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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNI 
 AT LOS ANGELES 
 
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 THE 
 
 YOUTH i&D MANHOOD 
 
 OF 
 
 CYRIL THORNTON
 
 EDINBURGH: PRINTKP BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, 
 PAUL'S «'i)RK. CANONOATE.
 
 THE 
 
 YOUTH AND MANHOOD 
 
 OF 
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. 
 
 Have I not heard great ordnance in the field. 
 
 And Heavens artillery thunder in the skies? 
 
 Have I not, in a pitched battle, heard 
 
 Loud ^rums. neighing steeds, and trumpets clang ? * 
 
 Shakspkake. 
 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 
 
 
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 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 
 
 M.DCCC.XLV.
 
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 CYRIL THORNTON. 
 
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 THE 
 
 YOUTH AND MANHOOD 
 
 OF 
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The hopes 
 
 That were but in conception, now have birth, 
 And what was but idea till this day, 
 Hath put on essence. 
 
 Challenge for Beauty. 
 
 The stock of which I have the honour to be a scion, is one of 
 ancient descent and spotless blazon. Though untitled, its dig- 
 nity had always been baronial ; and the frequency with which the 
 names of ray ancestors occur in the county records, as fillin°- 
 offices of provincial trust and importance, shows their influence 
 to have been considerable. While it is due to truth and my pro- 
 genitors to state thus much, I am quite ready to confess that our 
 family-tree has produced no very distinguished fruit. Its branches 
 have never been pendent with the weight of poets, heroes, 
 statesmen, or philosophers. " If they have writ our annals 
 right," births, marriages, and deaths, the sale or purchase of 
 land, the building of a house, or a donation to the parish church 
 or county hospital, were generally the only events sufficiently 
 salient to afford footing even for the partial eloquence of a family 
 historian. But if I have little reason to boast, I have certainly 
 none to blush, for my ancestors. They were English gentle- 
 men, fulfilling with propriety the duties of their situation, gene- 
 rally respectable in their relations to society, and leaving, when 
 dead, nothing either " to point a moral or adorn a tale."
 
 4 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAI>TER I. 
 
 My grandfather was a courtier and a man of expense. He 
 married an earl's daughter, whose habits and tastes were even 
 more expensive than Ins own, and engaged in several ruinous 
 contests for the representation of the county. The natural con- 
 sequences followed. Part of the family estate was sold, heavy 
 mortgages were incurred on the remainder, and when, in the 
 course of nature, the succession devolved on my father, he found 
 himself in possession of little more than the wreck of a magni- 
 ficent estate. 
 
 Of my grandmother, who survived her husband many years, 
 I have a distinct and vivid recollection. I remember a stately old 
 lady in an oreille-(Tours-ca\o\ived silk gown, with a pyramidal 
 head-dress, an enamelled snuff-box in her hand, and a ponderous 
 gold equipage at her girdle. I remember, too, the insidious de- 
 light taken both by my brother and myself in getting behind 
 her chair, and tugging at the lace lappets which depended from 
 the apex of her coiffure. She died, and I was allowed to join in 
 paying the last duties to her remains. The pomp and splendour 
 with which the earthly remains of my grandmother were restored 
 to their kindred elements, made a prodigious impression on my 
 young imagination. The hearse, in all its plumed and melan- 
 choly grandeur ; the crimson velvet coilin with its gilt escut- 
 cheons ; the sable mutes and the long and sombre procession, 
 contributed to people my mind with ideas to which till then it 
 had been a stranger. 
 
 There is something wild and shadowy in death to the imagi- 
 nation of a child. It is surrounded by a certain dim grandeur 
 and awful solemnity, which, perhaps, his very ignorance of its 
 nature tends rather to increase than diminish. He reads in the 
 countenances around him, that something of dread and terror has 
 befallen them. He learns that a being, from infancy familiar to 
 his eyes, and at whose approach, perhaps, they ever brightened, 
 shall meet them no more — that he is none to a far-distant land, 
 from which he never will return, lie knows this, and he knows, 
 likewise, that this is not nil. Then' is something still beyond, 
 with which his understanding vainly strives to grapple. Death 
 is an abstraction too pure for the comprehension of a child; and 
 when, in the gradual dawn of his intellect, it becomes intelli- 
 gible, lie finds that the dispersion of the mist \\ hich obscured the 
 summit of the mountain, lias added nothing to its splendour and 
 sublimity. 
 
 For myself, while the funeral pageant of my grandmother 
 impressed me \\ it li feelings of respect lor her when dead, of which 
 when Living I had been far from betraying any symptom, 1 like- 
 wise drew from it my first Lesson of the transient nature of human 
 glory, hy oh erving how speedily she was forgotten.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER I. 5 
 
 My father was a man of retired habits and reserved manners. 
 I have already stated that, on the death of my grandfather, it 
 had been found necessary to sell a large portion of the family 
 estates. This was a severe blow to my father's pride, and one, 
 I think, from which he never afterwards recovered. At no 
 period of his life had his taste led him into expensive pursuits, 
 nor had he launched into any expenditure unsuited to the liberal 
 establishment which the world considered it fitting for a person 
 of his station and expectations to maintain. The portion of his 
 fortune which still remained, was amply sufficient for the supply 
 of all the comforts and even elegancies of life ; yet the dismem- 
 berment of his hereditary property was not the less severely felt 
 by a person of his temperament, because it involved no curtail- 
 ment of his own personal enjoyments. The wound rankled in his 
 mind, and a change in his character was thenceforth visible to 
 all. Before this event, my father had been accustomed to move 
 among the magnates of the land, with that due feeling of con- 
 sequence and equality which belonged to his birth and fortune. 
 He had entered life with the feelings of a high-born English 
 gentleman, knowing his proper station in society, and neither 
 betraying petty jealousy of his equals, nor kibing the heels of 
 his superiors. It was now different. From the loss of property 
 the loss of influence was inseparable. He was no longer selected 
 as the foreman of grand juries, or the chairman of quarter ses- 
 sions. His hall, at Michaelmas and Ladyday, was no longer 
 crowded with the throng of tenants, who came to pay their rents 
 or solicit forbearance. " Like angel visits, few and far between," 
 they now came singly in ; and though the steward still received 
 them throned as formerly in his elbow-chair, and with all his for- 
 mer solemn courtesy, the life and bustle of the scene was gone ; — 
 
 'Twas Greece, but living Greece no more. 
 
 Poor Humphrey* felt it to be so, and locked his slender receipts 
 in his bureau, with an air of less consequence than had sat well 
 upon him in better and brighter days. 
 
 And thou, too, Jacob Pearson, thou paragon of butlers, thou 
 best and worthiest of all the ministers of Bacchus ! thy occupa- 
 tion, too, was gone. Where were those volleys of corks, which, 
 like the fire of hostile armies, came quick and frequent on the 
 ear? Where the gurgling and delightful sound of liberated 
 • liquor, full of sweet promise to the thirsty souls who waited with 
 bashful anxiety for thy approach? Alas! it was no longer heard ! 
 Thy visage was as rubicund, thy paunch as portly, as in former 
 days; but where was the laughing sparkle of thine eye, thy 
 ponderous alacrity of motion, the jest that circulated with the 
 tankard, the hospitable jocularity that gave, like nutmeg, a racy
 
 C1TRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER I. 
 
 flavour to its contents ? These, alas ! were gone, too. Since 
 that sad period, thine eye has heen dull, thy motions heavy, and 
 the cork of thy wit has been undrawn. 
 
 It is not in all cases that the uses of adversity are sweet. In 
 my father's they certainly were not so. He became irascible 
 and morose, and jealous of those small attentions and trifling 
 distinctions in society, to which birth affords, probably, the best 
 claim, but to which wealth is the surest passport. In attempt- 
 ing to conceal, even from himself, the mortifying fact, that he 
 was now become a much less considerable person than formerly, 
 he assumed an air of austerity in his own family, and of dog- 
 matism in society. lie refused the county hunt access to his 
 fox-covers ; became litigious about the extent of his manorial 
 rights ; cut the vicar for saluting him with a familiar nod ; and 
 succeeded in getting himself almost unanimously voted, both 
 the worst neighbour and the most disagreeable man in the 
 county. Henceforward my father's life was embittered by a 
 series of difficulties and disappointments, petty indeed in their 
 nature, yet not on that account less galling to a mind so mor- 
 bidly sensitive as his. He imagined himself slighted, and knew 
 himself to be disliked, lie was probably both ; but the cause 
 was to be sought less in his change of circumstances than of 
 character. At all events, there still remained attached to the 
 family a sort of prescriptive influence and respect, which, like 
 other prejudices, may slowly decay, but cannot be suddenly 
 eradicated. 
 
 Of my mother I have not yet spoken : I would now do so. 
 She was the daughter of an officer who died bravely in the ser- 
 vice of his country, and brought with her little accession either 
 of blood or of fortune. But she brought what was better and 
 more valuable than these, an excellent understanding and an 
 affectionate heart. She had been a beauty in her youth, and, 
 during two seasons which she spent at Bath, her charms had been 
 the object of general homage and admiration. ( !ircumstances of 
 which I have acquired a knowledge, indue.' me to believe that 
 her marriage with my father was one rather of prudence than of 
 love. If this was so, it belied the common prediction with regard 
 to such marriages: fur the union was not an unhappy one. It 
 was indeed impossible, I think, to know my mother in the inti- 
 mate relations of domestic lite, and not to Love her. While her 
 Conduct as a wife and moth.;- was truly exemplary, her cheer- 
 fulness and benevolence of disposition tended greatlyto soothe 
 and Boften the inequalities to which my father's spirits were 
 
 habitually subject; and she threw around her an elegance and 
 
 refinement, of which the whole establishment unconsciously 
 partook.
 
 CTRIE THORNTON. CHAPTER II. 7 
 
 The fruit of this union was two sons and two daughters. Of 
 the former I was le cadet. My brother Charles was two years 
 older, Jane one year younger than myself, and I was ten years 
 old when little Lucy (for so I must still call her) was born, at 
 a time when my mother's age rendered any further addition to 
 her family extremely improbable. The little visitant, however, 
 was not the less cordially welcomed on account of the unex- 
 pectedness of her arrival. She was the darling and plaything 
 of us all ; and if any of the family were in danger of being 
 spoiled by indulgence, it was little Lucy. 
 
 Dearest sister, how do thy infant beauties and thy joyous 
 frolics mingle unbidden with the sadder memories of my youth! 
 They run like silver threads through the woof of the dark tissue 
 of my life. I look back on them as to a green and sunny spot, 
 which perhaps shows brighter because seen through a long and 
 darkened vista of intervening years. Read, Lucy, these Memoirs 
 of your brother's life. You will find in them much of error, 
 perhaps more of suffering ; but from you, at least, he will meet 
 pardon for the one, and for the other sympathy. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 They grew in beauty, side by side, 
 
 They fiU'd one house with glee; 
 Their graves are sever'd, far and wide, 
 
 By mount, and stream, and sea. 
 The same fond mother bent at night 
 
 O'er each fair sleeping brow; 
 She had each folded flower in sight— 
 
 Where are those dreamers now ? 
 
 F. Hemans. 
 
 Reader, if you have ever travelled from Avington to Mount- 
 ford, about a mile beyond the village of Edgehill, near where 
 the road to Spixley branches off to the right, you may probably 
 have remarked an ancient and rather venerable-looking gate, 
 the pillars of which are surmounted by two rampant lions. 
 The dexter of these royal animals has suffered considerable 
 mutilation ; the effacing fingers of time, or violence, having 
 deprived him of whatever personal decoration might have re- 
 sulted from the ornamental appendages of paws and tail. His 
 antagonist has been more fortunate, and still retains one paw, 
 with which he appears in the act of taking snuff; an indication 
 of taste for the enjoyments of civilized life undoubtedly some- 
 what startling and anomalous.
 
 8 CYRIL THORXTOX. CHAPTER II. 
 
 Be this as it may, the gate in question forms the entranee to 
 an avenue about a mile long, •winding gradually up a gentle 
 acclivity, and flanked on either side by a row of lime-trees of 
 uncommon luxuriance and beauty. In the distance, you may 
 catch, as you advance, occasional glimpses of a house through 
 the intervals of the trees, which is marked, by its lofty peaked 
 roof and clustered chimneys, to belong to the era of Queen 
 Elizabeth. You will not admire the building, but you will 
 admire, I think, the situation in which it stands; the wooded 
 hill that rises behind it, the mazy Severn, which flows a little to 
 the right, the village church visible in the distance, and Cromar 
 wood, that tills the left of the landscape, from which the cuckoo 
 and ringdove delight to send forth sweet music. This, reader, 
 is Thornhill Manor, the spot where I was born, and where 
 the intervening years of my infancy and youth flew rapidly 
 away. 
 
 With the occurrences of those years I shall not swell my nar- 
 rative. The joys and sufl'crings of a child are too minute and 
 evanescent to atford matter for the grave records of maturer 
 years. Their shadowy remembrance is food for midnight dreams, 
 but eludes the glare of waking noonday contemplation. 
 
 It had been the intention of my father to superintend the 
 education of my brother and myself, a task for which his talents 
 and acquirements well fitted him; but the unsettled state of his 
 spirits, and the extreme mental depression to which he was occa- 
 sionally subject, soon compelled him to resign the task. The 
 charge of our education, therefore, was committed to Dr Lum- 
 ley, the rector of a parish in a neighbouring county, between 
 whom and my lather there had subsisted an early friendship. 
 They had been companions at college; and though, in after life, 
 their intimacy had decreased, 1 believe they still did continue to 
 entertain an unbroken regard. 
 
 At all events, my father w as not unfortunate in his substitute. 
 Dr Lumley was a good scholar, and an excellent man ; and 
 whatever deficiency of early acquirement I have since had occa- 
 sion to lament, must be attributed not to the fault of the master, 
 but the negligence of the pupil. The doctor had a son, whose 
 age nearly coincided with that of Charles. William Lumley 
 w;is a young man of a quiet and studious disposition, anient, in 
 
 his pur- 1 1 i t of learning, but taking little pleasure in those active 
 recreations, which, to persons of bis age, are generally so attrac- 
 tive. This was perhaps a favourahle circumstance for Charles. 
 The superior advancement of Lumley excited bis emulation, and 
 called into action those new energies and exertions, which were 
 nee sssary to prevent his being distanced in the race by so for- 
 midable a competitor.
 
 CTKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER II. 9 
 
 We were not the only pupils whom Dr Lumley admitted into 
 his family. No. There was Jack Spencer, the best-natured 
 and giddiest of God's creatures, now known as one of the best 
 officers of the navy. There, too, was Dick Sutton, with his 
 round and stupid face, and look of self-satisfied dulness. He 
 began Latin with a fair wind, got through his accidence with 
 flying colours, but ran aground at " propria qua martinis." 
 There he stuck. Human exertion could get him no further ; 
 and further he never went, I'll answer for it, till this hour. 
 Dick is now one of the most popular of our parliamentary orators, 
 a ponderous debater on matters of finance, eloquent on Catholic 
 Emancipation, and overpowering on the Corn Laws. 
 
 For myself, I was not a dunce, but I found little pleasure in 
 study. My energies were only fully excited by athletic exercises, 
 and the sports of the field. In leaping, running, and vaulting, 
 I had no competitors. In horsemanship my supremacy was 
 disputed ; and, to settle our rival claims to superiority, we rode 
 steeple chases on our ponies ; and though these generally ended 
 in the houleversement of both horses and riders, it is to these 
 early trials of nerve and prowess, that I owe the skill and con- 
 fidence as an equestrian, from which I have in after life derived 
 much pleasure and advantage. 
 
 There was too a pack of harriers in the neighbourhood, with 
 which, on holydays, we were suffered to hunt. How our hearts 
 bounded at the cry of the huntsman, and the music of the dogs! 
 the trumpets of the seraphim would to our ears have sounded 
 less sweet : there was a halo around us — a glory on earth and in 
 the sky. After all, how vulgar and miserable is the intoxication 
 of the bottle, when compared with that of the hunting-field ! 
 How perfect is the concentration of soul — of all energies, both 
 mental and physical — of heart and purpose, in the all-absorbing 
 pursuit ! Hunting is your true leveller. In the field, all distinc- 
 tions of youth and age, of rank, and fortune, are forgotten. The 
 old man feels the blood of youth once more dancing in his veins: 
 the boy anticipates the slow progress of nature, and at once 
 swells into a man. 
 
 In such scenes and occupations years passed away. Charles 
 was now sixteen ; and my father determined to send him to the 
 University. He had always been his favourite son ; and inde- 
 pendently of his claims as the future head of the family, destined 
 to bear its honours, and transmit them to posterity, his qualities 
 were fully sufficient to justify such a preference. Charles was 
 indeed a universal favourite. I have known, I think, young men 
 of greater talent and of equal goodness of heart, but 1 have 
 never known any upon whom natu? - e had so visibly stamped the 
 signet of kindness and benevolence ; in whom vivacity of temper
 
 10 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER II. 
 
 was so perfectly amalgamated with gentleness of disposition. 
 The attachment wjhich had subsisted between Charles and my- 
 self, was strong as the love between brothers ever was or can be. 
 With me, he had never attempted to assume the privilege or 
 authority of an elder brother. We had associated as friends and 
 equals, yet his maturer mind had not failed to exercise its natural 
 influence in guiding and directing mine. 
 
 Yet in my character and disposition there was but little simi- 
 litude to his. I was not, like Charles, the idol of my compan- 
 ions ; and while every eye brightened at his approach, I felt 
 that mine was regarded with indifference. I did not possess, 
 like him, the innate and spontaneous power to conciliate attach- 
 ment ; and, in the little circle of my playmates, I knew that my 
 absence occasioned no regret, my presence no joy. But these 
 wide differences of character did not in any degree diminish our 
 attachment ; and we had grown together, in sun and shower, like 
 two young trees intertwining their branches, and ignorant of the 
 support they mutually afforded, until one has been suddenly 
 removed. 
 
 The current of my life had hitherto glided on smooth and 
 unruffled, and the separation from Charles, which was now about 
 to take place, was the first sorrow of my youthful and happy 
 heart. William Lumley, too, was going to the University : and 
 in a month, he and Charles were to set out together. They 
 were attached to each other, and rejoiced in the knowledge that, 
 in the new and busy scene in which they were about to mingle, 
 they would not cense to be companions. 
 
 l)r Lumley's reports of my application and advancement, I 
 imagine, had not been very favourable. I manifested, on all 
 occasions, the strongest predilection for a military life, and 
 entreated l)r Lumley to make my wishes on this subject known 
 to my father. Never shall 1 forget the glowing interest with 
 which I read the history of the campaigns of the Great Gusta- 
 vus, Prince Eugene, and Lord Peterborough. 1 followed the 
 course of their armies on the map; I drew plans of the battles, 
 
 and modelled little fortresses on the principles ofVauban. 
 
 In a tow n about twenty miles distant, I bad accidentally heard 
 that a review of the troops of the district was to take place. 
 
 With what dee]) but silent anxiety did I expect the appointed 
 
 day ! I was too apprehensive of being prevented from gratifying 
 my curiosity, to communicate my intentions to any one. At 
 length the day came, and the dawn of morning found me mounted 
 on my horse, and proceeding with ;i beating heart to the scene 
 of action. It may In nceived what effect the imposing spec- 
 tacle of pomp ami parade, which 1 there witnessed, was likely to 
 prouuee on my excited spirit. It added fuel to the flame that
 
 CTRIL THORNTON. — CUAFTER HI. 11 
 
 already burned -within me, and what Lord Peterborough and 
 Gustavus had begun, the spectacle of this review completed. 
 
 My father, however, was not disposed to offer any vehement 
 objection to my entering on a military life. His own views with 
 regard to me had been directed to the bar ; but finding I was 
 neither suited by character or inclination for that profession, it 
 was determined I should become a soldier, and that the two 
 years which were to intervene before my obtaining a commission, 
 should be spent in preparatory studies at the military academy 
 at Marlow. When Charles, therefore, quitted Dr Lumley's, I 
 also returned to Thornhill, where it had been arranged that I 
 should remain a few months, after his departure for the Univer- 
 sity. On taking our leave of the worthy doctor, " we shed some 
 natural tears, but wiped them soon." In that moment we even 
 loved Mrs Lumley, and received her parting benediction with 
 softened hearts, and an oblivion of all the petty annoyances, of 
 which the over-anxiety of that worthy lady, with regard to our 
 outward elegance of deportment, had sometimes been the cause. 
 
 Warm welcome awaited us at Thornhill. The old lions seemed 
 to regard us with looks of peculiar benignity as we passed the 
 gate, where our sisters were waiting our arrival. Jane locked 
 her arms in ours as we walked onward to the house ; and little 
 Lucy bounded by our side,' with a heart full of buoyancy and 
 glee. 
 
 JJo fountain, from its native cave, 
 
 E'er tripp'd with foot more free ; 
 She was as happy as a wave 
 
 That dances on the sea. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 11. Will you follow ? 
 
 Hel. Even where Tate leads me — we are all her slaves, 
 And have no dwellings of our own. 
 M. Yes— graves. 
 
 Rnyal King and Loyal Sulj< i t. 
 
 The period of Charles's departure for college now rapidly 
 approached, and nothing else could be talked or thought of in 
 the family. All hands were busy, and every thing around gave 
 note of preparation. My mother was engaged in issuing, and 
 the housekeeper in executing, orders for a copious supply of 
 every imaginable comfort; Jane, in marking his linen with her 
 own" hair, and making little keepsakes that might recall her
 
 12 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER III. 
 
 often to his memory. Even little Lucy would not be idle, and 
 might be seen seated with unwonted gravity, assiduously em- 
 ployed in hemming his pocket-handkerchiefs. By my father he 
 had been summoned to two long audiences in the library ; anil 
 had been furnished with suitable directions ami advice, for his 
 guidance in the new circumstances, of the life on which he was 
 about to enter. For myself, I haunted him like his shadow. 
 We rode and walked together, talked of our little griefs and 
 glowing hopes, and bound ourselves by solemn promise to main- 
 tain a frequent and regular correspondence. 
 
 There was heaviness in every heart, but most of all in mine. 
 It was now October, and Charles was to return home, for the 
 summer vacation, in June. The very days were counted, and 
 the length of his absence computed to an hour; but I would 
 then be gone, and years might elapse before we again embraced 
 in brotherhood and love. Our separation seemed long and 
 limitless ; for, to a boy, the future is an eternity — the past a 
 point. 
 
 Thus did all things go on, until the day preceding that fixed 
 for his departure. There is nothing in that day that is not 
 burned deeply and indelibly on my memory. The morning 
 dawned in clouds. Volumes of deep red vapour obscured the 
 rising of the sun, and seemed to presage a day of rain and storm ; 
 but at ten o'clock they began to disperse; and before the sun 
 had attained his meridian, the sky wag clear, and he shone forth 
 in all his summer brightness and glory. 
 
 After discussing several plans of amusement for the day, it 
 was at length agreed by Charles and myself, that we should 
 take our guns and ramble out into the fields, Less for the sake 
 of killing game than to enjoy each other's society once more, 
 on the eve of so long a separation as that which impended over 
 us. It was not without difficulty that 1 obtained Charles's consent 
 to this project. My father had always hern peculiarly appre- 
 hensive of accidents from loaded tire-arms, and was peremptory 
 in his injunctions that we should never join the same shooting 
 party, though he had no objections to our singly accompanying 
 the Keeper. Bui on this occasion we could not hear to be divided ; 
 and I prevailed on Charles to consent on that morning to the 
 first deliberate breach of our father's commands which my 
 memory enables me to recall. Bitter indeed were the Bruits of 
 our disobedience, and deeply has it been atoned for by both. 
 
 Our intentions were, of course, kept secret, and we did not 
 summon the keeper to attend us. hut sallied forth alone, con- 
 versing, as we went, of the thoughts by which our hearts were 
 Stirred; the hopes that shed a radiance on the future, and the 
 fear- that darkened it.
 
 CYKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER ITT. 13 
 
 Thus had an hour or two passed on. We had fired several shots, 
 but this occasioned little interruption to our colloquy. The dogs 
 again pointed. With boyish eagerness I cocked my gun, and 
 advanced towards the spot. It was necessary to pass a hedge. 
 Charles leaped it, and I held his gun while he did so. I then 
 returned it to him through the hedge, and was in the act of 
 passing my own, which he waited to receive. It was cocked. 
 His head was close to the muzzle — a twig caught the trigger — 
 and the contents were lodged — in his brain. 
 
 He fell, but uttered no sound. For a moment I stood silent 
 and motionless; then I called on Charles, and entreated him to 
 answer me. All was silent. A dreadful presentiment of evil 
 arose within me ; and, unable longer to bear the torture of sus- 
 pense, by a convulsive spring I leaped the hedge, and stood 
 trembling beside him. 
 
 He lay with his face on the ground, and there was blood on 
 the grass. I called — I shouted aloud for assistance, and uttered 
 wild shrieks in the helplessness of my agony. A ray of hope 
 that the wound might not be mortal, dawned for a moment on 
 my heart. I knelt down beside him, and raised tenderly and 
 softly his drooping head. Then hope gave place to despair; 
 for, through the bloody clusters of his golden hair, I saw a 
 frightful opening in his forehead, and I knew that death would 
 not be cheated of his victim. There was still a gurgling in his 
 throat, and a slight quivering in his limbs, that showed life 
 was not yet extinct. His eyes were fixed and lustreless. O God ! 
 how did the iron enter into my soul, as I gazed on them ! I 
 threw myself on the ground beside him, bound his head with 
 my handkerchief; and supporting him in my arms, his head 
 rested on my bosom. I kissed his livid lips and bloody cheeks, 
 and talked to him wildly and fondly, and adjured him, by the 
 blood of our Redeemer, to grant me some sign of his forgiveness. 
 He died, and gave no sign. The pulsation of his heart became 
 every moment feebler and less frequent, the convulsive action 
 of the muscles gradually ceased, and my arms no longer embraced 
 a living brother, but a cold and rigid corpse. 
 
 How long I remained in this situation I know not, for despair, 
 like joy, takes no note of time ; but I imagine it must have been for 
 some hours. The concentration of agony and horror contained 
 in that brief space, might be diluted into centuries of ordinary 
 misery. 
 
 At length I observed some labourers passing at a distance. 
 I rose, and attempted to call them, but my throat was parched 
 and powerless, and I could produce no sound. I made a signal, 
 and they approached. What they saw, spoke too plainly to 
 require from me an explanation which I was incapable of giving.
 
 14 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER III. 
 
 They procured a blanket at a neighbouring cottage, and bore 
 the body towards Thornhill. I almost mechanically followed, 
 and was only roused from my stupor by our approach to the 
 house. At sight of that, I thought on the misery I had brought 
 on its inmates, and of the horror with which I should be regarded 
 as my brother's murderer. Faces that till now had ever been 
 lighted up with love, seemed to scowl on me with hatred ; and 
 I imagined myself driven forth, by those dear to me as my 
 heart's-blood, with curses and execrations. Such ideas poured 
 like a flood of fire upon my soul ; and, uttering a cry of torture, 
 I fled into the neighbouring wood. 
 
 It was evening. The night set in dark and stormily, anil with 
 heavy rain. My garments were soon drenched ; but I heeded 
 it not, knew it not. I rushed into the middle of the wood, and 
 cast myself on the ground. I attempted to pray, but I could not. 
 I thought myself a thing accursed of God and man, a helpless 
 and devoted castaway, without hope or refuge. Fiendish faces 
 glared on me from behind the trees, and strange and terrible 
 voices were borne on the wind. 
 
