the mainspring of this aifair; 
 at least, the farmer who had poor Warrilow in 
 keeping, declared that all Lis orders were received 
 from her. 
 
 Indistinct rumours of all this reached Wood- 
 burn, and demands of all kinds poured in upon 
 the distracted head clerk. At length it became 
 necessary that the Brownes should make their 
 appearance, to save the very household furniture
 
 176 CONCLUSION, 
 
 from the hands of the creditors, among whom 
 Gregson was the most clamorous. 
 
 We have said how haggard and anxious poor 
 Mr. Browne looked on the night of the Barwells' 
 partv. It was with a countenance ten times 
 more worn and anxious, that he again made his 
 appearance in his office. Not Hke his, however, 
 tvas the appearance of hig wife; she looked portly, 
 as usual; and, if some traces of anxiety appealed 
 in her countenance, they niight easily be accounted 
 for by the vexatious rumours wiiich iiad been 
 maliciously circulated, she said, as, on the day 
 after their return, she drove round Woodburn in 
 her carriage, from shop to siiop, wherever a bill 
 was owing, paying every one out of a large purse, 
 whieli to the last moment seemed full. 
 
 After she had thus gloiiously, as she said, 
 given tlie lie to all the Woodburn slander, she 
 drove to make calls on all her friends, and to 
 leave, as she said to herself, a legacy for the 
 Gregsons. Wherever slie went, therefore, she 
 did not fail to say, (which she did on speculation, 
 although it proved to be nearer the truth than 
 she was aware of,) " that everybody was talking 
 of young Gregson and Miss Barvvell; th^t it was 
 shocking to think what titat artful woman, Mrs. 
 (iregson, was capable of doing; and that every-- 
 bodv wlio had tlie least respect for Mrs. Barwell, 
 oujrht to warn her of what was eoing forward." 
 
 One tithe of wiiat Mrs. Browne said would 
 have been enough ; however, she was resolved 
 not to do her work by halves; so she drove to 
 the Jenningses, and to old Mrs. Robinson's, and
 
 CONCLUSION. 177 
 
 Miss Carr's, and to a dozen other houses besides , 
 and then to Castle Willoughby, where, as if 
 fortune would befriend her, Mrs. Sykes Willoughby 
 said, she herself had had the same suspicion, and 
 had thought seriously of mentioning it to Mrs. 
 Barwell, but that they were under an obligation 
 to the Gregsons — at least Mr. Sykes Willoughby 
 thought so — and therefore she hardly knew what 
 to do : " however," said she, " if you will give me 
 a seat in your carriage, I will accompany you to 
 Moreby Lodge, and we can both speak of it ; it 
 will thus" have double effect." 
 
 Nothing could have been more satisfactory to 
 Mrs. Browne ; and, in half an hour's time, they 
 filled Mrs. Barwell's mind with burning indigna- 
 tion. She, however, did not seem as much in- 
 censed as she really was, and, of course, as the two 
 ladies thought, she ought to have been ; and, w^at 
 was still more, they both saw Lucy herself help- 
 ing Miss Barwell to feed a pair of love-birds. 
 They exchanged very intelligent glances, and, as 
 they drove home, nodded their heads and said, 
 " Mrs. Barwell must t;ike the consequences ; but 
 they were sure it would be a most disgraceful 
 ^ing for a girl with such a splendid fortune to 
 marry a cheese-monger !" 
 
 " And now,'' said Mrs. Browne to her husband, 
 that same evening, throwing down upon the table 
 the purse from which she had paid the bills in the 
 morning, " I have saved your credit fur one day 
 dt lea.-t ! Three hundred pounds now remain in 
 this purse ; your clothes are packed, so are mine, 
 and all is now ready for our departure. Charles 
 Edward writes me word that the passage money
 
 178 CONCIUSIONi 
 
 is paid, and they, when we are on board, only 
 will wait for fair wind. Sufficient is secured to 
 us to keep us far above Avant — let them take the 
 rest! One comfort at least I shall have to my 
 dying day," said she triumphantly, "I have done 
 for the Gregsons !" 
 
 That same evening Lucy Gregson was sent 
 home ill Mrs. Barwell's little carriage. She was 
 in tears as she entered the drawing-room, where 
 her mother was sitting. 
 
 "Good gracious! what is amiss child?" ex- 
 claimed she, frightened by her daughter's tears 
 and her unexpected return. 
 
 " I shall never go to Moreby Lodge again 1" 
 said Lucy ; " read that," and she gave her mother 
 a letter from Mrs. Barwell. 
 
 The next morning the Brownes were gone, no 
 one knew whither. No sooner was this noised 
 abroad than creditors, among whom was Gregson, 
 rushed in with demands for money ; mortgages 
 and bonds of all kinds; club money; soldiers' 
 pensions ; widows' annuities, and orphans' por- 
 tions! And, spite of all that the so lately-satisfied 
 tradesmen could say, one deep, if not loud, exe- 
 cration rung through Woodburn. 
 
 Such was the career of two families, who, with 
 every means to secure and diffuse rational liappi- 
 nees, pursued only the miserable aim of outshininp 
 sach other. 
 
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