 Then would the scene change, and I thought myself a thing 
 heaving on the mountainous billows of the ocean, and that I 
 sought for death amid the waters in vain, for I bore a charmed 
 life, and could not die. This too passed away, and I lay in a 
 loathsome pit, with creatures unutterably loathsome. Tbere the 
 toads spit upon me, and the lizards gazed on me with their spark- 
 ling eyes, and crawling things defiled me with their slime. Then 
 peals of wild and horrid laughter sounded in my cars, and I saw 
 my brother's face all ghastly and grinning, and he called me 
 murderer and fratricide. Worn out as I was, I could not rest. 
 There was a voice within, that cried for ever, " On, on," and [ 
 could not but obey the behest. I plunged through the thickest 
 parts of the underwood, and found a strange delight in being 
 gored and lacerated by the thorns. 
 
 Such are the glimmerings which my memory affords me, of 
 the sufferings of that fearful night. At length 1 thought myself 
 dying. My limbs became gradually numb and still', and I drew 
 breath with difficulty. In the expectation of death, my mind 
 became calmer. There was consolation in the belief, thai I 
 should not survive the dreadful deed that I had done, and that, 
 when my parents witnessed the terrible expiation of my crime, 
 they would forgive — perhaps weep for me. I wished to die a 
 penitent at my father's gate, and I made an effort to return to 
 the house. More I know not. But I have since learned that I 
 was found insensible in the morning, on the steps of the vesti- 
 bule, with the countenance of death, and ey< balls red with blood. 
 Weeks passed away, of which I know and remember nothing.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER IV. 15 
 
 I had a brain fever. The struggle was a long and severe one ; 
 and so trembling was the vibration of the balance between life 
 and death, that a hair in either scale would have decided the pre- 
 ponderance. 
 
 At length I awoke as from a deep sleep. I gazed on the objects 
 around me, but could recognize none of them ; and I again closed 
 my eyes, and endeavoured to arrange the confused multitude of 
 ideas, that thronged tumultuously on my mind. By slow degrees 
 I succeeded. I remembered as familiar things the bed on which 
 I lay, the furniture, the pictures, the distant spire seen through 
 the window ; and I knew my mother, who sat watching by my 
 pillow. She was dressed in the deepest mourning, and gazed on 
 me with looks such as never beam but from a mother's eye. She 
 had observed a change in the expression of my countenance ; 
 and hope, almost dead within her, revived once more to cheer 
 and animate her heart. I looked on her long in silence. At 
 length the words, " Oh, my dear mother ! " faltered from my lips, 
 and I attempted to embrace her ; but the effort was too great 
 for me, and my arms dropped powerless by my side. She saw 
 at once that my mind was restored. For a moment she seemed 
 endeavouring to subdue her emotion ; then she bent over me, 
 and warm tears fell on my face as she pressed her quivering lips to 
 mine, and I heard her breathe the words, " My poor boy, my Cyril ; 
 thank God, I have yet a son ! thou, at least, art restored to me." 
 
 I clasped my feeble arms around her neck, and joined my tears 
 with hers. They were refreshing tears, and I was calmed and 
 relieved by them. But my mother feared the effect of any strong 
 agitation on my newly-awakened mind, and once more kissing 
 me, she retired from the bed. Then I saw her kneel, and she 
 prayed a prayer of thanksgiving to God, by whose terrible dis- 
 pensations she had not been left utterly destitute and bereft. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 There was a time, -when meadow, grove, and stream, 
 The earth, and every common sight, 
 To me did seem 
 Apparell'd in celestial light, 
 The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
 It is not now as it hath been of yore. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 My recovery was slow ; and spring was fast verging into sum- 
 mer, before my returning strength enabled me to exchange the
 
 16 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER IV. 
 
 atmosphere of a sick chamber for the pure air of heaven. Those 
 only who, like me, have lain for months on a sick-bed, and who, 
 like me, have recovered at the moment when all nature seems 
 simultaneously bursting into new life and activity, and wears 
 her most beautiful and joyous aspect, can understand the feel- 
 ings of delight which I experienced on my release from captivity 
 Then indeed there seemed — 
 
 A glory in the grass, and splendour in tlio flower, 
 
 and the symphony of angel choirs could not have fallen more 
 melodiously on my ear, than did the caroling of the birds in the 
 greenwood. The minutest objects of nature rose in my eyes 
 into Consequence and beauty. To me, in all her works, she was 
 instinct with voice, and with them all I held sweet communing. 
 The— 
 
 Daffodils, 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beaut; : violeta dim, 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eves, 
 Or Cytherea's breath, 
 
 had all deep hold on my affection ; and when, as the summer 
 advanced, I saw them wither, I felt for them as friends of my 
 bosom, and almost wept for their decay. 
 
 As I walked forth, my mother and sister, with anxious assi- 
 duity, supported my tottering steps, and guided them to the 
 favourite haunts of my childhood. Little Lucy, too, would take 
 my hand with infantine caresses, and lead me to her little flower- 
 garden, to see the cowslips and anei lies, and the nest which 
 
 the green-linnet had built in her favourite rosebush. But I bet- 
 ter loved in wander forth alone, amid the singing of birds and 
 the blossoming of flowers, to 3 ield up my spirit to the pervading 
 impulses around me, and in the lonely communion 01 my own 
 thoughts, to add another voice to the general unison of nature. 
 For 1 felt that "impulses of deeper birth" came to me in soli- 
 tude, and I loved to gather 
 
 The ban est of ;i quiet eye, 
 
 1 bat br 1- and Bleeps on Itt 0^ n heart, 
 
 My Strength now rapidly returned, and I was soon able to 
 mount, my Favourite horse, and thus render m\ exert ise more 
 varied and continuous. But my mind by no means regained its 
 healthful tone with equal rapidity. The bow had been so strongly 
 
 benl as to injure it- elasticity, and it could not speedily return 
 
 to its natural curvature. The exhilarating influence, too, of 
 external nature, gradually diminished as the objects became 
 more familiar to my eye, and a mental torpor was gradually 
 stealing over my faculties. The memory of Charles was too
 
 CYKIL THOKXTON. CHAPTER IV. 17 
 
 strongly connected with the scene around me. Every thing was 
 associated with his image ; animate and inanimate nature were 
 alike full of him. His idea would not pass away, and though 
 my grief now was neither passionate nor vehement, it was becom- 
 ing what was perhaps still worse, a deep and rooted sentiment, 
 acting with permanent influence on my character. 
 
 It would have been well if the fatal consequences of my dis- 
 obedience had been confined wholly to myself. But it was not 
 so. In the shrunken form, the ashy cheek, and hollow eye of 
 my mother, there might be read a dreadful tale of grief and suf- 
 fering. Nor was it the less apparent that she strove to conceal 
 it from every eye. She wished not to cloud the hearts of those 
 she Wed, by making them partakers in her sorrow. Sh smi id ; 
 but her smiles, though kind and benignant as ever, were no 
 longer those of gladness. She ministered comfort to others, 
 while it was but too visible that the canker-worm was gnawing 
 at her own heart. 
 
 The grief of my sisters, too, was intense. But how transient 
 is the cloud of sorrow on a youthful brow ! The blow that at 
 first stunned them with its violence, left on their young and 
 buoyant hearts no permanent impression ; and in a few weeks, 
 a tender and softened memory was all they retained of their lost 
 brother. 
 
 With my father it was different. Like a stroke of God's 
 lightning had the blow descended on his head, and the conse- 
 quences were at first terrible. He rolled in the dust — he grieved, 
 and would not be comforted. Dreadful and agonizing were the 
 pangs he suffered, till at length he lay exhausted by the intensity 
 of his anguish, 
 
 And show'd no signs of life, save his limbs quivering. 
 
 Then, in the bitterness of a wounded spirit, he uttered curses on 
 the author of his bereavement. Oh ! how witheringly did they 
 fall on my mother's heart ! She knew that, till then, her cup of 
 misery had not mantled to the brim. She knelt at his feet, and 
 implored, vainly implored, him to recall the dreadful words. 
 She told him, what as yet he knew not, of my danger, of my 
 madness. In the agony of her despair, she brought him to my 
 bed. There my father listened to the sounds of suffering and 
 delirium that burst from me, and he gazed on my fiery eyeballs 
 and haggard countenance. Then only it was, that he recalled 
 the dreadful curse he had invoked, and, with a penitent and soft- 
 ened heart, bedewed my temples with his tears. 
 
 Yet I believe he never perfectly forgave me. On my recovery, 
 his manner towards me was kind, and unmarked by any of that 
 austerity to which I had been accustomed. He studiously avoided 
 
 B
 
 18 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER IV. 
 
 any recollection which might disturb the mental tranquillity, so 
 essential to the complete restoration of my health. Still there 
 was ever about him something of coldness and constraint, that 
 told me I could never more be the ohject of his love. My 
 mother, with affectionate earnestness, endeavoured to combat 
 this growing dislike, and to turn the current of his affection 
 into its natural channel. Never surely was there a warmer or 
 more impassioned advocate. She directed his view to all that 
 was good and praiseworthy in my character, and enlarged on 
 those qualities and talents, which appeared to her partial eyes to 
 give large promise of future distinction. But in vain. There 
 was a barrier that could not be surmounted ; and I knew and 
 felt that the place which Charles had tilled in my father's affec- 
 tion was destined to remain for ever in abeyance. 
 
 In order to dissipate my dejection, my father wrote to request 
 that William Lumley would pay us a visit. He came, and his 
 presence had a temporary effect in raising my spirits. It was 
 much to have a friend to whom I could unburden my heart, and 
 talk of Charles. He, too, had loved him; we mingled our tears 
 together, and I felt that grief loses half its bitterness by partici- 
 pation. But. his stay was necessarily short. He was obliged to 
 return to college; and on his departure, my mother feared that 
 I should once more relapse into my former depression. I was 
 therefore encouraged to mingle in society, and to visit those 
 families in the neighbourhood where I might meet companions 
 of my own age. This, too, was done, and, accompanied by .lane, 
 1 remember spending a fortnight at Sir John Willoughby's. 
 
 Sir John was member for the county, ami resided about ten 
 miles from Thornhill. Lady Willoughby and my mother hail 
 contracted a friendship in early life, which, exceeding the ordi- 
 nary duration of female attachments, continued unabated till 
 thr (dose of theirs. To this circumstance ii may perhaps be 
 attributed, that, while my hither had become generally unpo- 
 pular in the county, no cessation of the friendly intercourse of 
 the families had taken place. Sir John's only son, Frank Wil- 
 
 Loughby, was a young man rather above my own age, of high 
 animal spirits and kind heart. I had always entertained for 
 
 him a Strong regard, probably because he was the only one of 
 
 all our acquaintance who had betrayed a preference for my 
 society over that of Charles. I condemned his taste, and yel I 
 
 loved him for it. 
 
 To cure uie ol' my melancholy, the soeiet\ of Frank did much, 
 but the bright eyes of his sister Laura, more. She was a pretty 
 
 and elegant girl, about, two years younger than myself, with 
 
 bright blue eyes, and the sweetest smile I had ever gazed on. I 
 had known her from childhood, for she had often visited my sis-
 
 CVRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER IV. 19 
 
 ters at Thornhill ; but it was then for the first time that her 
 charms burst upon me, and I felt emotion in beholding them. 
 Then I think it was, that the first glimmerings of love dawned 
 in my bosom, and I made my purest and earliest offering at the 
 shrine of beauty. Certain it is, that her image dwelt with me 
 during an absence of several years, unconnected it is true with 
 any passionate attachment, but still the object of fond and pleasing 
 recollection. 
 
 The benefit which I derived from my visit at Middlethorpe 
 was too obvious to escape notice at home, and the family physi- 
 cian recommended that I should quit Thornhill for a longer 
 period. I accordingly received one morning, soon after my 
 return, a summons from my father to attend him in the library, 
 where he communicated in due form his intention of sending me 
 without delay to the University of Glasgow. Of such a seminary 
 I had at that time never heard ; and as this resolution may per- 
 haps excite in my readers as much surprise as it did in me, I 
 shall state, briefly as possible, the reasons which I believe to 
 have led to its adoption. 
 
 In the first place, I was just fifteen, and that was considered 
 too early an age to enter at either of the English universities. 
 
 In the next place, two sons of Lord , a friend of my father, 
 
 had been for several years at Glasgow ; and Lord — — — , for 
 whose judgment my father entertained great deference, was 
 warm in his praises of the advantages they had derived from 
 their course of study in that learned seminary. My father, too, 
 
 when abroad, had formed an acquaintance with Professor R , 
 
 then tutor to a distinguished nobleman, and had been impressed 
 with a very favourable opinion of his talents and character. But 
 there was another cause, which had probably a greater influence 
 on his decision than either or all of those already mentioned, and 
 which, from its important bearing on this narrative, will require 
 to be elucidated at somewhat greater detail. 
 
 In the cursory notice I have already given of the family of 
 my mother, I did not think it necessary to state that my grand- 
 mother was of Scottish origin. Such, however, was the fact. 
 That lady was a daughter of Spreull of Balmalloch, in Dumbar- 
 tonshire, a family well known in that county, though it is pro- 
 bable that its fame has not much extended beyond it. Several 
 generations back, the head of this distinguished house bad 
 possessed barely property enough to entitle him to the rani; and 
 precedence of a Cock Laird. By the parsimony of its posses- 
 sors, however, the estate had gradually increased. It was to 
 this hereditary quality, indeed, that the Spreulls owed their 
 elevation from the rank of humble cottars to that of Men and 
 comfortable lairds ; and could the skulls of the successive owners
 
 20 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER IV. 
 
 of Balmalloch be submitted to the inspection of Dr Spurzbeim 
 or Mr Combe, they would either discover in them an uncommon 
 development of the organs of Caution and Covetiveness, or Phre- 
 nology would at once be overthrown. 
 
 At all events, the estate throve apace in their hands ; and by 
 small additions of a " park" on this side, and a " pendicle" on 
 that, which the necessities of their less prudent neighbours 
 induced them to dispose of, it gradually rose to be an estate of 
 some note in the county ; and the family of Spreull were suffered 
 to mingle with others of older standing and baronial rank. 
 
 Thus did matters stand, when my grandfather, a captain of 
 dragoons, who served in Scotland somewhere about the middle 
 of last century, married the blooming Miss Rebecca, or, as she 
 was more commonly called, Miss Becky Spreull. This lady had 
 two brothers, one of whom succeeded to the paternal property, 
 and the other, having too much spirit to remain at home in the 
 contemned and subordinate capacity of "Jock, the laird's brother," 
 was sent forth with very trifling advantages to " push his fortune" 
 in the world. With this view the old laird procured him admis- 
 sion into the office of Sandy Swanston in Glasgow, a douce and 
 cosey trader, who united, as was common in those days, the 
 business of a wholesale importer of sugar and tobacco, with the 
 profits of dealing in the same articles by retail. 
 
 In this situation, did David Spreull succeed in rendering 
 himself both useful and agreeable to his employer; and in a few 
 years it became only necessary that he should advance a small 
 capital, to procure a very advantageous share in the business. 
 His father was now dead, and he was naturally led to solicit 
 this accommodation from his brother the laird. The application 
 was an unsuccessful one. The laird was married, and had a 
 family to provide for; and, in reply to his request, rather unce- 
 remoniously informed his brother, that he had other uses for his 
 money, and " devil a bawbee" he need ever expect from him. 
 The resentment excited in my grand-unele David, by this truly 
 fraternal epistle, was naturally very strong, and put a stop to all 
 intercourse between the brothers. In this state did matters 
 remain for many years, without advances on either side. 
 
 At length, however, the reputation of David's wealth pene- 
 trated to Balmalloch ; and the laird thought it prudent and 
 advisable to effect, if possible, a reconciliation. But all such 
 attempts failed. David Spreull was immovable; and declared 
 that now, when he was " well to do in the world," he would 
 never forget nor forgive the unbrothcrly and unchristian manner 
 in which he had been treated in the time of his necessity. Kven 
 the grouse, and the red-deer hams, the flitches, and the salt- 
 butter, which he annually received from Balmalloch, effected no
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER IV. 21 
 
 mitigation of his resentment. He accepted them indeed, but, 
 -with expressions of his contempt and dislike for the givers, 
 returned no thanks, and burned the epistles by which they were 
 generally accompanied, unread. 
 
 With his sister, my grandmother, he had maintained an occa- 
 sional correspondence, and on her death, he had written to my 
 mother a letter of affectionate condolence. His commercial 
 transactions were now very widely extended, and the accounts 
 of his wealth, and of his estrangement from his brother and his 
 family, were naturally considered very interesting intelligence 
 at Thornhill. Any advances from so important a person were, 
 of course, " to be gratefully received, and thankfully acknow- 
 ledged." His letters were answered with profuse assurances of 
 regard, and expressions of anxious hope, that, some time or other, 
 he might be induced to visit Thornhill, where every heart was 
 prepared to afford him a warm and cordial welcome. Such, at 
 least, is the general style of letters to rich old bachelors from 
 aspirant legatees, and to this I have no reason to suppose, that 
 those in question formed any exception. At all events, they 
 were not without effect. A passenger and his luggage were one 
 day deposited by the London mail at the ancient gate I have 
 already commemorated, and this passenger was no other than 
 my uncle David. 
 
 He spent a week with us. I was then about four years old, 
 and recollect something of an elderly gruff-looking personage, 
 who dandled me on his knee, and spoke in a dialect which I 
 could not understand. The impression he left on the family, 
 was that of his being a very singular and eccentric character. 
 Among other oddities, I have heard it narrated, that he sadly 
 puzzled old Pearson, the butler, by calling for a glass of Glen- 
 livet ; and fairly posed my father, after dinner, by expressing a 
 wish to be indulged with a bowl of toddy, a liquor, eo nomine at 
 least, not famibar to any member of the establishment. 
 
 Between our family and that of Balmalloch, little or no inter- 
 course had been maintained ; and that little had been confined 
 to a formal notification of births, marriages, and deaths, perhaps 
 occasionally garnished with a few of those cheap expressions of 
 civility, which mean, and which are intended to mean nothing. 
 
 After reading this long preliminary statement, it will proba- 
 bly be seen, that the resolution of sending me to Glasgow, was 
 the effect of a more recondite policy than might at first have 
 been apparent. On my part, the business of preparation went 
 merrily on. I was chiefly occupied in making arrangements for 
 the comfortable provision, during my absence, of my horses and 
 dogs. By my father, I was particularly enjoined to fail in no 
 demonstration of respect and regard towards my uncle, and to
 
 22 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER V. 
 
 have recourse, on all proper occasions, to his experience and ad- 
 vice. Many cautions, too, did I receive on the score of extrava- 
 gance ; and ignorant as I then was, either of the value or necessity 
 of money, I promised without regret or scruple, that my expenses 
 should be confined within the narrowest limits my father might 
 impose. At length, all was finished ; and, duly furnished with 
 
 letters to my uncle and Professor II , in whose family I was to 
 
 become an inmate, I took a mournful and affectionate leave of 
 my family ; and, attended by a steady servant, stepped into the 
 north mail, and on the third morning from my departure, found 
 myself safely arrived at the place of my destination. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Til view the manners of the town, 
 
 Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildii gs, 
 And wander up and down to new the city. 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 "And this," said I to myself, as I gazed from the window of 
 my inn, on the crowd and bustle in the street below — " this is 
 Glasgow! — this the chosen seat of Science and the Muses — this 
 the academic quiet, in which the mind of youth is to be nursed 
 in the calm abstractions of Philosophy! " 
 
 There was, indeed, rather a ludicrous contrast between the 
 ideas I had conjured up, and the scene before me; and I could 
 scarcely regard it without smiling. In the centre of the street, 
 wagons, loaded with merchandize of different sorts, passed 
 without intermission; and on the trottoirs two opposing torrents 
 of passengers were pouring along with extreme rapidity, and 
 With looks full of anxiety and business. Of these some would 
 occasionally stop for a moment's conversation, on which a loud 
 and vulgar laugh mingled anon with the prevailing dissonance, 
 
 and added unnecessarily to the general cacophony. Their gait 
 and gestures, too, were singularly awkward and ungainly, and 
 differed not only in degree, but in character, from any thing I 
 bad before seen. 
 
 In the crowd before me the actors seemed rigidly to adhere to 
 the directions given by Plautus, for clearing a passage through 
 & street encumbered by a population inconveniently dense. 
 
 Plenlssimi b, qui In adversum cunt, aspellito; 
 
 Detrude, deturba in viam ; hroc hio disciplina pessima est. 
 Current!, properanti, haul quisquam dignum liabet ilucudcre.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER V. 23 
 
 Ita tres semel res agenda; sunt, quando unum occeperis : 
 Et currendum, et pugnanduni, et jurgandum est in via. 
 
 Merc. Act I. s. 2. 
 
 The scene, however, had at least the charm of novelty ; and 
 the spirit and animation which pervaded it were sufficient to 
 invest it with interest in my eyes. 
 
 I had indulged some time in contemplation before my atten- 
 tion was recalled to the business of the day. My first step was 
 
 to remove to the house of Professor R ; and with this view 
 
 I ordered the waiter to procure a hackney-coach. This, how- 
 ever, I discovered was a luxury of which Glasgow did not boast; 
 and, dispatching my servant with the porters and baggage, I 
 resolved leisurely to explore my way on foot. Having received 
 from my landlady, a person of very portly dimensions, all requi- 
 site information with regard to the geography of the University, 
 I set forth on my walk. 
 
 For the first time in my life did I now mingle in the tumult 
 of a great city. It is true I had been in London ; but I was 
 then a child ; and when pent up in a carriage, and whirled 
 rapidly through the streets, I felt myself an isolated thing, and 
 formed no unit in the busy crowd around me. It was not, there- 
 fore, without some degree of mental excitement that I now for the 
 first time mingled in the throng, 'and threaded the devious mazes 
 of the living labyrinth in which I found myself involved. Every 
 sense was alive to the demonstrations of industry and activity 
 which presented themselves on all sides ; and the clink of ham- 
 mers, and loud creaking of machinery, mixing with the busy 
 hum of men, formed a strange amalgamation of sound to ears, 
 like mine, hitherto accustomed only to the melodies of simple 
 nature. 
 
 At length the appearance of an ancient and venerable build- 
 ing, informed me that I stood in presence of the University. 
 There is certainly something fine and imposing in its proud and 
 massive front. It seems to stand forth in aged grandeur, the 
 last and only bulwark of science and literature, among a popu- 
 lation by whom science is regarded but as a source of profit, 
 and literature despised. On passing the outer gate, I entered a 
 small quadrangle, which though undistinguished by any remark- 
 able architectural beauty, yet harmonized well, in its air of 
 Gothic antiquity, with the general character of the place. This 
 led to another of larger dimensions, of features not dissimilar ; 
 and having crossed this, a turn to the left brought me to a third, 
 of more modern construction, which was entirely appropriated 
 to the residence of the Professors. There was something solemn 
 and impressive in the sudden transition from the din and bustle 
 of the streets which surround it, to the stillness and the calm
 
 24 CYRLL TUORSTOX. CHAPTER V. 
 
 which reign within the time-hallowed precincts of the Univer- 
 sity. I seemed at once to breathe 
 
 An ampler ether, a diviner air ; 
 
 and I thought in my youthful enthusiasm, that here I could cast 
 off the coil of the world and its contemptible realities, and yield 
 up my spirit to the lore of past ages, where nothing I beheld was 
 calculated to intrude the idea of the present. 
 
 When I arrived, Professor It was at home, and received me 
 
 in his library, lie was a person about sixty years of age, in a 
 periwig of rather ancient construction, and dressed in a silk 
 robe-de-chambre, which, from its texture and grotesque pattern, 
 appeared to be of foreign manufacture. With the easy manners 
 of a finished gentleman, he led me into conversation, probed in- 
 sensibly the extent of my acquirements, and sketched for me the 
 plan of study which he thought it advisable for me to pursue. 
 The term or session of the College, he told me, had not yet com- 
 menced, and he recommended my devoting the intervening period 
 to previous preparation with a private tutor. 
 
 Having arranged these preliminaries, and taken possession of 
 my apartments, I next turned my thoughts to my uncle; and 
 finding that the Professor perfectly agreed in the propriety of 
 my waiting on him without delay, I once more set forth in search 
 of his habitation. The discovery was attended with little diffi- 
 culty, for his name and dwelling were familiar to all from whom 
 I requested information; and 1 had only to answer the question, 
 " Is't his house or his countin'-house ye're speerin' for," to have 
 my steps immediately directed in the proper channel. The 
 domicile of Mr Spreull was situated in one of the great thorough- 
 fares of the city, and was : pproached h\ a stair, which, being 
 tin- common property of all the tenants of the same mansion, 
 was, as might naturally he expected, offensively dirty. 
 
 My appeal to the door-bell was answered by a female servant, 
 without covering to foot or leg, and in other respects nol very 
 nice in her person, who testified, bya broad stare, that the appa- 
 rition of a morning visiter was by no means regarded as a com- 
 mon occurrence l>\ the establishment. My English accent and 
 her Scotch one, did not contribute to make us mutually intelli- 
 gible ; and when, to my enquiry, " It' Mr Spreull was at home," 
 she answered, "What's yourwull?" 1 felt rather at a loss to 
 understand whether this periphrasis involved a negative or an 
 affirmative. My question therefore was again repeated; audi 
 at length succeeded in eliciting the equally laconic, but more 
 intelligible response, "lie's no in." Considering any further 
 colloquy with this damsel to he useless, I was about to with- 
 draw, when a brisk and bustling matron came forward, exclaim-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER V. 2o 
 
 ing, as she advanced, " Gang ben, ye tawpy, and let me speak to 
 the gentleman." I afforded her the opportunity she desired, by 
 stating that I called in the hope of finding Mr Spreull. " I ettle 
 ye' re a stranger here, sir, or ye wad, nae doubt, hae kent it was no 
 very likely that Mr Spreull wad be at hame at this time o' day." 
 
 " If Mr Spreull is at present abroad, will you be good enough to 
 inform me at what time I shall be likely to find him at home?" 
 
 " It wants," said she, glancing her eye at a venerable-looking 
 clock that stood ticking in the passage, "it wants fully twa 
 hours o' his dinner time ; he'll no be at hame afore then ; and 
 when he does come hame," added she significantly, " he doesna 
 like to be disturbit. But if ye'll just step to the counting-house, 
 ye'll be sure to find him there, if he's no upon the Change ; and," 
 added she, again looking at the clock, " it's no likely he'll be 
 there at this time o' day." 
 
 I thanked the good dame for her information ; but, consider- 
 ing the alternative of his being upon Change when I called at 
 the counting-house as at least possible, I requested her to men- 
 tion, on his return, that his nephew, Cyril Thornton, had called 
 to pay his respects, and deliver personally a letter from his 
 mother. 
 
 " An' are ye Mr Ceeral Thornton," exclaimed she, " the young 
 gentleman my maister expecks down frae England ? Troth, 
 had I been ordinar kenspeckle, I might hae gathered as muckle 
 frae yer English tongue, forbye yer likeness to the faimily. 
 Surely I was beglamoured a'thegither, no to hae kent ye at yince. 
 Will ye no step ben and rest ye a bit ? Weel I wat, Mr Spreull 
 will be glad to see you." 
 
 I courteously declined the hospitable invitation of the worthy 
 matron, alleging, as an excuse, my intention of proceeding im- 
 mediately in search of my uncle ; and, wishing her a good- 
 morning, I again set forward witli that purpose. 
 
 Mr Spreull's counting-house was in the Trongate, and formed 
 part of a large tenement which he had originally built, and which, 
 from this circumstance, was generally known by the patronymic 
 of " Spreull's Land." 
 
 Of this building, however, he occupied but a small portion, 
 the rest being divided among a very numerous body of tenants, 
 as appeared by the variety of printed names with which both sides 
 of the outer entrance were adorned. Among these the follow- 
 ing notice, painted in large yellow letters, on a hlack ground, 
 made no undistinguished figure, — " David Spreull & Co., first 
 door right hand." I advanced in the direction indicated, and 
 entered a chamber where about a dozen clerks appeared very 
 diligently engaged in business. In answer to my enquiries, I 
 was informed that there was at that moment a gentleman with
 
 23 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mr Spreull, but that it was not probable the interview would 
 last long, and be would, in a minute or two, be at liberty to 
 receive me. 
 
 The anticipations of the clerk were correct, for I bad not 
 kept my station above the time indicated, when a person passed 
 me from an inner apartment, and immediately afterwards I 
 heard the following directions issued in a loud and harsh voice, 
 from within : — " Fergus, enter a sale of the fifty hoggits of mus- 
 covado sugar, marked L. T. by the Mary Jane, to Macvicar, 
 Macfarlane, and Macnab, at fifty-four, two months and two 
 months." I was now desired to "walk ben," and, doing so, 
 found myself at once in the presence of my uncle. 
 
 He was engaged in writing, and did not at first look up. I 
 bad thus an opportunity afforded me of examining his person, 
 which I did with no small curiosity. lie was a man whose age 
 it was not easy to determine from his appearance. Judging 
 from his grey hair and wrinkled forehead, I had set him down 
 at seventy-five, but when he turned on me his quick and penetrat- 
 ing eye, I felt inclined to admit that he rmght be ten years younger. 
 Be was certainly a hale man, and bore about him no mark of 
 decrepitude. The features of his face were coarse, and his nose, 
 in particular, far transcended, both in length and diameter, the 
 ordinary and vulgar limits of nasal protuberance. His counte- 
 nance was strongly marked throughout by shrewdness and intel- 
 ligence; and the curvature of his upper lip, and an habitual 
 contraction of the eyebrows, gave indication of a temper at 
 once irascible and pertinacious. 
 
 Such at least were the conclusions I had come to, when my 
 observations were suddenly cut short by their object, who, 
 regarding me with a cursory and careless glance, thus addressed 
 me : " ( Mi. you're from Mr Miicklehose ! Just tell him from me, 
 thai [ cannol agree to a total loss in the case o' the Hercules. 
 There's a claim o' salvage, and nae mair. I told him sac yes- 
 terday at the coffee-room, and there's nae use in his bothering 
 me with messages about the matter. My mind's made up. — 
 < rood-morning to you." 
 
 Having said this, he once more resumed his writing; audi 
 remained silent for a minute or two, partlj from surprise at being 
 tlm> addressed, and partly in the hope that a second glance might 
 correel the error into which he had fallen with regard to my 
 character and business. Of this, however, there seemed little 
 prospect, lie appeared utterly insensible of nn presence, and 1 
 at length determined to make myself known to him without fur- 
 ther delay. 
 
 r. J c 11 1 mistake. I" 
 
 " What thedeeviL, sir, arc you there yet P" exclaimed the old
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER V. 27 
 
 gentleman, his eye kindling with passion — " I mistake, do I ? 
 Baldy Mucklehose will find, however, the mistake lies wi' him, 
 if he thinks the Glasgow underwriters are to accept a total loss 
 for what, at Lloyd's, is considered only a case o' salvage." 
 
 " Permit me, sir, to inform you" 
 
 " No, sir, I want none of your information. You can inform 
 me of nothing in the business, that I do not know better than 
 either yourself or your employer. So, be good enough to stop 
 your tnrapple, and steek the door on the outside. I've other 
 use for my time than to stand argol-bargoling wi' you." 
 
 So saying, he again commenced writing, and I could scarce 
 refrain from laughing at the ridiculous position in which I was 
 placed. Perceiving all the difficulties which opposed themselves 
 to a verbal explanation, I determined to bring about an eclair- 
 cissement by the delivery of my mother's letter. lie received it 
 in silence ; and, having glanced over its contents, hastily rose 
 and advanced towards me, extended a huge, hard, and bony hand, 
 and, grasping mine, administered a shake, which, in the length 
 of its duration and the vehemence of its pressure, gave evidence 
 of a cordial welcome. 
 
 " Ye' re welcome to Glasgow, Mr Cyril — I'm happy, very 
 happy, to see you. Ye've grown a braw big callant since I saw 
 you last ; that's now ten years past at Martinmas ; but you'll no 
 mind me, for you was then just a wee bit toddlin' thing, wi' 
 great red cheeks, and twa wee shining een glaikin' out ower 
 them. To an auld man like me, Mr Cyril, ten years are no 
 just sae lang as they are to you ; and it seems almost like yes- 
 terday that I dandled you on my knee. But I maunna forget 
 to sjieer after your lady-mother ; I hope she's keeping stout, and 
 no suffering mair than we maun a' expeck to do as we advance 
 in years." 
 
 The old gentleman still kept my hand pressed in his while he 
 uttered this kind and voluble address; yet it was done with the 
 same unbending rigidity of feature, which had struck me on my 
 first entering the apartment. His face had apparently been 
 modelled into one expression, by the unvaried and habitual action 
 through life of one dominant feeling and excitement, till it had 
 lost the power of change, and, like sculptured stone, the look 
 once impressed on it was to be for ever ineffaceable. 
 
 But though my grim-visaged uncle possessed not the power 
 of smoothing his wrinkled front, or of relaxing at will the hard 
 contraction of his facial muscles, still there might be discovered, 
 in the milder and more softened expression of his eye, indication 
 of warm and kindly feeling. It required some time to answer 
 all his enquiries with respect to my family, but, having done so, 
 he proceeded —
 
 28 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER V. 
 
 " So ye've come down here to be a colleeginer ? It's a lang 
 gait to gang for learning. But, after a', I am no sure that you 
 could ha'e done better. Our colleges here are no bound down 
 like yours in the south by a wheen auld and fizzionless rules; 
 and we dinna say to ilka student, either bring three hundred 
 pounds in your pouch, or gang about your business. In Glas- 
 gow we dinna lock the door o' learning, as they do at Oxford 
 and Cambridge, and shut out a' that canna bring a gouden key 
 in their hand, but keep it on the sneck, that onybody that likes 
 may open it. But where are ve gaun to bide ?" 
 
 " With Professor R , at the College." 
 
 " Weel, from all I ken myself or have heard tell o' him, he's 
 a douce and discreet person ; and your father hasna chosen 
 amiss. It's no very often that we forgather, but he's a weel- 
 faurt and pleesant man, without muckle o' the dominie aboot 
 
 him ; at ony rate, he's far afore that heavy tike, Professor , 
 
 wha's little better than a haveril, and has stocked his mind sae 
 extraordinar weel wi' science and philosophy, that there's nae 
 
 room left in't for common sense. And there's Principal , 
 
 I never heard a screed o' a sermon frae him that was worth a 
 button, and he's nae mair fit to baud the candle to Dr Balfour 
 or l)r Porteous" 
 
 Here our colloquy was interrupted by the entrance of a per- 
 son with a face full of business, who, pulling out of a huge coat- 
 pocket several samples of cotton and tobacco, began a conversa- 
 tion in which I could be expected to take neither interest nor 
 participation. Mr Spreull took advantage of the first pause in 
 the dialogue to turn to me, and said, " It's no often, < k»d knows, 
 that 1 meet friends, no to say relations, and it would be a slight- 
 in- o' his mercies no to he kind to them when I do sae; but 
 you're auld enough to ken, Mr Cyril, that business must be 
 attended to. Sae I'll let you gang now, gin you'll promise to 
 tak' potluck wi' me the day. You'll get poor fare, but if I ha'e 
 got a right inkling o' your heart, blood's thicker there than 
 water, and you'll put up for ae day with a had dinner and an 
 auld man's cracks." 
 
 Though this invitation, like many other passages of the pre- 
 ceding conversation, was at that time byno means superfluously 
 intelligible, yet I contrived to pick up the drift of it, and answer) d 
 by a ready acceptance. I then took mj departure, having arranged 
 that 1 should call on my uncle, at his place of business, pre- 
 cisely at a quarter to lour o'clock, and accompany him to his 
 
 hoi:
 
 CTSIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VI. 29 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 He was not taken well ; he had not dined : 
 The veins untill'd, the Wood is cold, and then 
 "VVe pout upon the morning, are unapt 
 To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff 'd 
 These pipes, and these conveyances of our blood, 
 With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls, 
 Thau in our priest-like fast. 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 Qu. Troth ! ho uses his uncle discourteously now. ' Can he tell what T may 
 do for him? He knows my humour : I am not so usually good; 'tis no small 
 thing that draws kindness from me ; he may know that an he will. 
 
 A Trick to catch the Old One. 
 
 Before returning to the college, I determined to gratify my 
 curiosity by seeing something of the Lions of Glasgow ; and, 
 committing my footsteps to chance, I wandered for a consider- 
 able time about the city. I visited the Gallowgate and the Salt- 
 market, mused with a curious eve on the Doric beauties of the 
 Briggate and the Goosedubs, and admired the romantic vista of 
 the Candleriggs, terminating in the Ram's-horn church, the 
 graces of whose architecture harmonize so perfectly with the 
 classic euphony of its name. 
 
 Thus interestingly occupied, the time sped unheeded ; and 
 the hour of four sounded from the College steeple, before I had 
 effected those changes in my habiliments which the dirty con- 
 dition of the streets had rendered necessary. Roused by this 
 intimation, I completed my toilet as expeditiously as possible, 
 and set forth on my engagement ; but ere I was able to reach 
 the place of rendezvous, another half hour had elapsed. In the 
 outer apartment of the place of business, so crowded in the 
 morning, I now found only one clerk, who, " like a brotherless 
 hermit, the last of his race," sat with blank and disconsolate 
 aspect, probably ruminating on the more enviable occupation in 
 which his colleagues were then engaged, and counting the mi- 
 nutes till he should be set at liberty by their return. 
 
 My uncle was by no means in the same bland and benevolent 
 humour in which I had parted from him in the morning. He 
 was pacing the apartment as I entered with long and irregular 
 strides, and his arms immersed to the elbows in coat-pockets, 
 about the size of a bushel measure. The expression of his coun- 
 tenance spoke at once the state of his feelings. There was a 
 compression of the lips, an unusual contraction of the brows and 
 sparkle of the grey eyes beneath them, that portended a hurri- 
 cane. He did not notice me on my entrance, and I had some 
 time to collect myself for a patient endurance of the pitiless
 
 30 CYRIL THORNTOX. CHAPTER VI. 
 
 pelting of the storm that was evidently brewing in the horizon. 
 He brushed close past me several times, without giving the 
 smallest indication of his being aware of my presence ; but at 
 length, stopping full in my front, he thus sardonically addressed 
 me. — " So, sir, ye've condescended to come at last. Ca' ye this 
 a quarter to four o'clock ? " said he, pulling out a gold chro- 
 nometer of uncommon dimensions. " Look at that, sir," said 
 he, holding it up, "it wants just seventeen minutes to five by 
 the Tolbooth clock. I suppose ye dinnered wi' the Professor 
 al':>re ye set out, for ye couldna reckon on getting onv thing wi' 
 me at this time o' day. Hut maybe these are yer English 
 fashionable hours, and ye thought it vulgar perhaps — ay, vulgar, 
 that's what ye ca't — to dine at" 
 
 " I really beg your pardon, sir ; I am very sorry to have 
 detained you ; but I was walking about the town, and was not 
 aware of the lateness of the hour, till" 
 
 " Ye wasna aware o' the lateness o' the hour? But ye ought 
 to ha'e been aware o't, sir. Is my stamach, that's as boss as a 
 drum, to pay the penalty o' your negligence? It's wcel we ha'e 
 some o' the same blood in our veins, or 1 wouldna ha'e pardoned 
 this. But dinna, in time to come, lippen ower muckle even to 
 that, or ye'll maybe find ye' re leaning against a slap. There's 
 them wi' as muckle o' my blood that I ha'ena forgi'en — no, 
 and what's mair, winna forgi'e, till 1 or they are laid in the 
 kirkyard." 
 
 His voice fell towards the close of the sentence, and he pro- 
 nounced it in a deep and hollow tone. In a moment he was 
 silent. His former train of thought and emotion seemed to be 
 suddenly changed ; and when he again spoke, it was in a softened 
 and milder voice. 
 
 " But there's enough said, and maybe mair than wis needfu'. 
 After a', ye was in a strange place, and exactness is maybe no 
 to be expeckit in a callanl like you. Sae conic awa', for (Jirzy 
 will think I'm lost a'thegither," said he, putting on a broad- 
 brimmed quaker-looking hat; "we've lost mair time already 
 
 than there WAS occasion for." 
 
 We went forth accordingly, and, on reaching the street, I was 
 desired by my uncle to "deck oxters." Sanscrit was not more 
 unintelligible to me than these words; bul observing that he 
 extended his arm to receive mine, I understood the signal, and 
 obeyed the mandate. We walked at the rate of five miles an hour, 
 
 and of course soon reached the house. As we turned the last. 
 
 corner, [observed the head of Girzy protruded from the window, 
 
 evidently in anxious expectat ion of her master, and watching to 
 
 receive the earliest notice of his approach. (Jirzy received us 
 on the landing-place of the stair, and enquired with much appa-
 
 CYRIX THORN*TON T . CHAPTER VT. 31 
 
 rent solicitude into the cause of the present most unwonted 
 breach of regularity. 
 
 "I began amaist to think," said she, " that ye had just gane 
 hame wi' Provost Shortridge or Collector M'Nair, as ye did yince 
 about seven years ago, without sendin' me word. But that was 
 no very likely neither. God grant he's no dead, says I to mysel'; 
 he surely canna ha'e faun down in the dead-thraws, like Bailie 
 Wallace, or just gane aff in a pluff like puir Doctor M'Corka- 
 dale, or" 
 
 Over how wide a field the conjectural forebodings of Girzy 
 might have extended, cannot now be ascertained ; for my uncle, 
 to whom the last gratuitous suppositions seemed by no means 
 agreeable, cut them short by stating, that he had been detained 
 by business, and that I had accompanied him home for the pur- 
 pose of partaking of his repast, which he desired might be served 
 up without delay. The expression of her countenance evidently 
 showed that this was somewhat unexpected intelligence to the 
 worthy matron, who betrayed considerable symptoms of being 
 what is termed, in nautical phrase, " taken aback." Thinking 
 it more politic, however, to conceal her discomfiture, she turned 
 towards me with a smiling aspect, and said, " We're very glad 
 to see you, sir, though I'm fear't yer denner will no just be sae 
 good as it might hae been, if Mr Spreull had tell't me ye war 
 comin'." 
 
 " Haud yer peace, and let it be sair't immediately," interrupted 
 her master, as we entered the parlour; " I have been tormented 
 wi' a yirnin' for these twa hours ; and here, bring me a candle 
 to gang down to the cellar." 
 
 While he was thus engaged, I had leisure to examine the 
 apartment. It was of small dimensions ; the furniture it con- 
 tained was of antique construction, and had evidently seen better 
 days; but the room bore altogether an air of snugness and com- 
 fort. On a chair before the fire hung a duffle wrapper, and a 
 Kilmarnock nightcap, checkered in various diagonal compart- 
 ments of blue and scarlet ; and a pair of morocco slippers, the 
 primitive colour of which was now undistinguishable, rested 
 against the fender. 
 
 From these circumstances, it was tolerably apparent that the 
 comforts of the master were not neglected by his establishment. 
 A table was laid for dinner, with a cloth by no means rigorous- 
 ly clean, and the few appurtenances displayed on it, were not 
 remarkable for nicety or elegance. On opposite sides of the fire- 
 place, stood a large black -hair sofa, and an old-fashioned, high- 
 backed easy-chair, from which conveniences it might be inferred 
 as probable, that the owner was occasionally in the habit of 
 indulging in an evening nap. One end of the room was occu-
 
 32 CYRIL TIIOHXTOX. — CHAPTER VI. 
 
 pied with a book-case, the shelves of which were tenanted to the 
 utmost extent of their capacity. Among the works it contained, 
 in the cursory glance I had time to throw over them, I recognised 
 Swift's Works and De Foe's, the Tatler, Spectator, and Rambler, 
 Smollett's Novels, a translation of Rabelais, the Institutes of the 
 Scottish Law, Burke's Letters on a Regicide Peace, an odd 
 volume of Hume's History, and a considerable body of Calvin- 
 istic divinity. Over the chimney-piece hung a portrait of 
 Mr Pitt. 
 
 In making the preceding observations, my attention was occa- 
 sionally diverted from its more immediate object, by hearing, 
 through the open door, the following monologue in the kitchen 
 — " Lord saf us ! what's to be done? Here he's brought the 
 young Englishman to denner, and there's naething, good or bad, 
 in the hoose, but some cauld beef, and the kail that wasna sup- 
 pit at yesterday's denner. If he had but sent me yae hauf hour's 
 notice, I could hae gotten a gigot of mutton, and had things a 
 wee decent. But there's nae use in talking about it. — Jenny, 
 clap on yer mutch, and rin awa ower to Thamson, the flesher 
 in the Stockwell, and bring hame a pund o' minched collups in 
 yer brat ; and bring twa tippenny tarts frae Baxter the baker's, 
 and bid him charge them in the buik ;— and mind ye dinna stun' 
 clashin' wi' a wheen o' that' idle ne'er-do-weel hizzies at the 
 West-port well, but gang stracht there and back ; and mak' 
 haste, or ye shall never pit yer ugly neb inside o' this door again, 
 I can tell ye that." 
 
 My uixle soon returned from the cellar, charged with a bottle 
 in each hand, which gave, in external-, a promise of antiquity, 
 not afterwards belied by tin ir contents. Having decanted a 
 bottle of choice old Madeira, and deposited it on the "chimley 
 lug," he next proceeded to doff his external habiliments, and to 
 invest himself in the wrapper, nightcap, and slippers, laid out 
 for him by the providence of Girzy. A more grotesque figure 
 cannot well be imagined than thai now presented by the old 
 gentleman; and notwithstanding the respect, approaching to 
 awe, with which he bad inspired me, I ventured to indulge in a 
 laugh, loud enough to attract his attention. ( loleridge's descrip- 
 tion of the Ancient Mariner was not inapplicable to bis figure; 
 
 .and to this da) I never read the following passage of that beau- 
 tiful and transcendantly imaginative poem, without thinking of 
 my uncle David — 
 
 I fear thee, anclenl mariner, 
 
 I fear thy skinny band :. 
 
 And thou arl long, "ml lank, nm! brown, 
 
 As i-- the rlbb'd Bea-sand. 
 
 The comfort of his domestic garments, and of his easy-chair, 
 
 had apparently contributed to his good-humour, for he was not
 
 CTRIIi THORNTON CHAPTER VI. 33 
 
 offended at the rather impertinent liberty I had assumed. " So 
 you're laughin' at your uncle in his night-gown and coul ? I 
 daresay they're no very bonny ; I'm sure they're auld enough ; 
 but when you come to be an auld bachelor like me, Cyril, (which 
 God grant, for your ain sake, may never be,) yell care as little 
 aboot the look o' things then as I do now. But I wonder what 
 the deevil keeps Girzy wi' the dinner; this is no like her ordi- 
 nary exactness. — Ay, come awa," said he, addressing the maiden 
 herself, who that moment entered, carrying a tureen, " It's nine 
 hours since a morsel has passed my thrapple, and I'm sair for- 
 fachten for want o' something." 
 
 Girzy deposited the tureen on the table, and supplied us with 
 plates from the fender. One of these my uncle filled to the brim 
 with broth, and handed across the table to me, informing me, at 
 the same time, that he had only sent me " a very few." He then 
 helped himself in the same proportion, that is, to the full extent 
 of the capacity of the dish, and, seizing on a " farel " of oatmeal 
 cake, which lay in a bread-basket by his side, he fell to work 
 with the voracity of a famished wolf. 
 
 While her master was thus engaged, Girzy was too well aware 
 of the deficiencies of the repast, and too sensitively apprehensive 
 of a stigma being thrown by these deficiencies on the character 
 of the establishment, in which she felt her own to be involved, 
 not to make an effort to excuse them. 
 
 " Really," said she, addressing herself to her master, who was 
 too much absorbed in eating to pay any attention to her, " really 
 it's no blate o' Mrs Ross, the henwife, that lives oot at Partick ; 
 wad ye believe it, she has neither sent me the turkey nor the 
 pair o' howtoudies I ordered frae her last week, though she tell't 
 me I might lippen to gettin' them, on the word o' an honest 
 woman. As for Thamson the flesher, the man's gane clean 
 demented a'thegither. Didna he gang and send the loin o' veal 
 and the kidneys I ordered there mysel' yesterday's blessed day, 
 to Spreull the grocer's, in Gibson's Wynd ? Sae the tae thing 
 wi' the tither has left the hoose sae bare o' provisions, as it's a 
 shame and a disgrace for a gentleman's hoose to be. Ye maun 
 just thole the day wi' some cauld beef and some minched collups, 
 which was what I had gotten for yersel', afore I kent o' Maister 
 Thornton." 
 
 My uncle chanced to finish his plate of broth as the matron 
 pronounced the last sentence of her apologetical oration, and 
 becoming then, for the first time, aware that her clapper was in 
 motion, lost no time in stopping it, by desiring her gruffly, " To 
 baud her gaffin, and rax the Madeira;" with both of which 
 mandates, Girzy, having accomplished her business of explana- 
 tion, willingly complied. 
 
 c
 
 34 CYRIX THORNTON. CIIAPTEK VI. 
 
 Her injunctions to Jenny against dilatoriness on her errand, 
 appeared to have produced good effect on that damsel ; for the 
 minced collops and the tarts made their appearance in good 
 season, and were done due honour to hy both of us. My appe- 
 tite, like my uncle's, was pretty sharp, and when the cloth was 
 removed, after cheese, I felt every internal evidence of having 
 made a good dinner. It was much to the satisfaction of Girzy 
 that I did so on the present occasion ; and her attention to my 
 wants was really quite overpowering. 
 
 " That's no a gude slice o' the beef ye're sending Maister 
 Thornton," she would say to my uncle ; " send him a bit nearer 
 the bane." Or addressing me, " Tak' a few mae o' the col- 
 lups, they'll no hurt ye. Lord saf us, ye're no done ! Just tak' 
 ae spoonfu' mair ; at your age yer teeth's langer than yer beard. 
 Weel, if ye'll no try the collups again ye maun tak' a tart," con- 
 tinued she, on hospitable thoughts intent, shovelling, at the same 
 time, a whole one upon my plate, nolens volens, and again placing 
 it before me. Luckily, in the present case, it happened to be 
 volenn ; and the tart was duly dispatched, with as much facility 
 of deglutition, and appearance of relish, as Girzy herself could 
 desire. 
 
 The table being cleared, and wine glasses placed before us, 
 Girzy put the interrogation — "What bowl are ye for?" and 
 being answered " Number seven," soon after made her appear- 
 ance with a china bowl, capable of containing about a gallon, 
 which, with lemons, sugar, and a bottle of rum, was placed before 
 her master. 
 
 "Ye'll maybe no like punch," said my uncle to me, " and if 
 sae, ye'll just drink on at the Madeira; or there's a bottle o' 
 claret out ower there," pointing to a corner of the room, " gin 
 ye like it better. Make yourself quite free, and ca" for whatever 
 ye like ; if it's no to be had in the house, it's to be had out o' the 
 house, and that's the same thing." 
 
 I assured him in reply that I would take advantage, if required, 
 of the liberty he thus gave me ; but as I had nev< r tasted punch, 
 it was necessary that 1 should do so, to enable me to act as a 
 conscientious judge. 
 
 The office of mingling the discordant elements of punch into 
 one sweet and harmonious whole, is perhaps the only one which 
 calls into full and emphatic action the sympathies and energies 
 of a Glasgow gentleman. You read, in the solemnity of his 
 countenance, his Bense of the deep responsibility which attaches 
 
 to the duty lie discharges, lie feels there is an awful trust con- 
 fided to him. The fortune of the table is in his hands. One Blight 
 
 mi scale i dat ion of quantity one exuberant pressure of the fingers 
 
 — and the enjoyment of a whole party is de troyed. With what
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VI. 35 
 
 an air of deliberate sagacity does he perform the functions of his 
 calling ! How knowingly he squeezes the lemons, and distin- 
 guishes between Jamaica rum, and Leeward Island, by the smell! 
 No pointer ever nosed his game with more unerring accuracy. 
 Then the snort and the snifter, and the smacking of the lips, 
 with which the beverage, when completed, is tasted by the whole 
 party ! Such a scene is worthy of the pencil of George Cruik- 
 shank, and he alone could do justice to its unrivalled ridicule. 
 
 Even in my uncle there was something of all this apparent. 
 An anxious nicety in the compounding of the liquor, as if he 
 considered it necessary to his character as a punch-maker, that 
 it should meet my approbation. If so, the old gentleman was 
 gratified, for I had no sooner tasted its contents, than I expressed 
 my full and unhesitating resolution of what is called in Glasgow, 
 " sticking to the bowl." Under its exhilarating influence, a 
 freer and less constrained intercourse was soon established be- 
 tween us. I felt perfectly at ease, amused my saturnine com- 
 panion with schoolboy anecdotes, and we became, in short — 
 
 A pair of friends, though I was young, 
 And Matthew seventy-two. 
 
 Young as I was, I soon discovered my uncle to be a person of 
 much natural shrewdness, and considerable acquired knowledge, 
 with a memory well stored with local anecdotes, which were 
 rendered more piquant and amusing, by a certain broad and 
 caustic humour with which they were invested by the narrator. 
 
 Our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Girzy, 
 who approached the table with a wine glass in her hand, and 
 thus addressed her master. 
 
 " I'm just come to ask for a preein' o' the bowl, to drink the 
 health o' Maister Ceeral there. Ye ken it's no for the punch, 
 for I keep the keys o' the gardevin, and can tak' what I like, 
 and you neither ken nor care ; but it's noo twa-and-twenty 
 years come Candlemas that I've keepit your hoose, and I never 
 saw kith or kin o' yours within the door till this blessed day. 
 Sae here's till ye Maister Ceeral," said she, raising to her lips 
 the glass, which her master had filled a bumper ; " here's till ye, 
 and ye' re heartily welcome to yer uncle's hoose ; I ken ye are 
 sae, though he's maybe no had the grace to tell ye as muckle. 
 And here's till you, too, sir, I houp ye'll be kind to your nevoy, 
 noo ye've gotten him doon here, and no be snappin' him up sae 
 short as ye do folks for ordinar, for he doesna ken yer ways yet ; 
 and," added she, lowering her voice to a confidential whisper, 
 " he's as braw and canty a callant as ever I clappit een on, and 
 no pridefu' aboot his meat." 
 
 "Are ye gaun to stand there a' night, yelpin' in our lugs?"
 
 36 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VI. 
 
 exclaimed my uncle with impatience, on finding Girzy's harangue 
 was extending beyond its due limits ; " gang and get the tea 
 maskit, and send it ben when I ring fort." As Girzy, in obe- 
 dience to this mandate, was slowly quitting the apartment, the 
 old gentleman thus addressed me: "It's a sad thocht, Cyril, 
 that, single or married, there's nae escapin' frae the deavin' o' a 
 woman's tongue. I've a' my life been shy o' yokin' to with ony 
 o' them, and resolved, first and last, baith to live a bachelor and 
 die one ; but you see, after a', I've made little profit o't. That 
 Girzy's a bell whose clapper never lies ; and the warst is, she 
 kens I canna want her, though the disturbance she gies me's 
 beyond description. — But there's still a thocht niair in the bowl," 
 added he, " and there's yae toast we maun drink in a bumper ; 
 so take aff your dribblet, and put in your glass." 
 
 I did so. 
 
 " Here's the health o' your father, and your leddy mither ; 
 your brith — na, yer sisters." 
 
 "And may God Almighty bless them!" exclaimed I, a little 
 elevated by what I had drank. 
 
 "Amen !" ejaculated my uncle as he raised his glass. 
 
 " In giving the toast," continued he, " the name o' puir Charles 
 just cam', without thinking, to my lips, though I ken he's dead ; 
 weel I wat, his death maun hae been a waesome loss to your 
 parents. I mind him weel when I was at Thornhill ; he was 
 the gleggest and the funniest wee chiel 1 that ever gladdened my 
 een ; and yet, for a' that, he would often put his wee hand in mine, 
 and walk out wi' me quite quietly and doucely, just as if the 
 bairn lik.it the company o' an auld man like me. And he would 
 tell me about his povvney and his doos, and fleech wi' me to 
 gang and look at them, and happy was the wee man when 1 gaed 
 wi' him. 1 wat he wasna like you, little sinner as ye was, that 
 would never bide wi' me twa minutes on end, but come todlin 
 ahint me, and pook me by the coat-tails, and then rin awa' 
 laughin', as fast as your twa fat legs wad carrj ye. An' yet ye 
 was a blithe and winsome bairn, too, though I'll no say but I 
 likit him the best. An', wae's me, he's gane ! Is'l no strange 
 
 that Death should tak' a young and gleesome creature like that, 
 and leave an auld man like me? Hut the ways o' Providence 
 are no to be accounted for. Oh, but it gars me grue to think 
 on him !" 
 
 The old gentleman was not much accustomed to the melting 
 
 mood ; ami there was a striking, perhaps to an indifferent spec- 
 tator, a ludicrous contrast, between the warmth and tenderness 
 of feeling displayed in the matter spoken, and the gruff and 
 saturnine expression with which it was delivered. An occa- 
 sional huskiness and tremor was discernible in his voice; and
 
 CYRIL THOKXTON. CHAPTER VI. 37 
 
 he found it necessary several times to clear his throat, with a 
 cough so loud and sonorous, as to prove that his difficulty of 
 utterance did not originate in the feebleness of his lungs. 
 
 " But there's yae part," continued he, after a short pause, 
 " there's yae part o' the letter ye brought me that I dinna very 
 weel understand ; and I wad like to hae't redd up to me, for I feel 
 a deep interest about a' that concerns your family." 
 
 So saying, he produced from his pocket a letter, folded in the 
 shape in which letters of business are usually preserved, and 
 bearing the following endorsation : — 
 
 Thornton, Mrs Elizabeth. 
 
 Thornhill, 22d September 18—. 
 
 Concerning son Cyril, and sundries ; 
 
 Received 27th September 18 — ; 
 
 Answered 
 
 And having adjusted his "specs," read aloud from it the follow- 
 ing extract : — 
 
 "You have, of course, received intimation of the terrible inflic- 
 tion with which it has pleased God to visit this family. The 
 dreadful accident by which we had to deplore the loss of one son, 
 long left us little ground on which we could found a hope for 
 the preservation of the other. I thank God, however, he is at 
 
 length restored to us ." 
 
 " Now," my uncle continued, " though I kent, wae's me, that 
 puir Charles was dead afore I got your leddy mither's letter, 
 yet I never heard tell o' the awfu' accident she speaks about, 
 nor how your life cam' amaist to be despaired o', and it would 
 be a great satisfaction to me to hear a' the sad story ; for Charles 
 had won hi msel' into my heart, in away I never tell't naebody when 
 he was leevin', for fear o' settin' folk a bletherin'. But, now he's 
 dead, it's nae matter. It often seemed strange to mysel', that 
 his figure haunted me like a ghaist. It's true, I seldom thocht 
 on him by day, yet he was aye present in my dreams at night, 
 wi' his blue een and his gowden hair, lookin' up sae douce and 
 sweetly in my face ; for his looks differed a hantle frae yours, 
 and he bad neither your black curly pow nor your dark een. It 
 wad be a sad pleasure to me to hear how the bonny innocent 
 cam' by his death." 
 
 My uncle had been too much engrossed with his own feelings 
 to think of mine. I sat writhing in my chair as he spoke. 
 Every word had been torture. I felt the blood rush in volumes 
 to my head, and my temples throb almost to bursting; and 
 then, by a sudden revulsion, it was again thrown back upon my 
 heart, and lay a load upon my life-springs. But this subsided. 

 
 38 CYRIL THORXTOX. — CHAPTER VI. 
 
 What I had drunk, though far too little to disturb the serenity 
 of an older and sounder head, was yet enough to act as a strong 
 stimulus to a brain which, like mine, had scarcely recovered from 
 the effect of recent inflammation. I was spurred on to comply 
 with my uncle's wishes, by a strange and unnatural excitement; 
 and I narrated, with a shuddering and shrinking heart, the cir- 
 cumstances of the fatal story. I stood while I spoke. At first, 
 the wild energy of my manner seemed to strike him with sur- 
 prise, hut as my narrative approached the horrid catastrophe, 
 he, too, became overpowered by emotion ; and, starting from his 
 chair, came and clasped me in his arms — " Sae nae mair, Cyril 
 — for the love o' God, sae nae mair. — I ken, I see, I understand 
 a' noo." And he kissed my forehead; and. as I looked on him, 
 I saw the tears roll down the furrowed channels of his cheeks. 
 
 Scott and Wordsworth — both undoubtedly high authorities in 
 every thing connected with the human heart — agree that there 
 is something more than ordinarily moving in "the tears of 
 bearded men." It was perhaps fortunate, in the dangerous state 
 of excitement in which I then was, that those of my uncle con- 
 tributed in some degree to divert the current of my emotion. 
 
 " Ay," said he, observing my gaze fixed on him, "ye may see 
 Fm greetin'. I'll no deny't ; but it's no for him, it's for you" 
 And he once more pressed me in his arms. 
 
 " Poor Cyril ! it wants nae words to tell me how your life cam' 
 to be amaist despaired o'; yet blessed be Providence ye've been 
 sparet, and hae come safely through your awi'n' trials. Ye may 
 believe me," said be, wiping his eyes, " these are the first draps 
 that through a Lang life have wat my een. I have never kent 
 the blessing of a tear sin' my mither's death, and then I was just 
 saxteen year auld ; and I little thocht that ony thing could have 
 gart me greet in my auld age. 
 
 "Hut here's that born deevil, Girzy," said he, suddenly pars- 
 ing his handkerchief across hi- eyes, and perking bis face 
 instantly into its usual austere expression, " I wadna that she 
 fand me yammer in' this gate for a thousand pounds, — What, 
 in Satan's name, brings ye here, when there's naebody wants 
 ye?" said my nnele, with more than usual asperity; " I tell't 
 ye I would ring for tea when we wantit it- wasna that eneuchP 
 Hut ye maun aye lie interruplin' a' rational conversation, with 
 the sound of yer gab, and the sight o' yer ill-faured neb." 
 
 " Ye ken ye tell't me to mask the tea," responded Girzy, with 
 meekness, " and it's been ma-kit this hauf hour, and it's now 
 amaist cauld; sae I cam' to see gin ye hadna forgotten't a'the- 
 gither." 
 
 " Weel, tak' awa" the bowl, and bring't in; ony thing's better 
 than your deck."
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VI. 39 
 
 Girzy accordingly set to work in removing the punch-bowl 
 and its appliances, and replacing them with the tea-tray. She 
 soon showed, however, that her attention was not wholly engross- 
 ed by the operation in which she was engaged ; for after looking 
 for a moment at her master, she exclaimed — 
 
 " Lord preserve us, Mr Spreull, what's the matter wi' yer een? 
 — As I live by bread, they're as red as a boiled labster. Ye 
 surely canna hae gotten the opthalmy in them, that the Hie- 
 landers brought hame frae Egypt? Ye just look for a' the world 
 as if ye had been greetin'." 
 
 " It's a strange thing," rejoined her master, rather astounded at 
 this shot in the bull's-eye — " it's really an astonishing thing, 
 that a man caii/ja get a grain o' ause in his e'e, without its being 
 made matter o' /emark by an idle limmer like yoursei'. Me 
 greet, indeed! Fesh the tea ben, and let me hear nae mair o' 
 sic' nonsense." 
 
 The tea soon made its appearance, garnished with a plate of 
 "cookies," and a saucerful of Girzy' s own jam; and these being 
 all duly partaken of, I prepared to take my leave. 
 
 " Ye maun just wait awee," said my uncle, " I canna let you 
 gang hame, in a strange town, by yoursei'. — Girzy, send Jenny 
 to tell Sanders Macauslan to come here frae the office directly, 
 for he maun see Cyril safe hame to the College." 
 
 In vain did I protest that I knew the way perfectly, and would 
 infinitely prefer walking alone, to being placed under Sanders 
 Macauslan's protection. Entreaties and protestations were of 
 no avail; and I was obliged to submit. At length Sanders 
 arrived: but I found my annoyances did not end here. 
 
 " Yell just wrap this about yer craig," said Girzy, approach- 
 ing me with a huge old greasy-looking comforter in her hand, 
 and applying it officiously to my throat, and blocking up my 
 mouth with a triple entrenchment of woollen. 
 
 " And here's my big-coat," said Mr Spreull, seizing me at the 
 same moment by the arms, and pushing them successively into 
 the sleeves of an upper Benjamin, under the weight of which I 
 could scarcely move. 
 
 " The streets are wat the night," said Girzy, coming again to 
 the attack, " and ye'll no gang hame without my pattens." This 
 was too much; and finding my only hope of escape consisted in 
 flight, I watched my opportunity — bolted through the door with 
 all the rapidity which the weight of my accoutrements would 
 allow of — and, in spite of the oppression of my comforter and 
 upper Benjamin, reached the College in safety.
 
 40 CYRIL THORNTON - CIIAPTER VII. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ■ Here science rears 
 
 Her proud emblazon'd front on high, and here 
 By these time-darken'd pillars, and beneath 
 These reverend colonnades, in distant tim.'s, 
 Did sages Bend those words of wisdom forth, 
 Which circled all the echoes of the land, 
 And yet are in our ears. 
 
 The Principal, an Epic Poem. 
 
 A few weeks passed away ; and the courts of the College, 
 formerly deserted and silent, were instinct with life and bustle. 
 The session had now commenced, and nearly two thousand stu- 
 dents crowded its halls. These were principally the sons of 
 merchants and tradesmen of the city, and natives of the north of 
 Ireland, of the very lowest order of the people, who came generally 
 in a state of miserable destitution, to qualify themselves in the 
 speediest and cheapest manner for the functions of the ministry. 
 The leavening of English in this promiscuous assemblage was 
 comparatively small, and chiefly furnished by the dissenters, who 
 were compelled to seek, in the more liberal establishments of 
 Scotland, that access to knowledge and instruction, from which 
 they were legally excluded by the great seminaries of their native 
 land. There were also a few Englishmen of a higher class, who 
 were placed like myself under the more immediate guidance and 
 tuition of some particular professor, and in whose family they 
 were received as inmates. 
 
 Educated as I had been in comparative privacy and seclusion, 
 tin- scene in which I now mingled was naturally fraught with 
 powerful interest. I entered with ardour the new field of hon- 
 ourable contention that was opened to my exertions, and received 
 all the advantage which is invariably found to result from the 
 collision of youthful minds, and the successful excitement of 
 emulation. Learning now dropped the forbidding mask which 
 she had hitherto worn in my eyes, and appeared adorned in 
 graces which I had never imagined her to possess. In short, 1 
 entered, in jockey phrase, for all the Dniversity plates and sweep- 
 stakes for which 1 was qualified, and though generally not first 
 in the race, I always saved my distance, and was more than 
 repaid by the vigour of limb and elasticity of muscle which I 
 permanently acquired from my exertions, rww when unsuccess- 
 ful in the struggle. 
 
 I feel a melancholy pleasure in looking back on the eminent 
 persons who then shed a lustre on the Dniversity, and to whose 
 kindness and instruction 1 have been bo deeply indebted. .Many
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VTI. 41 
 
 years have passed, and they all, with one exception, sleep in the 
 grave. May I be pardoned if I venture to embody in these 
 Memoirs my own youthful impression of men, whose names have 
 at least outlived their generation, and whose memory is yet 
 warmly cherished in the hearts of thousands ? They are now 
 beyond the reach of praise or censure, but I would speak of them 
 only in a spirit of reverence and love. 
 
 Of Professor R I have already transiently spoken. He 
 
 was certainly a person of elegant accomplishments, and. as a 
 man of the world, stood unrivalled among his colleagues. It 
 must be a rare circumstance, that an obscure northern univer- 
 sity can number in its members, a person who like him was 
 qualified to shine in a more conspicuous, if not a higher sphere. 
 Of the depth of his learning it is not for me to speak ; but I 
 believe it was his ambition rather to be distinguished as a poet 
 and a polite writer than as a scholar — that he would have pre- 
 ferred the character of the Addison, to that of the Porson of his 
 age. Perhaps this bias of his inclinations proceeded from a 
 knowledge of his own powers, and he chose that walk in which 
 he was qualified to shine, in preference to one which he could 
 have pursued with little prospect of distinguished success. If 
 so, he did wisely. In the " Characters of Shakspeare's Plays," 
 he has left behind him a work which may serve as a model^ of 
 elegant and philosophical criticism, and which, notwithstanding 
 all that has since been written on the subject, still maintains its 
 place in our literature. In poetry he was less successful. What, 
 in the present day, can be said of a Rondeau on a rose, or an 
 Idyllium on a lady knitting ? He wrote a play, too, which, if I 
 remember rightly, was damned ; if not, it should have been so. 
 His mind was essentially unpoetical. He could not disembody 
 his spirit, and quicken with it the beings of a new creation. 
 His soul was chained to its tenement, and bore about it too 
 plainly the marks of scholarship and criticism. It was not the 
 soul of a poet, but of Professor R . 
 
 No person could have filled the chair of Humanity with greater 
 usefulness and success. His mind was thoroughly imbued with 
 the beauties of Roman literature ; and he was happy in the mode 
 of communicating his instruction : though it must be confessed, 
 that a gentleman distinguished, as he was, for the elegance and 
 refinement of his manners, was not the person best calculated 
 to maintain a constant subordination in the crowd of turbulent 
 
 and vulgar boys by whom he was surrounded. Mr R , I 
 
 think, was somewhat of a misogynist ; at all events he was not 
 partial to female society, and seldom mingled in it. He was a 
 bachelor; and there were rumours afloat among the students, 
 of an attachment to a Russian princess, when he resided at
 
 42 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Petersburg!] with Lord , which was believed to have occa- 
 sioned the celibacy of his future life. 
 
 In large and mixed society he was perhaps a little formal and 
 precise. It may be that he disliked the general tone of society 
 in Glasgow, and it probably was so. But of a small and select 
 circle he was the life and the ornament. I look back with plea- 
 sure and gratitude to those hours of familiar intercourse which 
 I enjoyed as an inmate of his family, when, vailing the high 
 claims of his age and character, he appeared only as the com- 
 panion and the friend. 
 
 The Greek chair was filled by Professor Y . lie it was 
 
 who made the strongest and most vivid impression on my youth- 
 ful mind, and it is his image which is still imprinted there, the 
 most deeply and ineffaceably. That he was a profound and 
 elegant scholar, I believe has never been denied. No master 
 ever ruled with more despotic sway the minds of his pupils. 
 None ever possessed the art of communicating his knowledge so 
 beautifully and gracefully — of transfusing the glowing enthu- 
 siasm of his own mind into that of his audience. Over every 
 subject to which his great powers were devoted did he cast a 
 mantle of grace. From him a dissertation on the Digamma, or 
 adreek particle, became instinct with interest. His mind was 
 the real philosopher's stone : it transmuted all baser metals into 
 gold. I cannot analyze his character, and examine its separate 
 elements. lie appears to me only one grand and majestic whole, 
 and as such only can I consider him. The admiration which 
 he inspired in my youth, still remains undiminished; it enters 
 vitally into my idiosyncrasy: it is part and parcel of me, and 
 must remain with me till I die. Nothing could be more capti- 
 vating than the eloquence with which he treated of the liberty, 
 the literature, and the glory of ancient Greece, while tears of 
 enthusiasm rolled down his cheeks. He was naturally a great 
 and effective orator ; and, had his powers been called into action 
 in a different field, he might have added something to our scanty 
 and imperfect records of national eloquence. It has always 
 seemed to me that his mind bore some resemblance to that of 
 Burke. It possessed, I think, though perhaps in a smaller 
 degree, the same vivid and creative power, and delighted in the 
 same prodigal diffusion of intellectual riches. Like Burke, too, 
 
 he f'"lt all the influence of the spells he cast on others, and his 
 own heart trembled at the images of dread or beauty which he 
 conjured up from the depths of his imagination. 
 
 Professor Y was scarcely known as an author. I believe 
 
 he published nothing hut a translation of the Odes of Tyrta-us, 
 and a Continuation of .Johnson's Criticism on Gray, ajeu-d'esprU 
 rather too voluminous to be very happy.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VII. 43 
 
 This is probably not exactly the portrait I should have drawn 
 of this eminent person had I known him in maturer years, and 
 been capable of exercising a cooler and more discriminating 
 judgment on his character ; but such is the impression he left 
 on me, and that impression is indelible. 
 
 Under Professor J I was initiated in the more simple and 
 
 elementary principles of metaphysics ; and the year in which I 
 became bis pupil, I have ever looked back upon as the greatest 
 
 intellectual era of my life. Until Mr J assumed the Chair 
 
 of Logic, I believe the studies of the class had been exclusively 
 devoted to the acquisition of. the Aristotelian philosophy, a 
 branch of knowledge not in itself very generally useful, and in 
 the mode of teaching it not fraught with any peculiar advantage 
 
 to the student. Of all men, Professor J is perhaps most 
 
 entitled to be called a radical reformer. He saw at a glance 
 the deficiency of the system which till then had existed. He 
 knew that the means were every thing, and the end compara- 
 tively nothing ; that it was little to acquire a knowledge of the 
 philosophy of Aristotle, but all in all to bring into full action 
 and development, the dormant faculties of youthful minds. He 
 did not hesitate, therefore, at once to overthrow the whole system 
 followed by his predecessors, and to introduce a course of study 
 in its place, marked throughout by practical good sense, and an 
 extensive and thorough knowledge of the human mind. No suc- 
 cess was ever more brilliant and decided ; and I believe I may 
 safely say, that the Logic Class is now admitted by all who have, 
 like myself, experienced its benefit, to be paramount in import- 
 ance to every other in the circle of academical study. 
 
 Professor J , I believe, has outlived his contemporaries, 
 
 and still survives. Like the last oak of the forest, he stands the 
 sole relic of a generation which has passed away. He too is soon 
 destined to fall, but surely not unhonoured. 
 
 It was no common advantage to enjoy the instruction of per- 
 sons so distinguished as those I have already mentioned. But 
 my hours were not wholly devoted to study. 
 
 A young Englishman, however moderately graced with the 
 advantages of birth or fortune, is always an object of attraction 
 to the circles of Glasgow. But when, as in my case, he united 
 the character of being heir-apparent to a fine English estate, to 
 that of being heir-presumptive to a rich old uncle, it was not 
 likely that he should be suffered to languish in obscurity. It 
 was therefore not long that I was destined to " waste my frag- 
 rance on the desert air." I soon rose into request among civic 
 dignitaries and mercantile magnates. All mothers with mar- 
 riageable daughters courted my society. It is true, in Glasgow, 
 morning visits are neither fashionable nor convenient, and these
 
 44 CYRIL THORNTON*. CHATTER VII. 
 
 Professor R informed me I must not look to have. But the 
 
 gentlemen generally sent their cards by their office porters, along 
 with the invitations of their ladies, and I was not at that time 
 disposed to attach much importance to points of punctilio. One 
 visit, however, does occur to my memory. 
 
 I was busily engaged one morning in writing in my own apart- 
 ment, when the door was opened, and my servant announced 
 " Mr Archibald Shortridge, junior." I looked up from my paper, 
 and beheld a young gentleman enter, with his hat in one hand, 
 and the other thrust into his breeches-pocket. He was dressed 
 in leather breeches and jockey-boots, a checked cotton neckcloth, 
 and a short green jacket. A priori, he displayed a prodigious 
 number of gaudy under-waistcoats, and a ponderous bunch of 
 seals depended from what looked like part of a jack-chain, con- 
 verted info gold by some chance touch of the philosopher's stone. 
 A posteriori, he was adorned by the protrusion from his pocket 
 of a Belcher handkerchief, which dangled in graceful negligence 
 to his knee, thus affording relief to what he probably considered 
 the comparative tameness of his personal scenery in that quarter. 
 
 This imposing personage entered with an air of swagger, and 
 making me an awkward bow, jerked himself into a chair with 
 what w : as evidently intended to pass for elegant nonchalance. It 
 was apparent, however, that the booby laboured under con- 
 siderable embarrassment in having to address a stranger; and 
 it was not until he had crossed and uncrossed his legs several 
 times, adjusted his neckcloth, and run his fingers through his 
 hair, that he gave any articulate signals of his presence. At 
 length, however, he did so. After a few preliminary observa- 
 tions on the weather, he informed me that the object of his visit 
 was to present an invitation to dinner for the Friday following; 
 and stated, that his father would have had the pleasure of call- 
 ing on me, had his time not been entirely engrossed by his 
 numerous official duties. To these civilities I made an answer 
 as polite as the occasion required, and. in a few minutes, it was 
 evident enough that the evanescent bashfulness of my visiter 
 had entirely disappeared. He sat picking his teeth, lolled in a 
 negligent attitude in his chair, and occasionally diversified the 
 charms of his conversation by spitting on the floor. He first 
 talked of College rind the Professors, bespattering them all wiih 
 his vulgar abuse; and then changing hi^ topic to my uncle — 
 
 "Have you seen Mr Spreull lately?" he proceeded; '•you 
 found lii in a queer chap, I take it — a crabbit auld chiel'?" 
 
 " Perhaps you are not aware, Mr Shortridge, that the person 
 you speak of is my uncle." 
 
 u ()h, I'm perfectly aware o't; and I wish 1 had just such 
 another. Hut he's a rough diamond, as we used to say in .Alan-
 
 CYRIL THORNTOX. CHAPTER VII. 45 
 
 Chester, when I was there in Lees, Cheatham, and Company's 
 counting-house, and he's better kent here by the name of Auld 
 Girnegogibby than by his own. What lots of cash he has, to 
 be sure ! Do you know Peter MacCormic tells me, he has never 
 less than thirty thousand pounds lying in Robin Carrick's bank. 
 By Jupiter, I wish I had his name at the tail of a ten-shilling 
 stamp." 
 
 I was now thoroughly disgusted with my visiter, and I think 
 it probable my countenance gave some intelligence of the cha- 
 racter of my feelings ; if so, it was, or appeared to be, un- 
 noticed. 
 
 " The Provost and he are hand and glove, but he never visits 
 at our house now ; and, what's devilish odd, the very sight of 
 me puts him in a passion. To be sure I quiz him a little now 
 and then ; but he's slow at a joke, and I dare say never found 
 that out. I offered to dine with him about three months ago, on 
 a day my father was engaged to him, but all the answer I got 
 was, that when he wanted my company he would ask it. He's 
 got a capital cellar of wine too, I'm told, and has some fine 
 Grenada rum that's been about seventy years in bottle." 
 
 I had become so tired of this style of conversation, that, in 
 order to communicate my feelings in what I thought the least 
 offensive way, I took up the pen that lay before me on the table, 
 and gave evident signs of a desire to resume my occupation. 
 
 " Oh, I see you're busy, so Til not interrupt you," at length 
 said my companion, taking the hint and rising to depart ; " but 
 don't forget next Friday at five, and Til take care to warn some 
 capital fallows to meet you, just to give you a spunk of the way 
 we carry on the war in Glasgow." And so saying, with an air 
 of perfect self-complacency, Mr Archibald Shortridge, junior, 
 took his departure. 
 
 This dapper and facetious personage was no other, as the 
 reader has of course discovered, than the son and heir-apparent 
 of the Lord Provost of Glasgow, or, as it is more commonly 
 designated in the west of Scotland, " the second city of the 
 Empire." The invitation was of course accepted ; but the din- 
 ner of so distinguished a civic dignitary deserves a new chapter 
 i — and it shall have one.
 
 46 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Thi- dinner is on tlic table : my father desires your worship's company. 
 
 Merry Wives uf Windsor. 
 
 Give me a good dinner, and an appetite to eat it, and I will be happier than 
 tin' mightiest potentate whiih this world can produce, surrounded by bis satel- 
 lites, and rioting in the indulgence of immeasurable power. Satisfied in this 
 respect, I should pass my time in unalloyed happiness, und pity those whom fate 
 had excluded from a similar enjoyment, as the victims of chance, and the slaves 
 Of misery. — Dr Joumsoa. 
 
 On the day, and precisely at the hour indicated, I was at the 
 door of the Lord Provost. His house was situated in a small 
 square, of a sombre and dreary aspect, the centre of which, 
 instead of being as usual laid out in walks and shrubbery, was, 
 with true mercantile sagacity, appropriated to the more profitable 
 purpose of grazing a lew smoky and dirty-looking sheep. It 
 was certainly not pleasant to approach the house of feasting 
 amid the plaintive bleatings of these miserable starvelings ; but 
 there was no time to be sentimental, and, bke the Lady Raus- 
 siere, I passed on. 
 
 On being admitted into the hall, I was received by two ser- 
 vants in the Royal livery, a circumstance of magnificence for 
 which I was certainly not prepared. The truth was, as I have 
 since discovered, that a male domestic formed no part of the 
 ordinary establishment of the Lord Provost; and these were a 
 couple of the City Guard, or, as they were more generally called, 
 " Town's Otiicers," admitted pro loco et tempore to assume the 
 functions of livery servants. I was in the act of divesting my- 
 self of my hat and great-coat, when I heard the following ques- 
 tion put in a bawling voice from the landing-place of the stair 
 above. 
 
 " Hector, what ca' ye him ?" 
 
 " 1 ettle he's a young Englishman frae the College," answered 
 Hector. 
 
 " I carena' where he's frae," returned the other, "but I want 
 his name. Didna I tell liaith you and Duncan to cry oot a' the 
 Dames tome, that they may be properly annoonced ?" 
 
 Hector lost no time in rectifying his mistake; and I speedily 
 
 heard my name reverberated ill B voice like thunder through 
 every corner of the mansion. The person from whose lungs 
 
 this immense volume of Bound proceeded, was a large stout man, 
 
 with a head like a bull's, and a huge earhunclcd nose. His 
 
 dre66 bespoke him to belong to the Bame corps with his brethren
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VIII. 47 
 
 below, and he was in fact no other than the person who officiated 
 as town-crier, commonly known by the familiar sobriquet of 
 Bell Geordy. His duty of announcing the guests being some- 
 what analogous to his usual avocation, he appeared to discharge 
 it con amove, and proclaimed every successive arrival in the 
 same monotonous and stentorian tones, in which he was accus- 
 tomed to give public intimation of the arrival of a cargo of 
 fresh herrings at the Broomielaw. Bell Geordy, too, was a wit, 
 and did not scruple occasionally to subjoin, in an under tone, 
 some jocular remark on the character or person of the guests as 
 he announced them. 
 
 The drawing-room into which I was ushered, was evidently 
 an apartment not usually inhabited by the family, but kept for 
 occasions of display. The furniture it contained was scanty, 
 but gaudy ; the chairs were arranged in formal order against the 
 walls ; and there were flower-stands in the windows, displaying 
 some half-dozen scraggy myrtles, and geraniums, with leaves 
 approaching to the colour of mahogany. The room was cold ; 
 for the fire, which had evidently been only recently lighted, sent 
 up volumes of smoke, but no flame ; and when I looked on it, I 
 remembered to have passed a dirty maid-servant on the stair, 
 with the kitchen bellows in her hand. On my entrance, I found 
 I was the first of the party ; and, before the attention of the 
 reader is distracted by the arrival of fresh guests, it may be as 
 well to seize the present opportunity of introducing him to the 
 Lord Provost and his family. 
 
 His lordship was a little squab man, with a highly-powdered 
 head and a pigtail, and an air somewhat strutty and conse- 
 quential. His visage was a little disfigured by the protrusion 
 of an enormous buck-tooth, which, whenever his countenance 
 was wreathed into a smile, overshadowed a considerable portion 
 of his under lip. One of his legs, too, was somewhat shorter than 
 the other, which, when he walked, occasioned rather a ludicrous 
 jerking of the body, and did by no means contribute to that air 
 of graceful dignity which he was evidently desirous of infusing 
 into all his motions. He was dressed in a complete suit of black 
 velvet, and bore conspicuously on his breast the insignia of his 
 civic supremacy. 
 
 His lady was a stiff and raw-boned looking matron, hard in 
 feature, and somewhat marked by the small-pox. She wore a 
 yellow silk gown, adorned in front with a Scotch pebble brooch, 
 about the size of a cheese-plate, and on her head a green turban, 
 from which depended on one side a plume of black ostrich 
 feathers. The two daughters, Miss Jacky and Miss Lexy, dis- 
 played their young and budding charms by the side of the parent 
 flower. Neither had the smallest pretensions to good looks ; but
 
 48 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 of their character, nothing immediately betrayed itself to the 
 spectator, beyond a certain air of self-complacency, with which 
 they occasionally regarded their pink dresses. 
 
 There, too, was Mr Archibald Shortridge, junior, with his 
 carroty head, and his great red ears, his mouth perked up as if 
 about to whistle, and his mutton-fists in his breeches-pockets, 
 straddling before the fire, with the tails of his coat below his 
 arms, to prevent all possible obstruction to the radiation of the 
 heat. I was welcomed by his lordship with an air of dignified 
 hospitality, saluted with a nod by his son, introduced to, and 
 benignantly received, by the Lady Provost and the young ladies. 
 
 The sound of the door-bell now became more frequent, and 
 Bell Geordy's powers were called into full and active employ- 
 ment. I shall venture, even at the risk of being considered a 
 romancer, (a character which more than any other I despise,) to 
 give a specimen or two of the facetious manner in which this 
 functionary discharged the duties of his office. As thus : — 
 Door-bell rings — drawing-room door opens — Bell Geordy, in a 
 loud, slow, and sonorous voice, " Doctor Struthers." In a low 
 and suppressed key, " llech, but he's a puir stick in the poopit." 
 Again: — Preparation as before. Bell Geordy — "Miss Mysie 
 Yule." In a lower tone, " She's right aneuch to come here, for 
 Fm thinkin' there's no muckle gaun at hame." Forte — "Major 
 Aundrew Macguffin." Piano — " WT the happety-leg. — Maister 
 Samuel Walkinshaw. I'se warrant he'll carry awa' awamefu'." 
 
 In vain did the Lord Provost, whose ear these unseemly com- 
 ments occasionally reached, express his disapprobation of the 
 indecorum, and authoritatively direct him to confine his speech 
 to the mere annunciation of names. Bell Geordy's wit was not 
 thus to be trammelled, especially when he observed it generally 
 followed by a grin and titter through the assembly. Every body. 
 indeed, appeared to enjoy those jukes which were cut at their 
 neighbours' expense, without reflecting thai their own appear- 
 ance had probably given rise to similar witticisms. 
 
 At length the company were all assembled, and dinner, after 
 
 a dreary interval of expectation, announced. The ladies, in 
 solemn dignity, led the way, singly and unescorted by the 
 gentlemen. I observed Borne little scuffling among the dowagers 
 about precedence, and occasionally a poke <>f the elbow given 
 
 and returned with interest; and my ear sometimes caught a 
 contemptuous snorting, like that of a frightened horse, which 
 
 proceeded from some of those ladies who, defrauded by their 
 
 more active competitors of what I hey considered their proper 
 place in the cortege, were compelled unwillingly to figure in the 
 rear. 
 
 The sight of the dinner-table, however, and the savour of the
 
 CYRIL THOHNTON. — CHAPTER Vin. 49 
 
 steaming viands, had a soothing effect in calming, for the nonce, 
 all effervescences of temper, and restoring mental equanimity to 
 the ruffled matrons. The dinner, if not elegant, was plentiful. 
 Corned beef and greens at the top ; roast sirloin at the bot- 
 tom ; ham and boiled mutton, vis a vis, at the sides ; and goose 
 and turkey at the opposing corners. Dr Struthers said grace ; 
 and the worthy divine's solicitations for a blessing were no 
 sooner concluded, than the guests, with one accord, cried havoc, 
 and commenced the work of destruction. 
 
 During the first ten minutes of the entertainment, the ener- 
 gies of the party, as if by common consent, were devoted to 
 mastication. But partial repletion by degrees blunted the edge 
 of hunger ; and voracity was at length reduced to appetite. 
 Conversation commenced, and jocular remarks were heard and 
 laughed at in the intervals of eating. I had the honour of 
 sitting next Miss Jacky Shortridge, who, having spent a year at 
 Mrs Blenkinsop's seminary for young ladies, at Doncaster, con- 
 sidered herself quite au fait in the manners of the best society 
 in England. She expressed her regret, that those of her native 
 city were deficient in that polish and elegance indispensable to a 
 person of refined tastes and EngUsh education; that so few 
 families in Glasgow kept carriages; that the theatre was so 
 badly attended; and expressed strong hopes that "Pa" would 
 allow her to spend next winter with her aunt, married to a corn- 
 factor in Leith, who, of course, could introduce her to the first 
 society in Edinburgh. The language of the Glasgow people she 
 considered quite shocking to any person who had spent a year 
 at Doncaster, and acquired the true attic pronunciation incul- 
 cated in Mrs Blenkinsop's academy. 
 
 My attention, however, was soon diverted from my fair neigh- 
 bour to a fat and jelly-looking person at the upper end of the 
 table, who, from the comic twinkle of his eye, and a certain 
 buffoonery of manner, I concluded to be a sort of privileged 
 joker and a wit. His good things, of whatever character they 
 might be, were proved by the expectation that sat on the coun- 
 tenances of those around him, and the guffaws by which they 
 were followed, to be well adapted to the taste of his audience. 
 Deglutition paused whenever this merry and obese personage 
 gave symptoms of being pregnant with a joke; and an elderly 
 lady, who, relying on her age and constitutional gravity, ven- 
 tured to neglect this precaution, paid the penalty of her rashness 
 in being nearly choked while in the act of swallowing, from the 
 sudden and uncontrollable laughter into which she was thrown 
 by an unexpected explosion of his wit. 
 
 On the right of the Provost, sat a person who seemed to divide 
 the admiration of the company with the " stout gentleman" at 
 
 i>
 
 50 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 the other end of the table. His walk indeed was different. He 
 did not attempt those broad and trenchant witticisms, in which 
 lay the principal strength of his rival, but confined himself to 
 story-telling, a department in which he shone without a com- 
 petitor. In the narratives themselves I found little interest and 
 no point, and had they been told by a less skilful narrator, they 
 would probably, even in Glasgow, have been considered flat and 
 insipid. The principal charm of the performance appeared to 
 consist in the invincible gravity with which incidents, at once 
 coarse and trivial, were detailed, and the unrelaxed solemnity of 
 visage maintained by the speaker, while laughter, loud and 
 vehement, shook the sides of his auditors. To me all this was 
 new, and I listened with curiosity, though not yet neophyte 
 enough to participate in the enjoyment which it evidently diffu- 
 sed among the rest of the company. 
 
 The dinner was not, as is usual with such entertainments, served 
 up in a succession of courses, and was without any of those little 
 agremens which the middle classes in England consider neces- 
 sary to their comfort. Sweets and solids simultaneously gar- 
 nished and loaded the board, and, when removed, were succeeded 
 by the wine and the dessert. 
 
 The gentlemen now began to show evident symptoms of an- 
 xiety for the departure of the ladies, who, on their part, appeared 
 by no means disposed to afford them the gratification they 
 desired. In vain did the Lord Provost recur to the facetious 
 expedient of drinking the health of the ladies in the character 
 of "the outward bound," and indicate his wishes by significant 
 winks to his better half. The ladies openly expressed their 
 intention of awaiting the introduction of the punch-bowl, and 
 partaking of its contents; and they were at length only driven 
 from their stronghold by some coarse and indelicate jokes of 
 Mr Mucklewham (the fat personage already mentioned), which 
 indicated only too plainly the prudence and propriety of an 
 immediate retreat. 
 
 The ladies were no sooner gone than Hell Geordie made his 
 appearance, bearing a bowl of extraordinary dimensions, which 
 he deposited on the table. Lemons, sugar, limes, rum from 
 Jamaica and the Leeward [slands, soon followed, and expecta- 
 tion sat on every brow. It was not a matter of easj arrangement 
 by whom these ingredients were to be mingled. The Lord Pro- 
 vost .called on Mr Walkinshaw, but Mr Walkinshaw could not 
 think of officiating in presence of so superior an artist as Mr 
 Mucklewham. Mr Mucklewham modestly yielded the pas to 
 Major Macguffin ; Major Macguflin begged to decline in Favour 
 of Mr Pollock; -Mr Pollock in favour of Dr Struthers; and Dr 
 Slrutlicrs once more pushed the bowl to Mr Mucklewham, who,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER VIH. 51 
 
 after many bashful excuses, was at length prevailed on to " handle 
 the china." 
 
 I have already noticed the solemnity and entire absorption of 
 mind with which this portion of the Bacchanalian rites is uni- 
 formly celebrated in Glasgow, but it was now for the first time 
 that I became witness of the fact. When the beverage had been 
 duly concocted, at least half an hour passed, during which the 
 merits of the punch formed the sole topic of conversation in the 
 party. On this subject, even the most taciturn and obtuse mem- 
 bers of the company waxed eloquent. Whether the liquor was 
 too strong or too sweet, whether it would be improved by another 
 " squeeze of a yellow," or an additional lump of sugar, became 
 topics of animated and interesting debate, in which all but my- 
 self took part. 
 
 Every improvement which human ingenuity could devise with 
 regard to the punch, having been at length suggested, the busi- 
 ness of drinking commenced in good earnest, each replenishing 
 of the glasses being prefaced by a loyal or patriotic toast by the 
 Lord Provost. The King, the Queen, the Prince of Wales, 
 " the Trade of Clyde," having been drunk in bumpers, the cur- 
 rent of conversation was gradually diverted into other channels. 
 They were channels, however, in which the bark of my under- 
 standing was little calculated to swim. The state of the markets, 
 the demand for ginghams, brown sugar, cotton, logwood, and 
 tobacco, were matters on which my interest was precisely equal 
 to my knowledge. There were jokes, it is true, and, judging 
 from their effect, good ones ; but they were so entirely local, 
 and bore a reference so exclusive to people of whom I knew 
 nothing, and manners of which I really desired to know nothing 
 more, that I found some difficulty in contributing the expected 
 quota of laughter to the general chorus of my more hilarious 
 companions. My situation, indeed, was tiresome enough, but 
 I endured it for an hour or two before I quitted the party, then 
 waxing deep in their cups, and joined the ladies in the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 On my entrance there, it was pretty evident that I was con- 
 sidered an unwelcome intruder. The female guests were gone, 
 and the Lady Provost had, in the assurance that none of the 
 gentlemen would be tempted to forsake the charms of punch for 
 those of coffee and female society, divested her head of its former 
 splendid garniture, and substituted a cap of very homely preten- 
 sions in its room. Miss Jacky was seated in front of the fire 
 with her feet on the fender, apparently half asleep ; and Lexy was 
 busily engaged in repairing a garment, which, on my entrance, 
 was hastily thrust under a chair, and obscured as much as pos- 
 sible from observation. The appearance of a gentleman in the
 
 52 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 drawing-room was indeed a novelty, and, under the circum- 
 stances, not a very pleasing one. After partaking, therefore, of 
 a dish of cold tea, and exerting myself for some time to keep 
 up a languid conversation, I wished the ladies good-night, and 
 departed. 
 
 As I re-trod my way to the College, I reflected on the novel 
 scene and characters I had just quitted ; and when my head was 
 on my pillow, the contrast rose strongly between that society in 
 which I had recently mingled, and the calm and quite elegance 
 of my beloved home. In my dreams that night I returned to 
 Thornhill. My mother came forth to embrace me, with love 
 beaming from her pale countenance ; and even the welcome of 
 my father was kind. There, too, was Jane, with her dovelike 
 eyes, and little Lucy, than whom 
 
 No dolphin ever was more gay, 
 Upon the tropic sea, 
 
 as, with beating heart and glowing cheeks, she ran to cast her- 
 self into my arms. 
 
 Such were the visions of the night ; they were broken only 
 by the sound of the College bell, which recalled me unwillingly 
 to the more material world in which I was destined to move. 
 After dressing by the cold hazy twilight of a winters morning, 
 I hurried across the College courts, more than ankle deep in 
 snow, to my class. I was too late. Prayers were over, and the 
 lecture had begun. The Professor lowered his huge eyebrows 
 on me as I entered ; and in a moment all my pleasing dreams 
 were forgotten. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Wine. And what's this Delaval I 
 
 Wife. My apprehension 
 
 ('.•in give him no more true expression, 
 
 Than that he'flrsi appears a gentleman, 
 
 AikI well condition' d. 
 
 English Traveller. 
 
 At breakfast Professor R appeared curious to know what 
 
 impression had been made on me by the society into which, on 
 the dayprevioufl, I had for the first time been introduced, lie 
 laughed at the description I gave of it, but said it was perhaps 
 scarcely fair to judge entirely of the society of Glasgow by the spe- 
 cimen I had already seen. " In this city," he said, u there are two
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER IX. 53 
 
 circles. Of the one, which includes the great majority of the 
 mercantile and manufacturing aristocracy, I need say nothing, 
 since you are already, from actual observation, tolerably quali- 
 fied to judge for yourself. But there is another and smaller 
 circle, to which you have not yet been introduced. It consists 
 principally of those who have united a taste for literature with 
 the pursuits of business, and have not merged all the higher 
 powers of a rational being in the manufacture of muslins or the 
 importation of tobacco. The individuals of whom this circle is 
 composed, are of course comparatively few, and, like their neigh- 
 bours, are not untinged with some ludicrous peculiarities. These 
 are fair game, and may be laughed at ; yet you will find that, in 
 many essential points, they rise superior to the general body of 
 society by which they are surrounded. It is in this circle alone 
 that the professors of the university ever mingle ; and though 
 not much in the habit of frequenting it myself, I will take care, 
 if your curiosity is not yet satiated, to procure you an intro- 
 duction." 
 
 I thanked the Professor for his offer, and accepted it; nor did 
 I neglect, during my residence in Glasgow, frequently to take 
 advantage of the introduction he was good enough to afford. 
 
 Nothing, I think, tends more to open the understanding, and 
 enlarge the mind, of a young man just entering on life, than an 
 opportunity of observing the manners, and tracing the prevail- 
 ing current of thought in classes of society different from his 
 own. In this will be found the most efficacious antidote to that 
 narrow bigotry, and those exclusive modes of thinking, which 
 seldom fail eventually to impair the understanding, by circum- 
 scribing its exercise and expansion. Of minds originally endowed 
 with equal strength, his will be found best prepared to take a 
 useful share in the businesss of the world of whom it can be 
 said, that 
 
 Mores hominuin multorum vidit et urbes. 
 
 But I would speak only of myself, and I know of no more use- 
 ful branch of education to which I have been indebted, than that 
 which I studied at the supper parties and coteries of the Glas- 
 gow dowagers. 
 
 The only companion with whom at this period my intercourse 
 at all approached to intimacy, was Charles Conyers, who, like 
 myself, was an inmate in the family of one of the Professors. 
 He was a young Irishman, whom the death of his parents hfd 
 freed, at an early age, from all moral control and guidance, and 
 who had grown up from infancy to the verge of manhood, in the 
 almost unlimited indulgence of every caprice. His guardians 
 considered it their duty to protect his fortune, not to form his
 
 54 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER IX. 
 
 character, and suffered their ward to plunge into premature dissi- 
 pation, it' not without remonstrance, at least without any effectual 
 restraint. 
 
 It was, in truth, only owing to his own naturally generous 
 disposition, that Charles Conyers had not become entirely a 
 profligate. His very boyhood had been sullied by the preco- 
 cious adoption of the vices of maturer age ; and he had attained 
 a proficiency in loose and dissolute acquirement, apparently 
 inconsistent with his years. With all this, however, he had not, 
 as might have been expected, grown up into a cold and heartless 
 rake. Far from it. lie possessed all the elements of a fine and 
 noble character; and he displayed, when circumstances called 
 it forth, a warmth and tenderness of feeling certainly incom- 
 patible with innate depravity of heart. To me he particularly 
 attached himself; and there was a charm in the openness and 
 gayety of his disposition, which I found it impossible to resist. 
 He was the very soul of whim and frolic, and possessed in per- 
 fection that peculiar humour and vivacity indigenous to the 
 Emerald Isle. 
 
 It is probable that, under other circumstances, this intimacy 
 might have been attended by bad consequences. In Glasgow it 
 was not so. Both Conyers and myself were framed of very duc- 
 tile materials ; and if our intercourse occasionally involved me 
 in scrapes, and led me into situations certainly of very doubtful 
 propriety, my influence with him was at least sufficient to pre- 
 vent his lapsing into any of those grosser excesses, which he 
 knew I could not but regard with disgust. 
 
 It is perhaps an advantage to Glasgow, as a seminary of 
 education, that it affords none of the appliances of elegant 
 dissipation. No where else does Yiee meet the eye so perfectly 
 denuded of those external decorations with which Refinement 
 too often succeeds in hiding her deformity. She there appears 
 not as a young and captivating female, rich in guilty and seduc- 
 tive blandishments, but as a haggard and disgusting beldam. 
 
 To be dissipated in Glasgow, one must cease to be a gentleman. 
 He must at once throw off all the delicacy with which nature or 
 education lias invested him. and become familiar v. ith the squalid 
 haunts of low and Loathsome debauchery. Youth cannot do 
 this. At that age even the visions of sensual enjoyment are 
 mingled and connected with high intellectual excitement. In 
 the very strength and ardour of Ids passions, there is safety. 
 1 lc contemplates the plow bag pictures of love and beauty, which 
 
 teem in lii- imagination; and he is guarded as with a .sevenfold 
 shield from the assaults of gTOSS and vulgar pollution. 
 
 In Glasgow, therefore, young and inexperienced as I was, my 
 intimacy with Conyers had no tendency to produce au injurious
 
 CYRIX THORNTON. CHAPTER IX. 55 
 
 effect on my character. To hiin, perhaps, it -was of some bene- 
 fit ; for my principles, if not strong, were unshaken ; and though 
 I loved him, I was not blind to his errors. 
 
 Conyers was destined for the army, and spoke with enthu- 
 siasm of his prospects. In the passion for a military life, our 
 hearts beat in unison. The sleeping embers within me were 
 once more fanned into a flame, which burned even more fiercely 
 than before. I was again agitated by doubts and apprehensions 
 lest the wish nearest to ray heart might meet the opposition of 
 my father. It is true, he had formerly given his consent that 
 I should become a soldier ; but a sad change of circumstances 
 had since taken place, and I was now an only son. It was possi- 
 ble— nay probable, I thought — that my father's sentiments might 
 have altered with regard to my future destination ; and most 
 fervently did I deprecate this, the only contingent misfortune 
 which appeared in my imagination to cast a shadow on my 
 prospects. 
 
 The father of Conyers was an officer of rank, who had served 
 with distinction in the American war; and I listened with 
 intense interest to the narratives of broil and battle with which 
 he had been wont to amuse the childhood of his son. He told 
 me tales of Washington, of Burgoyne, and of Cornwallis — of 
 ambuscades in the passes of the deep, eternal forests, and of the 
 destruction of gallant armies by enemies whom they could not 
 see, and consequently could not resist. — And then Wolfe and 
 the siege of Quebec! What would I not have given to have 
 stood but for a brief space, sword-girt by his side, on the 
 red heights of Abram ! He spoke, too, of Minden and its field 
 of glory, where the pride of France was humbled, and her 
 banners trodden in the dust; till the battle rose before me, and 
 I saw the dragoons charge on with harquebuss and gleaming 
 sabre over the dying and the dead. 
 
 " Down with the Fleurs de Lis, and wave the banner of St 
 George! Bravo the Green Horse! The Enniskillings are 
 charging on through the morass on the right — God prosper 
 them ! — There go the gallant Evelyn's brigade ! — The enemy 
 wavers ! — Charge home, in the name of Old England ! — Now 
 the Guards take them on the left flank ! — Hurrah ! the field is 
 our own, and a sun of glory that shall never set, is gleaming on 
 the arms of my country ! " 
 
 It is with a smile on my lips, yet with something of melan- 
 choly in my heart, that I recall these sallies of strong though 
 boyish enthusiasm. The glow of feeling which produced them 
 soon faded, and is long since gone. It comes but in the spring 
 of life — and never lingers long. 
 
 In tliis manner was it, that the communion of our hopes and
 
 5G CYRIL THORNTON. — CHArTJER X. 
 
 wishes added mutually to their intensity. Towards one point 
 did all the aspirations of my spirit converge. In one absorbing 
 desire were garnered all my powers and energies ; and, opposed 
 to this, I felt that even filial duty and obedience would be but as 
 dust in the balance. God might change my purpose — man 
 could not shake it. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Broken. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? 
 
 Clarence. Oh, I have spent a miserable night, 
 So full of ugly sight;-, and ghastly dreams, 
 So full of dismal terror, was tho time. 
 
 Iiichard III. 
 
 Neither my studies nor amusements, in whatever degree I 
 was engrossed by them, had the effect of rendering me less 
 attentive to my uncle. As our intercourse became more inti- 
 mate and frequent, I was enabled to penetrate the rough husk. 
 of his character, and discover many estimable and even amiable 
 qualities, for which the world had never given him credit. It 
 was owing to the circumstances in which he had been placed, 
 that the better feelings of his nature had remained dormant, 
 while its lower and baser principles had been called into habitual 
 exercise. 
 
 David Sprcull had entered life penniless and friendless. lie 
 had been left to jostle his way through a crowd of scheming and 
 designing men, ever prompt to betray the unwary, and turn 
 their neighbour's weakness to advantage. Trade, when com- 
 bined with poverty, narrows the heart, while it sharpens the 
 understanding. It had this effect upon my uncle. To contend 
 with such rivals as I have described, it was perhaps necessary to 
 adopt their weapons; hut (lie deeper energies Of his character 
 had led him further. In all the arts of money-making, he had 
 overtopped his instructors; and, though rigid in his adherence 
 to the established code of mercantile morality, had left no means 
 of acquisition unemployed, in advancing the one great object of 
 his life. Among those around him, he had the character of 
 
 being sharp in trade ; that is, one w ho considers all advantages 
 
 fair in a bargain, and who is know n to be as incapable of defraud- 
 ing a creditor, as of forgiving a debtor. All his successes had 
 
 been the produce of cold, dispassionate calculation, of deeper 
 forecast than was possessed by those around him, and of a steady
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER X. 57 
 
 and undeviating adherence to the course prescribed by his own 
 interest, wherever it might lead. Cut off, too, from his family 
 and relations, by distance on the one hand, and unkindness on 
 the other, his heart had no object which might fill the void of 
 its affections. Unconsciously, perhaps, he had long sought for 
 something to love, but he had not found it; and the warm feel- 
 ings thus repulsed from without, remained only in a state of 
 deeper concentration within. 
 
 Thus had his heart become soured ; and all nobler and better 
 principles of action, if not eradicated, were at least blunted by 
 long inertion. He was not — I am sure he was not — a miser ; 
 yet the habitual desire of acquisition still governed his character, 
 and to amass wealth continued the sole object of his age, as it 
 had been of his youth. His life had been passed in a crowded 
 city, yet he had lived a solitary man, and he knew and felt him- 
 self to be so. 
 
 Such was the character, and such the circumstances, of my 
 uncle, when I arrived in Glasgow. There was something about 
 him to me so new and original, as at first to excite my curiosity 
 and interest. These soon ripened into attachment ; and the old 
 man was gratified to find himself, for the first time in his life, 
 the object of disinterested regard, in spite of that external repul- 
 siveness, of which he could scarcely be unconscious. The youth- 
 ful artlessness of my deportment bore with it convincing testi- 
 mony that my attentions had their origin in no sinister motive. 
 He felt this ; and I soon became to him an object of regard and 
 interest, which till then he had never known. There was about 
 my uncle a native though uncultivated power of intellect, which 
 induced me often to court his society. I dined with him fre- 
 quently ; and though my visits to the counting-house were gene- 
 rally considered idle interruptions of business, and sometimes 
 treated as such, even these troublesome attentions were, I believe, 
 not unacceptable. Nor was it uncommon that, after business 
 hours, he would consent to take in my company the unusual 
 relaxation of a saunter in the Green, or a walk down the banks 
 of Clyde, to the pretty and rural village of Govan. 
 
 Girzy, too, regarded me with complacency, and was most 
 strict in her injunctions that I should always give her previous 
 intimation of my intention to dine with my uncle. " When 
 ye' re gaun to tak 1 your denner wi' us," said she, — " and the 
 oftener ye do that, the mair welcome ye'll be — just gie me three or 
 four hours' notice, and gin there's ony thing better than anither 
 in the toon o' Glasgow, my certy but ye shall hae't. But dinna 
 come stravaigin' in aboot four o'clock, takin' folk by surprise as 
 ye did afore, and allowin' nae time to mak' things nice and 
 comfortable, as I ken you English aye like to hae them." By
 
 58 CYRIX, THORNTON. CHAPTER X. 
 
 giving her the desired promise, " I calmed her fears, and she was 
 calm," though I believe I was never very rigid in my observance 
 of it. 
 
 These dinner parties were occasionally much enlivened by the 
 presence of Conyers, who was gifted with strong powers of 
 humour, and a certain light-hearted jocularity, which frequently 
 forced even the saturnine visage of my uncle to relax into a 
 smile. He was not slow in establishing himself in the good 
 graces of the old gentleman, who was always pleased whenever 
 I could prevail on him to form an addition to our party. On 
 one of these occasions an occurrence took place, which merits 
 prominent record in this portion of my narrative. 
 
 One evening, when Conyers and myself had partaken of Girzy's 
 good cheer, and my uncle was sedulously engaged in the task of 
 the scientific mixture of a second bowl of punch, a letter was 
 brought in and placed on the table, to await his leisure for peru- 
 sal. He was apparently unwilling to disturb the social enjoy- 
 ments of the festive board by the introduction of business. " It 
 maun be by the Greenock mail," said he, "which is later than 
 usual to-night. I daresay it's just frae that sumph Ikilie 
 M'Phun, about the twa puncheons o' rum that leakit oot on 
 board the Lord Melville, and cam' hame little better than twa 
 empty casks, and yet the custom-house folk want to charge duty 
 on them, the same as they had cam' hame fu'. — I'm makin' the 
 punch now, Cyril, and canna be fashed to put on my specs; sae, 
 as your een are baith younger and better than mine, ye may 
 read it, and gic me an inkling o' the contents, which will do just 
 as wecl as if 1 read it mysel'." 
 
 I obeyed the old gentleman's directions, and taking the letter, 
 read aloud as follows : — 
 
 "To David Spreull, Ks<{. Merchant, 
 SprcuWs Land, Trongate, Glasgow. 
 
 "Dear Sir 'Auchterfechan Manse. 
 
 " I AM commissioned by his inconsolable widow, to commu- 
 nicate the mournful intelligence of the death of your worthy 
 brother, the Laird of Balmalloch, which took place last night, 
 ;it seventeen minutes past eleven o'clock. For a week before 
 
 his death, he had suffered sorely from a diaray, which wasted 
 him down to a perfect skeleton, and left nothing for Death at 
 lasl but a mere rickle o' hones. His spirit, poor man, passed 
 away easily, lor he lay in a dwam for many hours, from which 
 he only wakened to find himself in Abraham's bosom. This is 
 a gruesome loss to his wife and children ; hut 1 am glad to say
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHArTER X. 59 
 
 they are supported by Providence under this sad dispensation, 
 and submit to it with a resignation most edifying to behold. You 
 being the nearest male relation, Mrs Spreull begs you will sign 
 the funeral letters for next Tuesday, and make any arrangements 
 you think proper. I remain ever, your sincere and sympathizing 
 friend, 
 
 "Dear Sir, 
 
 " Archibald M'Craik." 
 
 While I was engaged in reading this letter, my uncle was 
 silent. When his ear first caught the intimation of the death of 
 his brother, his frame was shaken by a sudden and convulsive 
 tremor ; the lemon, which he was in the act of scpieezing, dropped 
 into the punch-bowl, and he threw himself back in his chair, 
 where he remained immovable, with his face covered with his 
 hands. We both saw that he was greatly agitated, and felt as 
 if either sound or motion on our part, would have been an un- 
 warrantable intrusion on his sorrow. The perfect stillness of 
 the apartment was broken only by the breathing of my uncle, 
 which was thicker and more laborious than usual. 
 
 A few minutes passed in this manner. At length, raising 
 himself in his chair, and stretching forth a hand to each of us, 
 he said, " Gang your ways hame, my bonny lads, the house o' 
 mourning is no the place for you. I wad be alane the night. 
 Cyril, ye may call to-morrow morning, gin ye like ; I'll be able 
 to speak to you then, which I canna do now. Sae good-night, and 
 may God bless you baith." Having thus given us our valedic- 
 tion, he once more covered his face, and relapsed into his former 
 attitude. 
 
 We departed quickly and silently as possible, but had scarcely 
 reached the passage, when we were assailed by the watchful 
 Girzy. " Lord saf us, Maister Ceeral, ye re no awa' ? ye surely 
 canna hae finished the bowl already ? and ye've no gotten yer 
 tea yet — it's a' just ready to gang ben ; sae stap back, and I'll 
 hae't maskit in a minute. I really think it's no that kind o' Mr 
 Spreull to let you awa' this frosty night, wi' sae little either o' 
 meat or drink to keep out the cauld. Maister Conyers, I houp 
 it's no you that's takin' him awa' at thae untimeous hoors? 
 Ye'll just bide whar ye are, and get yer tea, like good laddies, 
 afore ye pit yae fit out ower the door the night. I ken weel, you 
 young men may gang to waur places than ye' re in the now, and 
 I maun tak' a mitherly charge o' ye baith," said she, locking the 
 outer door and securing the key in her pocket. " Na, na, ye 
 maun just bide a wee." 
 
 This resolute determination of Girzy, who was probably rather 
 annoyed that the " cookies" she had provided for tea should be
 
 GO CYRIL THORNTOX. CHAPTER X. 
 
 left untasted on her hands, knowing, though no logician, that 
 " de non apparentibus, ct de non existentibus, eadem eat ratio," 
 drew forth an explanation of the cause of our sudden departure. 
 She no longer, on hearing this intelligence, opposed our egress, 
 but gave vent to her surprise in sundry ejaculations connected 
 with the melancholy event. " Hech, and the laird's dead at 
 last ! Wed I wat, death raicht hae ta'en a haurl o' them that 
 could hae been warse spared ! I'se warrant, Mr Spreull will he 
 gaun to the funeral — and the snaw lying on the ground. Hech, 
 sirs, we should be a' mindfu' o' our latter end, baith auld and 
 young ! " and Girzy looked towards Conyers and myself, as if to 
 intimate that the wisdom of this moral aphorism was intended 
 for our especial benefit. 
 
 On the following morning I called on my uncle according to 
 his desire. I was met at the door by Girzy, who informed me 
 that he was still in bed. She had, she said, " been maist driven 
 oot o' her five senses, by the gruntin' and grainin' he had keepit 
 up a' night. It was awsome to hear till him, puir man, pechin' 
 and sighin' wi' his sair trouble. An' a' this blessed day," said 
 she, " neither bite nor sup has gane ower his thrapple ; but 
 what's mair extraordinar, he's ordered me no to set lit within 
 his chamber door ; sae when I want to ken about him, I'm just 
 obliged to keek through the keyhole — but at ony rate, I'll tell 
 him ye' re here." 
 
 So saying, in violation of the express injunction of her master, 
 she ventured to enter his chamber, and inform him of my arrival, 
 trusting, perhaps, for the pardon of her disobedience, to the 
 agreeable intelligence of which she supposed herself the bearer. 
 I was soon directed to enter, and found my uncle, as (Jirzy's 
 information had led me to anticipate, in bed. He stretched forth 
 his hand to me as I approached; and having ordered Girzy ''to 
 Steek the door on the outside," he desired me to "ease myself," 
 at the same time pointing to a high-backed elbow-chair that 
 stood near to the bed. His head was enveloped in a Kilmarnock 
 nightcap, the hue of which had once perhaps been a bright 
 scarlet, but which had then certainly degenerated into a dark 
 and dingy crimson. His lace was more than usually gaunt and 
 cadaverous; and from the heaviness of his eyes, and the absence 
 of that vivida vis by which his countenance was generally 
 marked, it was not difficult to perceive that he had passed a 
 night of mental suffering and agitation. 
 
 " Ye' re a kind laddie, Cyril," said he, " ye' re a kind and good 
 laddii , to come and sit at the bedside o' a crabbit and cankered 
 auld man." 
 
 I, of course, disclaimed any merit on this score, und expressed
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER X. 61 
 
 my sympathy for the loss he had sustained, and by which he 
 seemed so deeply affected. 
 
 " Maybe," rejoined he, " the death o' an auld man, aboon 
 threescore and ten, can hardly be called a loss, to a brither that 
 hadna seen nor spoken to him for mair than forty years. Death 
 has now separated us for ever; but there was a separation 
 between us worse than death while he lived. We were brithers, 
 Cyril, but ye maybe ken we were never friends. The strife o' 
 blood relations is no like the enmity of ither folk. It cuts deeper, 
 and the wounds it leaves are cankered and ill to cure. I needna 
 tell you how our difference began, though till now I have aye 
 thocht the wyte o't didna lie wi' me. Nae matter for that now. 
 Yet, as God knows my heart, had I been in his place, and he^ left 
 like me, a penniless and younger brother, we might have lived 
 and died in love and charity." 
 
 As he said this, the old man turned from me in the bed, seem- 
 ingly in strong emotion, and a silence of some minutes ensued. 
 I assured him of my sincere sympathy in his sorrow, but requested 
 him not to dwell on a subject which occasioned such deep agi- 
 tation. 
 
 " It's a relief to me to speak," rejoined he, " and my heart 
 feels easier when disburdened of its load. To naebody on this 
 wide earth but you hae I ever spoken o' my troubles. May you 
 never feel, Cyril, the pangs and reproaches under which I now 
 suffer, from the dourness of my own heart. He was unkind, 
 but I was hard and unforgiving. Nay, were he even now to 
 appear before me in the flesh, I fear I might still turn from him 
 in anger. But he is gone before his Maker, where I must shortly 
 follow him ; and resentment canna' reach beyond the grave, 
 though mine, God forgive me, has followed him till his." 
 
 Here his voice was again choked, and he turned himself once 
 more toward the wall, and was silent. I too was agitated. 
 There is a blind propensity in our nature to participate in deep 
 emotion of any kind, and I felt its influence at that moment. 
 To a spirit so perturbed, I felt it would be impertinent in me to 
 offer either condolence or consolation. I took the old man's 
 hand, and pressed it in mine ; and when, after a considerable 
 interval, he again turned towards me, I saw that the veins of his 
 forehead were turgid, and his eyes bloodshot. For some hours 
 I sat by his bedside, and he became gradually calmer, and the 
 storm by which he had before been so powerfully stirred, at 
 length subsided. 
 
 The task of making the necessary arrangements for the funeral 
 devolved upon him ; and I think he experienced relief from 
 having it in his power to offer this, the last and only tribute to 
 his departed brother.
 
 62 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XI. 
 
 By his dictation, I wrote to Bailie Cleland all suitable direc- 
 tions with regard to the conduct of the funeral; and letters of 
 invitation having been prepared by one of the clerks, and signed 
 by my uncle, were dispatched to all the friends of the family. 
 It was likewise arranged that, on the Monday following, we 
 should set out for Balmalloch in a mourning coach, in order to 
 attend the obsecpiies of the laird. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 But wlirn return'd the youth ? Tim youth no more 
 Return'd exulting to his native shore; 
 But fifty years elapsed, and then thuro came 
 A worn-out man. 
 
 Crabbb 
 With easy roads hi- came to Leicester, 
 And lodged in the Abbey. 
 
 Henry VIII. 
 
 In a few days, the shock occasioned to my uncle by his bro- 
 ther's death, in a great measure subsided. I lis sorrow, if it did 
 not pass away, was at least calm and silent, and the tortures of 
 self-reproach, under which he had at first suffered so deeply, 
 gradually softened into feelings of melancholy regret. He did 
 nut again speak on the subject of his brother; little change was 
 observable in his deportment, and his countenance gave no indi- 
 cation of internal suffering. 
 
 On the morning fixed for our departure, I breakfasted with 
 Mr Spreullj and the meal was scarcely concluded, when the 
 arrival of the mourning coach, which was to convey us to our 
 destination, was duly announced. 
 
 The vehicle in question was one of preposterous dimensions, 
 apparently crazy from age, and drawn by two long-tailed black 
 horses, which would have done bo discredit to the team of the 
 Newcastle waggon, The driver was a red-faced and facetious- 
 looking person, suitably clad in sables, and mounted on a coach- 
 box decorated by a hammercloth of black calico. The work of 
 packing the baggage in the carriage now commenced, under the 
 Bpecial superintendence of Girzy ami myself. Mine consisted 
 
 only of a small portmanteau, and was easily disposed of. This 
 was not the case, however, with my uncle's. 1 could scarcely 
 refrain from laughing, when my servant and Sanders M'Auslan 
 
 appeared laboriously descending the narrow stairs, bearing with 
 difficulty between them an enormous hair-trunk, about the size
 
 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XI. 63 
 
 of a meal-girnel, fortified at every corner with iron plates, and 
 the letters D. S. conspicuously traced in brass nails on the 
 lid. Honest Jehu stood aghast at this unlooked-for addition 
 to his load, and appeared sorely puzzled as to the mode 
 in which the transit of this ponderous appendage was to be 
 effected. 
 
 While we were yet engaged in such meditations as may be 
 supposed to have occupied Mr Belzoni when he first contem- 
 plated the removal of the Memnon, our cogitations were inter- 
 rupted by the appearance of my uncle, who came to inspect the 
 travelling arrangements. 
 
 " Deevil tak' the woman," exclaimed he, exasperated at the 
 heavy marching trim in which the faithful Girzy was about to 
 dispatch him ; " why, here's baggage enough for a regiment of 
 heavy horse. Do ye think, born tawpy as ye are, that I'm gaun 
 a voyage to the Indies ? Why, that kist's about half freight for 
 an American lumber-ship. Just tak' it back, and pit me up a 
 change o' linen in a napkin. I declare the woman's little better 
 than a bedlamite ! " 
 
 Against the execution of these orders Girzy strongly entered 
 her protest. She declared she would, on no account, allow him 
 to travel at this season of the year so slenderly provided with 
 necessaries as he desired. To do so, she said, would be a wilful 
 tempting of Providence. Who could tell that he might not be 
 seized with one of those attacks of cramp in the stomach, to 
 which he was so liable. He might get wet and require a change 
 
 of clothes. He might But it is unnecessary to follow Girzy 
 
 through all her anticipated cases of contingent misfortune. 
 She concluded, however, by positively declaring that the things 
 could not now possibly be unpacked ; but were that even prac- 
 ticable, the trunk contained not one iota that could be spared. 
 As a proof of this, she said it contained " only nine couls, a dizen 
 sarks, fifteen " 
 
 " Nine couls and a dizen sarks!" exclaimed my uncle, impe- 
 tuously interrupting her ; " do ye think, gowk, gomeril, and 
 idiot, as ye are, that I can use nine couls and a dizen sarks in 
 twa days ! But there's nae use in speaking to a senseless tawpy, 
 that can neither understand reason nor common sense;" and he 
 walked away in anger, leaving Girzy mistress of the field, and 
 still determined to carry into full execution her schemes for the 
 comfort of her master. 
 
 After some delay, the trunk, which had been the subject of so 
 much perplexity and contention, was with difficulty placed on 
 the roof of the coach, where it was secured by about twenty 
 yards of new rope, which Sanders M'Auslan provided for the 
 occasion. This addition gave the vehicle a singular and pic-
 
 64 CYRIL THORNTON. CHATTER XI. 
 
 turesquc appearance, which on the journey did not fail to attract 
 abundance of attention. 
 
 At length the carriage was reported ready. Peter (for such 
 was the coachman's name) had already mounted the box, and my 
 servant, who was to accompany us, stood with his hand on the 
 carriage door, ready to enclose us in its lugubrious cavity. But 
 the cares and importunate anxieties of Girzy still impeded our 
 departure. She had succeeded by her eloquence in prevailing 
 on my growling companion to invest his legs in a huge pair of 
 galligaskins of her own knitting, and to encase his higher regions 
 in the great-coat and comforter from which I had on a previous 
 occasion sutfered so severely. Fortunately for me, the establish- 
 ment boasted no duplicates of the latter articles; but this was 
 not the case with regard to the galligaskins. A second pair 
 was speedily produced, with which I was forced to decorate my 
 person, as the only condition of my peaceable departure. The 
 invention of Girzy, too, was not slow in discovering a succed- 
 ancum for a great-coat, in her scarlet duffle cloak, which, without, 
 unnecessary parlance, she threw across my shoulders, and tied 
 carefully in front. Making a merit of necessity, I submitted 
 with a good grace, and in this trim proceeded to the carriage, 
 aware that I should there speedily enjoy the means of ridding 
 myself of these incumbrances without obstruction. Girzy, fol- 
 lowed by Jenny, descended to the street to see us seated in the 
 carriage. Before we were suffered to enter it, however, its scanty 
 appliances for comfort underwent a rigid examination. "Moot, 
 toot," exclaimed Girzy, feeling the scat-cushions as she spoke, 
 "this will never do! Jenny, rin up and fesh twa cuds frae the 
 bed. Just wait a wee," continued she, addressing my uncle, 
 "for ye ken sharp banes and hard broads are but ill neebours." 
 
 Here the old gentleman lost all patience, and his eyes glit- 
 tered with passion. 
 
 " As I've a soul to be saved!" exclaimed he in a voice more 
 than usually gruff and discordant; "as I've a soul to be saved, 
 if cither you or her, tint's sumph enough to do your bidding, 
 offers to conic near me wi" cods, or ony ither sic nonsense, ye 
 Bhall fin' the weight o' my staff on your crown! Conic awa' 
 Cyril, loup in. for the woman would rouse the corruption of Job 
 
 hunsel'." 
 
 I obeyed, and was instantly followed by my uncle. 
 
 "Will ye do hae a blanket to keep your legs warm P" enquired 
 
 Gir/y, still persevcringly intent on her unwelcome demonstra- 
 tions of kindness, and poking her head into the carriage as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Stcck the door, and be d d to you!" was the only answer 
 
 Vouchsafed to her query; and the coach at length getting fairly
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XI. 65 
 
 into motion, Girzy's parting injunction, " Pu' up the glasses, for 
 the wind's snell," was half drowned by the rattling of the wheels 
 as they whirled over the causeway. 
 
 We were four hours in reaching Dumbarton ; but the scenery 
 through which our road lay was so beautiful, that I did no"t 
 regret the slowness of our progress. In my journey down I 
 had passed the border after nightfall ; and as the mail reached 
 Glasgow by day-dawn on the following morning, I had till now 
 seen nothing of Scotland but that city and its vicinity. 
 
 Every object, therefore, of the landscape around me possessed 
 the charm of novelty, in addition to its own natural attractions; 
 and I now for the first time gazed on scenery, than which the 
 most vivid creations of my youthful fancy were not more impreg- 
 nated with beauty. 
 
 I had never seen before, and I have never seen since, any river 
 which for natural beauty can stand in competition with the Clyde, 
 along the northern bank of which our journey lay. Never did 
 stream glide more gracefully to the ocean through a fairer region. 
 The scenery of the Thames above London is occasionally beau- 
 tiful, but the beauty is of a tamer and less striking character 
 It is one which I, at least, can regard without any deep or lofty 
 emotion, which never haunts me in my dreams, nor rises unbid- 
 den to ray memory in distant lands. There Art divides the palm 
 with Nature, and the latter must be satisfied to wear but half 
 the diadem. 
 
 For the first few miles of our journey, the scenery, though 
 rich, was not peculiarly striking. The surface of the country 
 was varied only by gentle undulations, like the bosom of a sum- 
 mer sea, when the wind which agitated its waters has died away. 
 But as we advanced, the hills became gradually more lofty ; 
 rugged and precipitous rocks gave occasional variety to the scene, 
 and every thing indicated our approach to a more mountainous 
 and sterile country. At length the Castle of Dumbarton, on its 
 pyramid of solid rock, rose in stern grandeur to the view ; and 
 on our arrival at the inn, I was not sorry to learn that a halt of 
 two hours was considered necessary, as an opportunity was thus 
 afforded me of visiting this ancient and interesting fortress. 
 Finding my uncle by no means disposed to join in the excursion, 
 I sallied forth alone ; and by the assistance of the parish " Bethe- 
 ral," who acted likewise in the capacity of Cicerone to strangers 
 visiting the Castle, found no difficulty in the gratification of my 
 curiosity. Not the least interesting object that I beheld that 
 morning, was the sword of the stalwarth and heroic Sir William 
 Wallace ; and, unable as my feeble arras were to wield it aloft, I 
 yet felt pleasure in grasping its massive hilt, and repeating the 
 beautiful invocation of John Finlay, beginning —
 
 66 CYK1L THORNTON. — CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Tliou sword of true valour, though dim be thy hue, 
 And all failed thy flashes of light. 
 
 The view from the summit of the Castle was beautiful and 
 extensive. On the opposite side of the Firth was Greenock and 
 its forest of shipping, the shore studded with villas ; and far 
 down, and scarce distinguishable to the eye, the blue moun- 
 tains of Bute mingled with the horizon. Roscneath Castle, and 
 its beautifully wooded isthmus, formed a prominent object of the 
 nearer landscape ; and high up among the clouds, towering in 
 solitary grandeur, rose the snowy peak of Benlomond. But I 
 had little time to bestow on objects of mere pictorial beauty ; 
 and aware of the irritable disposition of my companion, hurried 
 back to the inn, fearing that my protracted absence might in 
 some measure have disorganized the arrangements for the journey. 
 
 On my arrival, however, I fortunately found this had not been 
 the case. My uncle was placidly engaged in reading the news- 
 papers ; and the steeds being declared by the driver to be suffi- 
 ciently refreshed, we once more entered the mourning-coach, 
 and set forward on our journey. 
 
 Our course now diverged from its former direction into the 
 interior of the country, and Ave caught occasional glimpses of 
 the river Leven, a beautiful and rapid stream, immortalized in 
 tuneful song. My uncle, who hail been silent and abstracted 
 during the first part of our journey, now became more commu- 
 nicative. It is true, he had no great taste for the sublime and 
 beautiful ; and the objects to which he was generally anxious to 
 direct my attention, were not those in which 1 was inclined to 
 feel the greatest interest. "That," said he, pointing to a large 
 building on the banks of the Leven — "that is the printficld of 
 Tod and Shortridge; and there, about a mile ayont it, are the 
 works of Dalquhurn. Now ye get a keek o 1 a yellow house 
 through the trees ; that's ( lordale, just a wee paradise o' a place, 
 where the shrubs and the grass areclippil twice a-week, and the 
 plants against the wa' just look as if they were kaiined and 
 brushed every morning. Mony a funny and a happy day hae 1 
 spent therein auld times." We now approached Loch-Lomond; 
 and as we did so, I became more occupied with the remarkable 
 objects which presented themselves, and less attentive to my 
 
 uncle's details. The influence of the scene, however, was not 
 
 wholly unfelt even by him. 
 
 'I he old gentleman became silent, and gazing across the waters, 
 embedded in tin' vast amphitheatre of hills, kepi his eyes fixed 
 on tl I side of Benlomond, as if the more distant and 
 
 Bterner features of the scene were more congenial to his spirit 
 than the softer beauties of the nearer landscape. 
 
 Evening was now fast approaching, and our progress had been
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XI. 67 
 
 so slow, that it was declared by Peter impossible to reach the 
 point of our destination within the compass of any thing like 
 " timeous hours." It was judged necessary, therefore, that we 
 should pass the night at Luss, and set out at an early hour on 
 the following morning for Balmalloch, which was still thirteen 
 miles distant. 
 
 Night had set in before we reached the inn of Luss. The 
 family were evidently unprepared for so unwonted a circum- 
 stance as the arrival of guests after nightfall, at this season of 
 the year. A Scottish country inn is but a bad house of enter- 
 tainment at any time ; but taken at such a disadvantage, the 
 probable cheer of guests, unexpected as we were, may be safely 
 calculated at a point not far transcending zero. When ques- 
 tioned with regard to his accommodations, the landlord was 
 evidently at a nonplus, and confessed the poverty of his larder 
 with more ingenuousness than is at all customary with his more 
 southern brethren, when occasionally involved in a similar 
 dilemma. We were not disposed, however, to be very exorbit- 
 ant in our demands ; and understanding that the bill of fare 
 consisted only of eggs and a rasher, directions were instantly given 
 for their expeditious preparation. 
 
 We were at first ushered into the kitchen, where the family 
 were assembled round a large peat fire, until another apartment 
 3ould be prepared for our reception. This was soon done by a 
 smart and pretty -looking girl, whose activity and exertions for 
 our comfort were noticed favourably by my companion, who 
 patted her on the back, and saluted her with the endearing 
 appellation of " a braw sonsie lassie." Her speedy appearance 
 with the supper tended to increase still more the benignity of his 
 regards ; and he observed to me in a whisper, " My troth, Cyril, 
 but that's a clever quean." 
 
 Never was meal despatched with greater relish. The old 
 gentleman tossed over, as with a pitchfork, about a dozen of 
 eggs and a couple of pounds of bacon, with incredible dispatch ; 
 and the sharpness of the mountain air made me almost regard 
 with envy his unparalleled facility of deglutition. I followed 
 him, however, if not passibus eequis, at least with a pertinacity 
 and endurance of appetite, more than sufficient to save my dis- 
 tance ; and though 1 only ranked second in the race, it certainly 
 was not longo intervallo. With respect to potables, Ave had no 
 reason to complain. Ale, porter, and the genuine " mountain 
 dew," were all that heart could desire in such a situation ; and 
 with these the landlord's cellar was copiously furnished. 
 
 With such appliances to good fellowship, we grew mutually 
 communicative and agreeable, and I had fairly got into the 
 middle of a lecture on drags, bag foxes, covers, double ditches,
 
 68 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XI. 
 
 and five-barred gates, notwithstanding- sundry signals of som- 
 nolency exhibited b} r the old gentleman ; when he at length 
 interrupted my discourse by observing, " What's a' that ye've 
 been speaking about, Cyril, for the last half-hour? for, to say 
 the truth, I've been sae overcome wi' drowsiness, I havena heard 
 yae word ye've been saying. Just begin wi' your story again, 
 and tell me a' about it." 
 
 Under such circumstances, this obliging invitation was declin- 
 ed, and the chambermaid was summoned to show us to our 
 sleeping apartments. This was a summary proceeding ; for the 
 damsel aforesaid, on receiving our directions, merely opened the 
 doors of what had till now appeared to be two closets in the wall 
 of the supper-chamber, and informed us, that in these crevices 
 we were to find our accommodation for the night. This arrange- 
 ment appeared neither to surprise nor discomfit my uncle, who 
 directed his trunk to be brought up to the apartment. This, 
 however, was found impracticable. In the first place it would 
 have been an operation of extreme difficulty to remove it from 
 the elevated position it at present occupied on the roof of the 
 coach. In the second place, we were assured that the stair was 
 considerably too narrow to afford a passage for this unwieldy 
 appendage. The old gentleman, therefore, was obliged to c( in- 
 tent himself with uttering a few hearty curses on Girzy and her 
 officiousncss, and to receive from myportmanteau such temporary 
 accommodation as its comparative poverty could afford. These 
 matters were soon arranged ; the beds were apparently clean, 
 and the loud and sonorous snoring of my companion soon gave 
 evidence of his being wrapped in slumber. 
 
 liy sunrise we were again upon the road. I beheld his first 
 rays gild the summits of the mountains, and watched his increa- 
 sing altitude, till the bosom of the loch at once received and 
 reflected the full glory of his effulgence. It was a sight of 
 memorable beauty. Our mute lay along the margin of the loch, 
 till we reached Tarbert ; but here we struck into another and 
 less frequented road, which wound for several miles through the 
 deep ami solitary passes of the surrounding mountains. I never 
 travelled on a more execrable road. Large masses of granite 
 were scattered on its surface, and opposed mosl unpleasant and 
 da i rous obstruction to the passage of a carriage; and it was 
 I :it numerous points by small mountain streams, 
 which had worn deep channels in its bed. With such obstacles, 
 our progress was necessarily slow, and to ease our bones, which 
 
 iv ached with the jolting tiny had endured, we determined 
 to proceed on fool u> Balmalloch, which was distant, but a mile 
 
 or tWO. 
 
 Every object that now presented itself, appeared linked in my
 
 CYELL THORNTON. CHAPTER XI. 69 
 
 uncle's mind with the recollections of his youth. As we pro- 
 ceeded, he pointed out to me the rivers where he had delighted 
 to fish — the woods in which he hunted the roe — the hills where 
 he had shot the ptarmigan, or chased the wild deer. An ab- 
 sence of half a century had apparently blunted no feeling, obli- 
 terated no early association. He had quitted these scenes, a 
 poor and almost friendless boy ; he now returned to them an 
 aged and a wealthy man. It is true, there had been a dreary 
 interval between, which, perhaps, he would then willingly have 
 forgotten. But it could not be. The objects he beheld around 
 him, were all indissolubly united with the memory of youthful 
 vigour and enjoyment, unalloyed by the worldly cares and 
 anxieties, which, in later and less happy days, had preyed on 
 his heart. His youth and age were not " bound each to each, 
 by natural sympathy;" there appeared nothing in the scenes 
 around him, to link together those distant periods of his life, to 
 connect the thoughtless and happy boy with the infirm and 
 grey-headed visitant of these mountain regions. The objects he 
 again beheld, could not but suggest to him the contrast of what 
 he then was, and what he had been in former days, nor fail to 
 embitter the consciousness of present feebleness with the me- 
 mory of past power. How forcibly and how naturally are the 
 melancholy associations of youth remembered in age, expressed 
 in the following stanzas of Wordsworth : — 
 
 Pmvn to the vale this -water steers, 
 
 How merrily it goes i 
 'TwiU murmur on a thousand years, 
 
 And flow, as now it flows. 
 
 And here, on this delightful day, 
 
 I cannot choose hut think, 
 How oft a vigorous man I lay 
 
 Beside this fountain's brink. 
 
 Wine eyes are dim with childish tears, 
 
 My heart is idly stirr'd ; 
 For the same sound is in mine ears, 
 
 Which in those days I heard. 
 
 Thus fares it still in our decay; 
 
 And yet the wiser mind 
 Mourns less for what Time takes away, 
 
 Than what it leaves behind. 
 
 Perhaps I am fanciful in attributing to the old gentleman 
 such feelings as I have now attempted to describe ; for certainly 
 he did not express them. I could only observe, as he gazed 
 around him, an uneasy wandering of the eye, and certain sud- 
 den and abrupt pauses in his hurried and animated descriptions 
 of the different objects that presented themselves as we advanced. 
 
 We now approached a small village, or what, in the vernacu- 
 lar language of the country, is termed a Clachun. Every rag-
 
 70 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ged urchin in the place was ahroad to see us pass. Their 
 mothers, too, desisted tor a while from their household occupa- 
 tions, and peeped forth on us from door or cranny ; and aged 
 grandsires, seated on stone benches by the road, or supporting 
 their tottering limbs with a staff, respectfully vailed their bon- 
 nets, and saluted us in Gaelic. The sound seemed for a moment to 
 stir the heart of my uncle like the blast of a trumpet. On hearing 
 it, he stopped suddenly short, drew a long breath, and made an 
 answer in the same language. I thought he gazed on the aged 
 countenances around him, as if trying to recognize among them 
 some of the "old familiar faces " which still haunted his remem- 
 brance. No signs of recognition, however, took place on either 
 side; and having passed the clachan, the road entered a very 
 thriving plantation, which, I was informed, constituted part of 
 the "policy" of Balmalloeh. A rude gate, formed of wood 
 still covered with the bark, admitted us to an approach of a few 
 hundred yards in length, which led directly to the house. 
 
 It was a dark, stone building, of that order of architecture 
 which Highland lairds appear to consider most akin to beauty, 
 and rose in the majestic form of an inverted chest of drawers. 
 Slow as our progress had been, we bad outstripped the coach, 
 and consequently, the family had not yet received notice of our 
 approach. The door of the mansion stood open ; but my uncle, 
 who apparently did not wish to take advantage of the facility of 
 entrance thus afforded, preferred giving notice of our presence 
 by a sonorous application of his walking-stick. The signal was 
 Speedily answered by a female servant in mourning, who, on re- 
 ceiving intimation of our names, ushered us into a small parlour, 
 and retired to give information of our arrival to her mistress. 
 On her departure, my uncle casl a quick and hurried glance 
 round the apartment, and then retiring to a window, stood 
 there, either occupied in silent meditation, or in gazing on the 
 objects without. 
 
 After a short: interval, the maid again made her appearance, 
 and said her mistress would be happy to receive us upstairs. 
 We were accordingly ushered up to the apartment of the ladies. 
 On our entrance, wo were received by the mistress of the house, 
 who removed a while handkerchief from her eyes, and addressed 
 my uncle in plaintive accents: — 
 
 "I'm happy to see von at Balmalloeh, Mr Spreull, and you 
 too. Mi- Thornton. Oh, but this is a hard and a sair dispensa- 
 tion upon us a'! A sair bereavement, Mr Spreull, for his poor 
 widow and children; hut. it is aye a comfort, as Dr M'Craik 
 says, that he has exchanged this sinfu' world for anither and a 
 
 heller; though, heoh sirs, it's a wae.ome loss to them lie's left 
 ahint him in this vale of tears ! "
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XI. 71 
 
 To this lachrymatory address the old gentleman felt it incum- 
 bent on him to make some reply ; and while he was engaged in 
 delivering his tribute of condolence, I had time to glance round 
 the apartment and observe the company. Mrs Spread appeared 
 to be a hale and florid old lady, whose health had suffered no 
 apparent diminution from her recent affliction ; and having said 
 and clone on the occasion all that she considered suitable and 
 becoming, her five daughters next came forward to welcome 
 their relatives. 
 
 The epithet young, applied by their mother to these ladies, 
 appeared to me exceedingly gratuitous. In truth, they consti- 
 tuted a series of mature virgins, of whom the youngest could 
 scarcely be under thirty, nor the oldest less than fifteen years 
 her senior. As they successively greeted their uncle, Mrs 
 Spread announced their names. " That's Peggy, your auldest 
 niece. She's been sair fashed a' this bygane winter wi' the lum- 
 bago. That's Jean, my second daaghter ; and that's David, 
 your namesake; and that's Archy; and that's Thomasina, the 
 youngest, /he's aye been reckoned the very image of you; and 
 the poor laird used to like her the best for that reason." 
 
 The masculine names of some of these ladies occasioned, on 
 my part, some surprise. But I was afterwards informed that 
 it is by no means uncommon, especially in the Highlands, to 
 bestow on girls the name of any male relative whom it may be 
 considered prudent to propitiate by sach an incongraoas de- 
 monstration of respect. 
 
 Mrs Spread now reqaested a private audience of my ancle, 
 with the view of speaking " anent the funeral ceremonial," the 
 time appointed for which was now at hand. The old folks ac- 
 cordingly retired, leaving us younger ones, who were all included 
 in the general appellation of " bairns," alone in the apartment. 
 
 I entered into conversation with my fair cousins, and found 
 that all of them were good-natured, and several not wanting in 
 intelligence. The melancholy circumstances of the family, of 
 course, imposed restraint both upon the manner and the matter 
 of our intercourse. It was frequently interrupted, too, by the 
 entrance of female servants, who whispered, generally loud 
 enough to be heard, some new and pressing necessity of the 
 establishment, or unexpected misfortune in the kitchen. Each 
 of these messages occasioned the exit of one of these matronly 
 virgins, who, apparently, had not deemed it necessary to merge 
 their attentions to the living in their duties to the dead. 
 
 My uncle did not return ; and conceiving that my presence, 
 in the pressure of these household duties, might be an incon- 
 venient restraint, I begged permission to retire to my apartment, 
 in order to arrange my toilet previous to the melancholy cere-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XII. 
 
 mony, the hour of which the striking of the house-clock announced 
 to be at hand. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Let such honours 
 And funeral rites, as to his hirlh and virtues 
 Are due, bo first performed. 
 
 Den ham's Sophy. 
 
 On descending, I found my uncle in the large apartment 
 destined for the reception of the funeral guests, a few of whom 
 had already assembled. The chairs were closely ranged round the 
 room, in order to afford as much accommodation as possible to 
 the large party who were expected to grace the obsequies of the 
 laird. The sideboard supported a cold round of beef and a mut- 
 ton-ham, flanked by whisky on one side, and wine on the other. 
 My uncle occupied the chair nearest the door, and I was directed 
 to fill the one immediately on his right. He rose from his seat, 
 and bowed on the entrance of every new guest, who now arrived 
 in such numbers as speedily to throng the apartment. 
 
 Unaffected as I may be supposed by any strong regret for the 
 death of a person whom I had never seen, it was not without 
 curiosity that I regarded the scene around me. A deep silence, 
 broken only by an occasional cough or blowing of the nose, 
 reigned in the apartment. Every countenance was moulded 
 into a most lugubrious expression ; and in moving to their seats 
 the guests walked as if treading on eggs. All eyes were bent on 
 the ground, and not a whisper of conversation was suffered to 
 enliven the general and pervading gloom of the meeting. The 
 silence was first broken by one of the undertaker's men, who 
 entered, and pronounced in a sonorous voice, "the Rev Dr 
 M'Craik of Auchterfechan will ask a blessing." 
 
 This call was obeyed, and a lon<;- prayer repeated by the 
 doctor; after which, wine, and whisky, and biscuits, were cir- 
 culated round the apartment by the servants. Suddenly the 
 stillness which had reigned till now was changed into clamour 
 and vociferation. " Mr Spreull, your good health."— "Your good 
 health, Mr Thornton," burst, from a hundred voices at once, in 
 every variety of loud and discordant intonation. " Drumshinty, 
 here's to ye." — " Garseud, your health." — " Glenscadden, better 
 health to your wife." 
 
 When the noise and bustle had in some degree subsided,
 
 CTSIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XII. 73 
 
 following the example of my uncle, I rose, and bowing- round the 
 room, drank the health of the assembled guests. Many of these 
 had come from a considerable distance, and now gave proof of 
 the sharpness of the mountain air, by the ferocity of their attack 
 on the solids displayed on the sideboard. Of these assailants, I 
 was one. We had neglected the precaution of breakfasting at 
 Luss before starting, aud since last night's supper my abstinence 
 had been unbroken. It would have been indecorous in my uncle 
 to have betrayed any symptoms of appetite on so mournful an 
 occasion ; though, from the occasional direction of his glances 
 towards the theatre of action, it struck me he would, under other 
 circumstances, have been well satisfied to become a participator 
 in our labours. 
 
 The repast was briefly dispatched, and another minister, whose 
 designation I cannot recall, was called on to return thanks. 
 This he did in a pithy prayer and exhortation ; after which, 
 preparations immediately commenced for the progress to the 
 churchyard. This was not distant above a mile, and the pro- 
 cession was on foot. 
 
 The body was carried on the shoulders of six stout High- 
 landers ; and the piper of the family played a coronach, or lamen- 
 tation for the deceased, which, wakening the echoes of the high 
 and solitary hills as we advanced, had a solemn and impressive 
 effect. My uncle, with little apparent indication of deep emo- 
 tion, followed his brother's head to the grave. The other pall- 
 bearers were, myself and the lairds before mentioned of Lamlash, 
 Garscud, Drumshinty, and Glenscadden. As we passed, the 
 whole population of the neighbourhood appeared to line the 
 road, a procession so splendid being evidently no everyday 
 occurrence. The shepherd vailed his bonnet, and looked down 
 on us bareheaded from the hill ; and the lambkins of his flock, 
 which had sportively approached the road as if to gaze on the 
 passing wonder, darted off on our approach, half in fear, half in 
 the wildness of their glee, to their bleating dams in the uplands. 
 
 The church towards which our steps were directed, stood the 
 solitary tenant of a mountain glen. It was a small, rude, and 
 unornamented structure, built of the masses of granite which 
 had fallen from the rock, or been gathered from the bed of the 
 stream. It was only distinguishable from an ordinary dwelling- 
 house by the projection of a small belfry from the roof, and the 
 absence of all external sign of human habitation. The church- 
 yard, in the midst of which it stood, was surrounded by a low 
 wall, or rather what is called in Scotland a " drystane dyke," 
 and contained few'external marks to denote it a place of sepulture. 
 Few of the graves could boast a headstone, and fewer still an 
 inscription; and but for the obtrusive pretensions of a large
 
 74 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XII. 
 
 obelisk-shaped monument, erected, as the stone bore testimony, 
 by an inconsolable widow to her beloved and lamented hus- 
 band, it presented nothing to arrest the casual glances of the 
 passer-by. 
 
 In this unpretending receptacle, the burying-place of the 
 Spreulls was separated from those of the meaner parishioners 
 only by an iron railing, and its site was plainly indicated by the 
 new-dug grave. Within its precincts did we deposit the remains 
 of the laird of Balmalloeh, with that absence of all ceremony 
 in which rigid presbytery delights. Neither in advancing across 
 the churchyard to the grave, nor when the tressels were removed, 
 and we finally committed the body to the gaping earth, could I 
 detect any visible accession of emotion in the countenance or 
 deportment of my uncle. But when this last duty was per- 
 formed, and, as a parting mark of respect, the company had 
 uncovered, and stood bareheaded for a brief and mournful space, 
 and the death-music — if I may so call it — of the clods rattling 
 on the coffin, broke harshly the surrounding silence, then, and 
 then only, did 1 observe a convulsive shudder pass over the 
 frame and countenance of the old gentleman. It seemed to 
 come suddenly as a shock of electricity, and to pass like one ; 
 for in an instant it was gone, and he stood calm, rigid, and 
 unmoved as before. 
 
 We remained, as was the custom, in the churchyard till the 
 gravediggers had completed their task, and then turned home- 
 ward. My uncle walked alone; and, as I did not think it 
 proper at such a time to intrude my society on him, I was not 
 displeased to have an opportunity of entering into conversation 
 with some of the Highland lairds as we returned to Bahnalloch. 
 There was no want of cordiality in the address of these gentle- 
 men. 
 
 "A sad office ye've come upon, Mr Thornton," said Mr 
 Lamont of Drumshinty, rather a hard-featured old gentleman, 
 with a powdered head and an enormous queue : " I didna expect 
 to have laid Balmalloeh in themouls tor these ten vears to come. 
 Why, it's just a fortnight come Friday since he dined at the 
 half-yearly meeting at Dumbarton. 1 never saw him better in 
 my life, nor make a better use of baith glass, and knife and fork. 
 Neither he, Auchintorlie, nor myself, went to lied afore twa in 
 the morning, though Balmalloeh, to lie sure, for twa or three 
 hours before that, jusl -at in his chair and dozed like a peeiie. 
 J'oor man, he's really a loss to the country, and his worthy 
 widow musl find a sair want o' him." 
 
 In these sentiments the other lairds appeared very cordially to 
 join; and 1 gathered from tin' context of the dialogue, that my 
 deceased relation was one of those very worthy persons, whose
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XII. 75 
 
 character admits of praise in the gross, but affords no promi- 
 nence sufficiently tangible for eulogium in the detail. 
 
 On our return to the house, it was not difficult to discern that 
 arrangements were making for a splendid banquet. The savoury 
 steams of roast and stew, mingled with other less prominent 
 culinary odours, pervaded the mansion from the cellar to the 
 attics ; and the whole establishment were evidently engaged in 
 active preparations for the entertainment of a large party. A 
 funeral in the less populous districts of Scotland, is always fol- 
 lowed by a feast ; and the walls, which in the morning heard 
 but the voice of grief and wailing, at evening generally echo 
 the sounds of bacchanalian merriment. 
 
 While the guests were amusing themselves, some by conver- 
 sing in the drawing-room, (if a small and rather rudely furnished 
 apartment may be so called,) and others by strolling into the 
 fields, and examining the condition of the cattle and the barn- 
 yard, I received a message from my uncle to desire my pre- 
 sence at the ceremony of opening the will. 
 
 On obeying, I found the ladies of the family, my uncle, Dr 
 M'Craik, the parish minister, and Mr MacFie, the writer from 
 Dumbarton, all assembled, and ready to proceed to business. 
 The grief of the ladies appeared to have sustained some acces- 
 sion since I last saw them. They were all decorously seated 
 with handkerchiefs at their eyes, and frequent sobs and long- 
 drawn sighs gave, or at least were intended to give, evidence of 
 the intensity of their sorrow. 
 
 Mr MacFie then proceeded to open the scrutoire of the 
 deceased, and search for the important document in question. 
 After some rummaging among charters of infeftment, instru- 
 ments of sasine, heritable bonds, account sales of cattle and 
 blackfaced sheep, it was discovered and read aloud. It directed, 
 in case of the testator dying without male issue, that the estate 
 of Baimalloch should be sold, and the interest of the proceeds 
 equally divided among his daughters : To his widow he be- 
 queathed an annuity of three hundred a-year, in addition to the 
 sum to which she was already entitled by her marriage settle- 
 ment. The trustees appointed by the testator, were Provost 
 Aulay MacAulay of Dumbarton, (probably a descendant of the 
 very amusing personage commemorated by my friend Gait,) his 
 brother David, to whom, in token of forgiveness, he bequeathed 
 his bamboo cane and horn snuff-box, adorned by a Scotch pebble 
 on the lid; and his old friend, Peter Murdoch of Glasgow, a 
 very worthy and influential merchant of that city, to whose use 
 the sum of five guineas was directed to be appropriated for the 
 purchase of a mourning-ring. The laird, it appeared, died rich. 
 An inventory of his property found among his papers, showed
 
 76 CYRIX THORNTON CHAPTER XII. 
 
 it to amount to something over £15,000, exclusive of the estate, 
 ■which might be expected to produce nearly double that sum. 
 Altogether, therefore, my fair cousins were to be regarded as 
 heiresses, perhaps the greatest in the whole county of Dum- 
 barton — a distinction, on which it would argue more than female 
 humility to suppose they did not pride themselves. 
 
 The business of reading the will being concluded, another, 
 almost equally important, succeeded on the tapis. It was now 
 the hour of dinner, and on our return to the drawing-room we 
 found the party assembled in tolerable force. It consisted chiefly 
 of those persons of whom mention has already been made, a 
 considerable body of lairds whose names I have forgotten, the 
 doctor, and the man of business. 
 
 The dinner was plentiful, and well suited to the character of 
 the guests. The ladies, of course, did not appear ; and the 
 honours of the table were performed by my uncle, by whose 
 orders I acted as croupier. Unluckily the primary duties of the 
 office thus imposed on me, consisted in carving a huge round of 
 beef, on which the demands of the company were more numer- 
 ous and frequent than my strenuous exertions were capable of 
 supplying. My toil indeed seemed " never ending, still begin- 
 ning," for my tormentors returned pertinaciously to the charge, 
 and round of beef was voted by the whole party as the ne phis 
 ultra of good living, especially when garnished, as in the present 
 case, with the decorative adjuncts of turnips and cabbage. 
 
 " Bless me," at length said an old red-laced gentleman on my 
 right, laying down his knife and fork after the discussion of four 
 platefuls of beef — " bless me, Mr Thornton, ye 're getting nae 
 dinner — I've but a small appetite, and am doing nothing; so 
 pray let me assist you, and take that round off your hands." 
 
 I did not hesitate a moment in accepting this welcome offer 
 of assistance, and gladlj consigned tli«' remains of the dish to 
 the care of my ruby-visaged neighbour. With regard to my 
 own dinner, the hoard was all before me where to choose; and 
 really choice was not very difficult at an entertainment which 
 could boast sahn it the very finest quality, and profusion of 
 
 grouse, ptarmigan, and black game. These were luxuries, 
 
 however, too common in tins quarter to he much prized, and in 
 the estimation of the present company, evidently yielded the^os 
 
 (o dishes of lower pretension and more vulgar name. 
 
 While dinner was on the hoard, and the servants remained in 
 
 the apartment, every thing went on with regularity and decorum. 
 My uncle did the honours of the table with a degree of pro- 
 priety and good-breeding, for which, to say the truth, all 1 had 
 hitherto seen of him hail not prepared me. From a coarse and 
 
 vulgar humourist, hahituated to the unrestrained indulgence cf
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XII. 77 
 
 every whim and peculiarity, he was now become a finished gen- 
 tleman of the old school ; equal in all respects, superior in some, 
 to those by whom he was surrounded. 
 
 There does, or perhaps rather there did, exist in Scotland a 
 strong and undisguised dislike between the landed and the mer- 
 cantile interests. The former, of course, consider their trading 
 rivals as beings of an inferior caste, and are inclined to regard 
 both them and their pursuits with a contempt and aversion 
 which they are at little pains either to qualify or conceal. The 
 latter feeling, if not the former, is not unreturned by the men 
 of trade, who profess themselves equal in all respects to their 
 acred antagonists, and are little disposed to conciliate them by 
 any supererogatory demonstrations of respect. Little inter- 
 course, therefore, is generally kept up between these bodies ; 
 the pride of the traders feeling sorely outraged by the aristocra- 
 tic haughtiness of the lairds, and the lairds waxing very wroth 
 at the vulgar and ostentatious luxury affected by their purse- 
 proud rivals. I mention this for the purpose of showing, that 
 on the present occasion my uncle had rather a difficult part to 
 play, in presiding at a party composed of country gentlemen, 
 and of which he was the only person present connected with the 
 pursuits of commerce. 
 
 The first toast given from the chair, of course, was the King. 
 The laird of Arncraik then proposed the health of Mrs Spreull 
 and the ladies of the family, to which toast my uncle returned 
 thanks, and expressed his acknowledgments to those gentlemen 
 who had conferred honour on the family, by their attendance on 
 the funeral of his deceased brother. 
 
 These formal preliminaries being passed, the meeting soon 
 began to assume something of a more hilarious character. The 
 bottles circulated rapidly ; the solemn circumstances connected 
 with the entertainment were forgotten ; and the funeral banquet 
 might easily have been mistaken, by an uninitiated observer, for 
 a marriage feast. 
 
 Nothing pleases a boy so much as to find himself placed 
 among men, in a situation of some consequence and authority. 
 I felt this on the present occasion, filling, as I did, the impor- 
 tant office of vice-president or croupier. My spirits became ele- 
 vated, I drank bumpers, acted as toast-master, pushed about 
 the bottles, and proposed fining more than one individual in a 
 bumper, for filling on a heeltap. These sallies were well re- 
 ceived, and drew on me the eulogiums of many of the party, 
 who began to fear, that they would not find in the example of 
 my uncle either a stimulus or excuse for that excess to which 
 they were desirous of extending their potations, and were glad, 
 therefore, to avail themselves of my example on the occasion.
 
 78 CYKIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Much discourse on the prices of hlack cattle, many discussions 
 on the state of county politics, and facetious stories at the ex- 
 pense of eccentric and unpopular neighbours, were interrupted 
 by my noisy and obtrusive discharge of my functions. I made 
 speeches, and roared catches of songs, slapped elderly gentlemen 
 on the back, called them hearty old cocks, and was guilty of a 
 thousand extravagances, the offspring of a brain heated by 
 powerful and unwonted stimulants. 
 
 Suddenly I remember my sight grew dim, and there was a 
 loud rushing as if of many waters in my ears. The room, the 
 company, table, bottles, glasses, all danced before my eye-;, and 
 were whirled rapidly round as if in a vortex. A deadly sickness 
 came over me, and a cold and clammy perspiration stood on my 
 forehead. I rose and staggered to the door, followed by the 
 smiles of the old stagers, who probably anticipated such a finale 
 to the part I had been playing. With difficulty I reached the pas- 
 sage, on which I met one of the maids, whom 1 dispatched for my 
 servant; but before he arrived 1 had fallen insensible on the stair. 
 
 When I came again to my recollection, 1 found myself in the 
 apartment of the ladies, who were kind and assiduous in their 
 attentions. One held a smelling-bottle to my nose, another 
 bathed my temples with cold water, and the old lady had just 
 denuded me of my neckcloth, and was opening my shirt-collar. 
 1 had been sick, very sick, and was altogether in a most pitiable 
 predicament. In a short time, however, I recovered sufficient 
 muscular power to enable me, with the assistance of Cocker, 
 (my servant,) to reach my own apartment, where that trusty 
 functionary, after assisting me to undress, deposited me in bed 
 for the night. 
 
 Before 1 fell asleep, I remember the sounds of the carousal 
 were loud in my ears. The more seasoned vessels of the party 
 below had now begun to feel (lie effects of the stimulus, under 
 the influence of which I had succumbed, and the mingled noise 
 of mirth and vociferous disputation echoed through the mansion. 
 It came, however, softened by distance, like the fitful bowlings 
 of the wind, or the voice of the waves bursting afar oil' on the 
 shore, acting as an efficacious somnolent on senses already stu- 
 pefied by over-excitement. 
 
 I slept like a top, and awoke, as usual in such cases, with a 
 parched throat and a burning brow. The morning sun shone 
 brightly through my casement ; and I determined to cool my 
 
 ifever by a walk before breakfast, and the enjoyment of the 
 
 mountain breeze. 1 dressed, therefore, as quickly as possible, 
 and descended the stair. The family were not yet risen, or at 
 
 all event-; were not visible; anil I encountered no one but the 
 hou emaid. busied in her matutinal vocation.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XII. 79 
 
 I was tempted en passant to take a cursory peep at the dining- 
 room, which had been the scene of my last night's follies. It exhi- 
 bited a most deplorable spectacle. The relics of the carousal 
 still remained unremoved. Every thing was in confusion. The 
 table was covered with jugs, bottles, and glasses, some partially 
 filled, and many broken. A dish or two with the remains of salt 
 herrings, the skeleton of a leg of mutton, and vagrant fragments 
 of oatcake, strewed on the table and on the floor, showed of what 
 the supper consisted. The chairs, some overset and otherwise 
 injured in the fray, were scattered round the apartment, which 
 was redolent of a certain disgusting odour of debauchery, to be 
 felt, not described : an eifluvium particularly offensive to one 
 whose present feelings induced him to regard the orgies of the 
 preceding night with disgust and nausea. 
 
 Prostrate on the floor, with the hearth-rug rolled under his 
 head for a pillow, lay one of the party fast asleep, snoring loudly. 
 Another, wrapped in a tartan cloak, lay stretched on several 
 chairs, which served him for a couch, lie stared at me with a 
 vacant look, and muttered some unintelligible sounds, which 
 showed that his faculties had not yet fully emerged from their 
 eclipse. 
 
 To look on such objects was to behold dissipation in puris natn- 
 ralibus — to catch drunkenness in dishabille. The scene carried 
 with it a sort, of obtrusive morality, not at such a moment very 
 pleasant ; and I gladly turned from it, to sally forth into the 
 pure air of the morning. 
 
 The scenery around Balmalloch was wild and beautiful. The 
 house stood near the foot of a mountain called The Cobbler, 
 from some fantastic resemblance in its outline, certainly not 
 obvious to an uninitiated eye. Near it there were other smaller 
 and wooded hills, and a mountain stream which flowed through 
 a deep and lonely dell, the precipitate and lofty banks of which 
 were clothed with the birch and alder, 
 
 Mountain scenery, in addition to its own natural and inherent 
 beauty, was armed in my eyes with all the charms of novelty. 
 It seemed as if now, for the first time, I learned to form a concep- 
 tion of the sublimities of nature. 1 joyed in the acquisition of 
 a new sense, and felt that an enlargement of my faculties had 
 been coetaneous with my visit to Balmalloch. 
 
 I had spent fully two hours in wandering in the valieys and 
 on the hills, before I thought of returning to breakfast. Exercise 
 had new-strung my nerves, and given more than its wonted edge 
 to my appetite before I reached the house. 1 found the ladies 
 in the breakfast- room, and a considerable congregation of the 
 guests. It was impossible to meet the former without emotions 
 of humiliation and shame, for the condition in which I had been
 
 80 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XII. 
 
 indebted to their good offices on the night before. I stammered 
 something of an apology, which they appeared, however, to 
 consider very unnecessary, and treated the whole affair as a trifle. 
 
 Their good-nature afforded some relief to my sensibility, and 
 enabled me to turn my attention from myself to those around 
 me. In none of them were there observable any marks of indis- 
 position, proceeding from the excesses of the preceding night. 
 It is true, the eyes of several of the elderly gentlemen were a little 
 bloodshot, but this symptom was accompanied by no apparent 
 diminution either of appetite or vivacity. 
 
 The appearance of none of the party, however, had improved 
 by their night's sojourn. Little attention had been devoted to 
 the toilet ; many had evidently not washed ; none had undergone 
 the supererogatory decoration of shaving. Their clothes, too, 
 were unbrushed, and from the wool adhering to them, it was evi- 
 dent that several of the wearers had gone to bed without the 
 ceremony of undressing. 
 
 But the breakfast ! — Who has not heard of a Scotch break- 
 fast ? No one. But till now 1 had never beheld (hat (in Eng- 
 land) trivial meal in all its native glory and attraction. Surely 
 even the mouth of Apicius or Dr Kitchiner might venially water 
 at the following bill of fare: — Kipper, herrings fresh from Loch 
 Long, pickled trouts, venison and mutton hams, cold grouse and 
 ptarmigan, oatcakes, barley and flour scones, a larjrc tureen of 
 milk porridge (which appeared in considerable request,) several 
 kinds of sweetmeats, and a huge vessel charged with the genuine 
 mountain-dew. Could the eccentricity of human appetite devise 
 any useful or agreeable addition to a banquet composed of such 
 ingredients? I imagine not : — to me, at least, it appeared that 
 
 The force of fancy could no farther go. 
 
 But such a breakfast is a thing to dream of, not to describe ; to 
 be treasured up and survive unfading in the memory, not to be 
 obtrusively emblazoned by pen or pica. 
 
 Suffice it, therefore, that due honour was done to the repast; 
 that saddle-horses were brought to I he door, and the tramontane 
 guests gradually departed, singly or accompanied, till my uncle 
 and myself were once more the only guests of Dahnalloch.
 
 CYRIE THORNTON. CHAPTER XIII. 81 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 They sav this town is full of cozenage, 
 As^nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, 
 Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, 
 And many such like libertines of sin. 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 . Thou now exact' st the penalty, 
 
 Which is a pound of this poor merchant's fiVsh. 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 The day succeeding the funeral was spent by my uncle in 
 obtaining minute and accurate information relative to the state 
 of the deceased laird's affairs, and concerting the future arrange- 
 ments of the family. In all matters of business and accounts 
 he was particularly clear-sighted and acute, and a few hours' 
 application sufficed to furnish him with all the requisite infor- 
 mation. 
 
 Towards Mrs Sprcull and her daughters, his deportment was 
 uniformly benevolent, and unmarked by any of those exacerba- 
 tions of temper to which he was habitually liable. He showed 
 an anxiety to contribute, by every means in his power, to their 
 comfort, and assured them his best exertions would in no cir- 
 cumstances be wanting for the promotion of their interest. Still, 
 I could not but remark, that in his intercourse with these ladies 
 there was a calmness in his manner, and a want of that warmth 
 and cordiality with which from the first he had distinguished me. 
 To me, who knew him, it was evident that he considered him- 
 self engaged in the performance of a duty which he was resolved 
 sacredly to discharge, but that his actions were not influenced 
 by any strong motive of personal regard. 
 
 In truth, the old gentleman was not partial to the fair sex, 
 and had an uncommon aversion to all elderly single ladies, a 
 designation under which his nieces were not without some claim 
 to be included. Yet there was nothing about them calculated 
 to excite aversion. Good-natured they certainly were, perhaps 
 a little vulgar and outre ; but ridicule can only be attracted by 
 pretension, and that quality was scarcely predicable of my fair 
 cousins, as I saw them at Balmalloch. 
 
 While my uncle was busied in the examination of papers, I 
 mounted a pony which had enjoyed a sinecure since the death 
 of the laird, and rode forth to enjoy, if possible, a more extended 
 view of the beautiful scenery in the neighbourhood than had 
 come within the scope of my morning's ramble. Ignorant of 
 the geography of the country, I left the choice of road to the 
 taste and sagacity of the pony, and really the beauties of the
 
 82 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 one he selected, left me no reason to regret this proceeding. 
 Nothing, I imagine, can he much more sublime than the valley 
 of Glencroe, up which my steed directed his steps. In after 
 life, at least, I have seen no spot which so powerfully excited my 
 imagination. Scenery of features more desolate and gigantic 
 — more indomitable to the influence of man — on which nature 
 has set more legibly the seal of eternal barrenness — where is it 
 to be found ? 
 
 Perhaps I have dwelt altogether too long on this short visit to 
 the Highlands, unmarked, as it must be to the reader, by any 
 peculiarity of interest, and disproportioned in importance to 
 many of the future scenes in which I must be called on to act 
 and sutler. Yet these are the portions of my life on which I 
 most delight to linger. They are armed with no sting — they 
 recall no melancholy remembrance — no deep and poignant 
 regret — such as are too inseparably linked with many of the 
 busier and more active parts of my career. 
 
 The remainder of the day and evening, on my return to Bal- 
 malloch, passed heavily enough, notwithstanding the expressive 
 glances of Miss Thomasina's eyes, and the lavish blandishment 
 of her smiles. I remembered brighter eyes, and sweeter smiles, 
 and was proof to the fire of her artillery. The next morning 
 was fixed for our departure ; and after partaking of another 
 breakfast, similar in its attractions to the one already described, 
 my uncle's huge trunk was once more elevated to the roof of 
 the coach, and, bidding adieu to the family at Balmalloch, we 
 set out on our return. 
 
 The journey was attended with nothing remarkable ; my uncle, 
 between his naps, was comparatively pleasant and companion- 
 able, and we reached Glasgow short I \ after dark. During the 
 greater part of the last stage he had been involved in a sound 
 slumber, to which I offered no interruption ; and it was not till 
 we had passed the long and hideous suburbs by which Glasgow 
 is on all sides surrounded, that his ideas were recalled by the 
 flickering of the lamps, and the noise and jolting of the vehicle, 
 as it leisurely advanced over the rough and ill-paved streets. 
 
 There was apparently something congenial to the old gentle- 
 man's disposition in the busy hum of men. Hi-- habits and 
 predilections were strictly urbane ; there was nothing rural in 
 
 his Casl of thought, and the noise and bustle of the city, (con- 
 
 siderable even at so late an hour.) seemed to act as an instant 
 stimulus in recalling and concentrating his energies. The 
 absence even of a day or two, appeared sufficient to invest the 
 
 accustomed objects around hitn with interest and novelty. As 
 
 we passed, he gazed earnestly into every shop, and ■ emed as if 
 endeavouring to read in the countenances of the pedestrians
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIII. 83 
 
 who thronged the streets, whether any occurrence of importance 
 had taken place during his ahsence. 
 
 The stopping of the carriage at length indicated the comple- 
 tion of our journey. I cast my eyes upwards to the windows of 
 the house, but all was veiled in darkness. The head of the 
 faithful and attentive Girzy was not visible, as I expected it 
 would have been, and not even the glimmer of a taper was dis- 
 cernible in the interior. The coachman descended from his 
 box and assisted us to alight, while my servant ascended the 
 stair to give notice to my uncle's dilatory domestics of our 
 arrival. 
 
 On being released from durance vile, (for vile durance travel- 
 ling in such a vehicle literally was,) we followed his steps, and 
 found him battering loudly at the portal of the dwelling, with- 
 out any signal being afforded of the presence of inhabitants 
 within. " What's a' this ?" vociferated my uncle, as we gained 
 the landing-place of the stair. " What's come ower thae twa 
 ne'er-do-weel kimmers, in the deevil's name ? Are they fou or 
 asleep ? Haud awa'," said he, addressing the servant ; " baud 
 awa', and let me try to wauken up the gude-for-naething hizzies. 
 Tse warrant I'se mak' them hear on the deaf side o' their heads." 
 So saying, he advanced to the door, and accompanied a sonorous 
 application of the knocker with such ejaculations as the follow- 
 ing, uttered in a key loud enough to have awakened the dead : — 
 " Girzy, I say Girzy, open the door ye limb o' Satan ! are we to 
 be keepit here standin' a' night on the stair-head, while ye're 
 dozing like a tap ? Come and open the door directly, ye buckie 
 of Belzebub!" To this emphatic adjuration no answer was 
 returned, and a similar address to Jenny produced no greater 
 effect. 
 
 It was now evident that both his domestics had evacuated the 
 premises, and the anger of my uncle exceeded all bounds. In 
 truth, his wrath was not without some shadow of excuse. Instead 
 of a comfortable reception in his own house, to be denied admis- 
 sion, and kept standing both cold and hungry on a common 
 stair, when he reasonably calculated on enjoying the full resto- 
 ration of his domestic enjoyments, might have afforded apology 
 for an unusual excitation of bile, in a person neither very choleric 
 nor easily irascible. 
 
 Provoking as the situation was, it was necessary to devise 
 some expedient to mitigate its inconvenience. The first idea 
 that arose, was that of breaking open the door, and effecting 
 forcible entrance. But cut homo f The house was untenanted, 
 the fires probably extinguished, and (he keys of every thin,:, 
 whether esculent or potable, in Mrs Girzy's pocket. This pro- 
 ject, therefore, was speedily abandoned ; and, after considerable
 
 84 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 deliberation, it was determined that the luggage should be 
 deposited in a neighbouring shop, while my uncle and myself 
 proceeded in quest of a comfortable supper to a tavern. My 
 servant was directed to hover round the premises, and give the 
 truant housekeeper the earliest notice of our return, and of the 
 derangement which her absence had occasioned. These pre- 
 liminaries being settled, we sallied forth in search of the Regency 
 Tavern, (my uncle's favourite house of entertainment,) his 
 indignation finding vent in frequent ebullitions by the way. 
 
 It is an old proverb, and I have generally found it a true one, 
 that misfortunes never come single ; and the occurrences of this 
 evening afforded no contradiction to the truth of the adage. 
 We had not advanced above the length of a street or two, and 
 my uncle had just got into the middle of a long and hearty im- 
 precation on Girzy, and denunciations of those "deevil's can- 
 trips" which had led her abroad at so unseasonable an hour, 
 when we encountered a fat jolly-looking person, who immedi- 
 ately accosted my companion — "Bless me, Mr Spreull, is this 
 you? a sight o' you in the streets at this time o' night, is a 
 tiling no seen yince in a twalmonth. I thocht ye had been awa' 
 plardxti the laird yer brither in the mouls." 
 
 This address, the irreverent tone of which, it may be pre- 
 sumed, was not much in accordance either with the temper or 
 feelings of my uncle, still afforded an opening for the narrative 
 of Girzy's delinquency too favourable to be neglected. On 
 learning that we were bound for the Regency, Bailie Lapslie 
 (for so was this jolly gentlemen designated) immediately volun- 
 te red to join the party, an offer which my uncle, anxious to 
 learn all the news, accepted. 
 
 Our supper was a good one; Mrs Golder, the landlady, was 
 civil and assiduous in her attentions, and Bailie Lapslie made 
 several efforts al wit, which showed at least the wish to be 
 facetious. Whether the irritation (if my uncle might or might 
 not have yielded to a combination of such agremens, is, and 
 must ever remain a moot point; for a new cause of discompo- 
 sure was speedily interposed to prevent the restoration of his 
 equanimity. 
 
 " Well, bailie," said my uncle, while engaged in the act of 
 
 mpounding his first, tumbler, "ye maun tell us a' the news. 
 How did cottons go off al Wednesday's sale ? are.boweds looking 
 
 up, and ram selling with more spirit than it did last week? — Is 
 there any thing in the Tontine list about the David Spreull, of 
 whose arrival at Demerara I expected to hear before now? I 
 fancy the underwriters are beginning to shake in their shoon 
 
 about her. [t's lour months since she lel'l (Jivenoek, and nae- 
 
 thing has been either leen or heard tell o' her sili svne. Sorry
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XITI. 85 
 
 would I be that ony ill had happened to her; though, in point 
 of loss, I'm safe enough, for she's weel ensured, baith ship, 
 freight, and cargo." 
 
 " In regard to news," returned Bailie Lapslie, " there's no 
 muckle o' ony kind, and little or no variation in the markets 
 frae last week; sugars may be a shade higher, and cottons a 
 thocht lower, but nae change worth the mentioning. At the 
 coffee-room this morning, naething was talked of but the stop- 
 page o' Penny and Trotter, wha, they say, will not pay a 
 shilling in the pound." 
 
 "Penny and Trotter!" exclaimed the old gentleman in a 
 loud and angry voice, his eyes flashing fire, and vehemently 
 striking the table with his clenched fist — " Penny and Trotter 
 bankrupts ! — ay, that's what they may ca' them in the Gazette- 
 but thieves, rogues, and swindlers, is what I'll take care they 
 shall be ca'ed every where else. Let them try to get a certifi- 
 cate frae me — let them see whether I'll agree to their discharge 
 — let them come, wi' pitifu' speech and long faces, yammerin' 
 and fleechin' about their wives and young families, wi' their 
 offers o' composition o' yin, twa, three, ay, or even ten shillings 
 in the pound, and see what comfort they'll get frae me." 
 
 I had never before seen his evil passions called so fully into 
 play as at this moment. All the bitterness of his nature seemed 
 to be collected in order to be discharged at once on the unfor- 
 tunate 'Penny and Trotter. So unexpectedly had this violent 
 ebullition broken forth, and so apparently uncalled for did it ap- 
 pear, that something of the ludicrous involuntarily mingled 
 with it in my imagination. If I smiled, however, it was un- 
 observed, and I remained a silent spectator of a scene in which 
 I had no inclination to take a part. The bailie soon made re- 
 joinder, though apparently somewhat awed by the vehement 
 exasperation his intelligence had caused in the old gentleman. 
 
 " Hoot, Mr Spreull, ye shouldna tak' on sae, although ye are 
 maybe in for a thousand or twa ; ye ken sic things maun 
 happen in trade, and are just to be tholedbyus a'. Your losses 
 at yae time, ye ken, are made up for by yer profits at anither ; an' 
 weel I wat sic a loss misrht have fa'en on them that are less 
 able to bear it than yoursel', had it been a thousand for every 
 bunder." 
 
 " For losses in the fair way of business," replied the other, 
 "I lay my account wi' them like ither folk, and can bear them 
 as weel as my neighbours ; but to be cheated, robbed, and 
 swindled by a fair-faced and dishonest scoundrel, is what I am 
 called upon to bear, neither by British law nor Christian 
 morality; and baith Mr Penny and Mr Trotter will maybe
 
 8G CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 find, to their cost, they could not have selected a worse subject 
 for such an imposition than David Spreull." 
 
 "Lord bless us!" rejoined the bailie, who did not appear 
 more than myself to comprehend the gist of my uncle's accusa- 
 tions, " I'm sorry to hear ye talk in that dour and bitter way 
 aboot the poor folk. What waur are ye aff in the present busi- 
 ness than fifty mair, less able to bear their losses than yoursel' ? 
 Penny and Trotter hae stoppit payment, and ye' re a creditor o' 
 the concern; which, if a' that's said be true, is no likely to 
 make much return. There's naething extraordinar in a' this, 
 though a body would think, frae the violent and flytin' way ye 
 speak o' them, they had clappit a pistol to your breast and 
 robbit you on the highway " 
 
 " Clappit a pistol to my breast and robbit me, say ye?" vehe- 
 mently rejoined my uncle — "to do that requires spirit and 
 courage, and these puir miserable deevils have none. Wad ye 
 even chiels like thae, who come to swindle you wi' a smooth . 
 tongue and a girnin' gab, to a fair and open robber who de- 
 mands yer siller on the king's highway ? He comes at least in 
 his real character of a declared enemy, and perils baith life and 
 soul for the miserable pittance he gains by his unprofitable 
 trade. Such a man I neither hate nor despise ; and whatever 
 means I may think myself bound to take for the recovery or 
 preservation of my property, he has my best wishes to escape 
 from the gallows in this. world, and the deevil's claut in the 
 next." 
 
 " Weel, weel ! " exclaimed the bailie, perceiving all contention 
 on this matter to be hopeless, and willing, at least, to know the 
 simple facts of the case, " It's weel ken't, Mr Spreull, that 
 there's no' a langer head in the toon o' Glasgow than yer ain ; 
 and trying to cheat you is like suppin' kail wi' the deil — it needs 
 a lang spoon no to come all' second best. But you forget that 
 neither Mr Thornton nor I ken ony of the particulars of the 
 case." 
 
 Upon these, at last, Mr Spreull condescended to enter, and it 
 soon appeared that the head and front of the offending of Messrs 
 Penny and Trotter, consisted in incurring a debt of three thou- 
 sand pounds to the old gentleman only a few days before, when 
 it was scarcely possible to suppose them ignorant of their im- 
 pending insolvency. This, to say truth, was provoking enough, 
 but perhaps would not so vehemently have excited the old gentle- 
 men's passions, had the deception not involved, besides pecuniary 
 loss, an imputation on his sagacity, and exposed him to the mor- 
 tification of having it known to the world that he had been 
 duped. To a man of his substance, indeed, the loss did not 
 carry with it any serious inconvenience; and it is but justice to
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIII. 87 
 
 state, what I afterwards learned, that in this case, according to 
 the old Scottish saying, "his bark was waur than his bite," and 
 that his better feelings did not suffer him to carry his threatened 
 vengeance into effect. 
 
 Instruments so ill in tune as my uncle, the bailie, and myself, 
 could not be expected to produce a very harmonious concert, 
 and the excellent Glenlivet of the Regency wasted its powers in 
 vain. At length the party broke up, and having wished the 
 bailie good-night, I accompanied the old gentleman home, in 
 order to see him once more installed in his domicile. All the 
 way he spoke not a word ; and we were ascending the stair, 
 when Girzy, now on the alert, appeared on the landing-place, 
 bearing a candle to light our steps. Aware of the advantage of 
 offensive operations in a case like the present, she determined to 
 carry war into the camp of the enemy, and lost no time in 
 coming to the scratch. 
 
 " Weel, I'm glad to see you hame again, baith o' ye," said she 
 as we advanced, " though yin wad hae expeckit better things frae 
 a man o' your years, than to be takin' folk by surprise at this 
 gait. Couldna ye hae just drappit me a line, to let me ken ye 
 war comin' the night ; and I might hae had a gude comfortable 
 supper ready for you and Mr Ceeral ? But this is no' the first 
 time ye hae sair't me sae, and I maun e'en say it's really a daft- 
 like proceeding." 
 
 This fire of Girzy's stern-chaser was answered, as might be 
 expected, by a whole broadside from her enraged antagonist, 
 who, taking advantage of his heavier metal, poured in both shot 
 and shell with such destructive energy, that the Girzy bomb lay 
 at length a mere log upon the water, much damaged both in 
 hull and rigging, yet disdaining to strike her colours. In the 
 course of the engagement, however, the facts of the case were 
 elicited, which were briefly these : — 
 
 Though a maiden, Girzy's talents as a " howdie " were held in 
 much estimation by a large circle of matronly acquaintance, and, 
 as we are naturally partial to that pursuit in which we excel, 
 Girzy by no means shunned any opportunity that offered for the 
 display of her obstetrical talents. In the present instance she 
 had been induced to desert her post, by a pressing message from 
 the wife of Deacon Dinwiddie, stating that she had just been 
 " ta'en wi' her thraws," requesting a visit from her friend, and 
 expressing much apprehension that she was destined " to hae a 
 sair time o't." Girzy could not resist this golden opportunity 
 for the exercise of her skill, and seized it with all the avidity of 
 a dilettante practitioner. She had not gone forth, however, on 
 the exercise of her high vocation, without issuing special in- 
 junctions to Jenny to remain a close tenant of the house during
 
 88 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 her absence, and desiring that she might receive the earliest 
 information in case her master should arrive in the interval. 
 No sooner, however, was Girzy's back turned, than Jenny sal- 
 lied forth to hear the " clash o' the toon," from her companions 
 at the West-port Well. Such were the causes of this domestic 
 uproar, which threatened to involve consequences of the most 
 serious nature to the whole of Mr Spreull's establishment. 
 
 "An' what business hae ye," exclaimed my uncle, " to be con- 
 cerned in any such matters ? Are there no doctors eneugh in 
 the town, without your setting up for a howdie? Think ye it's 
 a gude reason to gie a man, when he's just come aff a journey 
 baith cauld and hungry, and finds his ain door steekit in his 
 face, that he maun coolliis cuits on the stair-head, because Mrs 
 Dinwiddle's ta'en wi' her thraws? — the deevil thraw baith you 
 and her! But it's just as weel that ye should understand yae 
 thing, thai my housekeeper's no' to be trotting after every kit- 
 tling wife in the parish; and gin ye canna mak' up your mind 
 to mind your ain business, and leave the care of cleckin' women 
 to ither folk, ye had better just pack up your duds and seek a 
 place that will suit you better, for here ye shall not stay, I'm 
 determined." 
 
 At this — as it appeared toGirzy — unprovoked and gratuitous 
 threat, she waxed wroth. 
 
 "Na, Mr Spreull!" exclaimed the indignant matron, "gin ye 
 want to part wi' an auld— ay, and though I say it that shouldna 
 sav'f, a gude servant, ye hae just to say the word, and I'se war- 
 rant ye shall soon hae a toom house me. Just speak, and in 
 hauf an hour's time I promise you I'se darken yer doors nae 
 mair; and gin this is a' that's come o' twenty years hard and 
 faithfu' service — for talon' tent o' ye baith day and night — in 
 health and sickness — for guidin', and mariagin', and Bcrimpin' a' 
 things to save yer substance — if this he a' the thanks I'm to get 
 for a' mj service, 1 here tak' Maister Ceeral to witness, that I'm 
 ready to shake the dust frae all' my feet at yer door, and rather 
 die in the aulms-hoose than eat the bread, even for anilherday, 
 o' sae dour, cauld-hearted, and thankless a maister." 
 
 " What for do ye gang on like a gomeril at this gaitP" re- 
 joined her master", not a little taken aback by this unexpected 
 
 effervescence of female spirit ; "wha wants ye to gang gin ye 
 
 like to slay" 
 
 "What 'for do 1 gang on, ask ye? " interrupted (lir/.y, deter- 
 mine I to keep her vantage ground ; " \\ hat tor do I gang on at 
 this gait ? rather tell me what for is a' this stramash? What. 
 for do you come hame like a fury, wi' yer ecu on a lowe, and a 
 voice louder than Bell Geordy's, and tell an auld servant to leave 
 yer house, because she happened to be no just in the way when
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIV. 89 
 
 ye arrived at an unexpected and untimeous hour frae the country? 
 — Oh, Mr Spreull! but ye' re a dour and a hard man, and that a' 
 the warld says o' ye. But fare ye weel ; for a' that's come and 
 gane," here she softened her voice, " I wadna part wi' ye in ill 
 bluid ; — there, tak' the keys," producing, at the same time, a large 
 bunch, and extending her hand with them towards her master, 
 " there, tak' the keys, ye'll find a' things right ; and fare ye weel, 
 for beneath your roof-tree I shall na sleep anither night." 
 
 Whether Girzy really intended to take her departure, or 
 whether this was merely a rhetorical artifice, is beyond my 
 fathom to determine. But the very idea of an event, so utterly 
 unlooked for, was evidently not a little appalling to my uncle. 
 If artifice it was in Girzy, never was artifice better supported by 
 external demonstrations of truth. She had assumed, in the course 
 of her speech, a stately port and demeanour, to her unwonted. 
 A look of high resolve sat throned on her brow, as she stretched 
 forth her hand with the keys to her astonished master. 
 
 " What, in God's name, Girzy, mak's ye speak such havers as 
 ye've been bletherin' for the last five minutes, and what for do 
 ye keep raxin' the keys, as if I wanted them frae ye ?. Gie us 
 nae mair o' your clishmaclavers, but gang ben the house, and 
 gin ye dinna think better o't in the mornin', I'se warrant you'll 
 find few objections on my part to your seekin' for anither 
 place." 
 
 Perceiving, now, that the contest was likely to terminate with- 
 out any important results, and observing both parties to mani- 
 fest an inclination for peace, on the footing of the status ante 
 helium, I took an early opportunity of withdrawing from the 
 field, and returned to my quarters in the College. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Farewell ! a word that hath been, and must be. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Now lords and earls, and all their sweeping train, 
 And garters, stars, and coronets appear. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 In youth, with all its gayety and excitement, " time passes o'er 
 us with a noiseless lapse ;" and his course is swift and trackless 
 as that of a bird. Spring was now gone, and it was summer. 
 The halls of the College were once more deserted, and I, too, 
 made preparation for departure.
 
 90 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The first of May is the day fixed by immemorial usage in the 
 University for the distribution of the prizes : a day looked for- 
 ward to with " hopes, and fears that kindle hope," by many 
 youthful and ardent spirits. The great hall of the College on 
 that day, certainly presents a very pleasing and animated spec- 
 tacle. The academical distinctions are bestowed with much of 
 ceremonial pomp, in presence of a vast concourse of spectators, 
 and it is not uninteresting to mark the flush of bashful triumph 
 on the cheek of the victor — the sparkling of his downcast eye, 
 as the hall is rent with loud applause, when he advances to 
 receive the badge of honour assigned him by the voice of his fel- 
 low students. It is altogether a sight to stir the spirit in the 
 youthful bosom, and stimulate into healthy action faculties which, 
 but for such excitement, might have continued in unbroken 
 slumber. 
 
 Of such distinctions, irregular as my habits of study had been, 
 I was a partaker. In some of my classes I stood first — in all, I 
 carried oft' some mark of successful application ; and, in now 
 looking back on the year which I spent in the College of Glas- 
 gow, I cannot but refer to it the acquisition of that love of lite- 
 rature, which has never died within me, and in which I have 
 found a relief and a resource, under circumstances when its place 
 could scarcely have been otherwise supplied. 
 
 Of my family I have of late said little, yet they were but sel- 
 dom absent from my thoughts, and with the dift'erent members 
 of it I kept up a constant intercourse by letter. My father sel- 
 dom wrote to me, and when he did, his letters betrayed little of 
 that affectionate feeling which might be expected to breathe in 
 the confidential intercourse of a parent and an only son. Though 
 neither harsh nor unkind, they were cold and stately, and in 
 character rather those of a monitor rigid in the performance of a 
 duty, than of a father whose hopes were garnered up in the object 
 he addressed. 
 
 From my mother I heard more frequently, but writing was an 
 exertion to which she was frequently unequal, and my principal 
 correspondent was Jane. In the letters of thai dear sister, nut lung 
 that interested me was too insignificant to find a place. She 
 gathered information from the grooms and keeper of my stud 
 and kennel, which she faithfully embodied (bating a few tech- 
 nical mistakes) in her epistles. She told me of lleeuba. my 
 favourite old mare, and enlarged on the colour and beauty of 
 her foal, which little Lucy fed daily in the paddock. She spoke, 
 too, of Don and Ponto — of Ariel, my little spaniel, petted and 
 caressed by all for the sake of her absent master. 
 
 The accounts which 1 received from Jane of my mother's 
 health, though unfavourable, did not excite alarm. Nor did
 
 Cl'KIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIV. 91 
 
 either Jane or my father appear to feel such. She had, I was 
 told, become more feeble ; but a trip to Brighton was meditated, 
 and the sea-breezes would restore her strength. She suffered 
 from a severe cough ; but this the warmth of the approaching 
 summer would remove. Her spirits, too, were good, and her 
 letters betrayed no symptom of the languor of disease. It is not 
 the character of youth to anticipate evil. Death is then regarded 
 as a distant, though inevitable event, to whose dreaded approach 
 we shut our eyes and stop our ears, till his chariot-wheels are 
 at hand, and he already thunders at the gate. 
 
 In this situation did matters stand, when, at the conclusion of 
 the College session, I wrote to my father to learn his wishes as 
 to my motions. My friend Conyers was about to visit one of his 
 guardians in Yorkshire, an old fox-hunting squire, where he was 
 to remain till a cornetcy of dragoons had been obtained for him. 
 We proposed a tour by the Lakes, and he pressed me to accom- 
 pany him. 
 
 I mentioned this scheme to my father, and requested his con- 
 sent. He gave it, but desired that I would take advantage of 
 my being in the neighbourhood to offer a visit to our relation, 
 the Earl of Amersham, with whom, from the seclusion in which 
 my father had spent the latter years of his life, little intercourse, 
 during my remembrance, had been maintained. To the advan- 
 tages which might arise from keeping up this connexion, he was 
 not insensible. The Earl was ministerial in his politics, and 
 had several boroughs at command ; and therefore was a person 
 worth courting by a young man just about to enter the world, 
 with fewer friends and smaller fortune than was desirable. My 
 mother accordingly wrote to the Countess, with whom, at one 
 period of her life, she had been intimate, informing her that she 
 could not hear of my being in Yorkshire, without feeling anxious 
 that I should become personally known to relations for whom 
 both she and my father entertained so perfect a regard. 
 
 Preliminaries being at length settled, Conyers and myself set 
 forth on our excursion, with light and joyous hearts. My part- 
 ing with my uncle was an affecting one. Before I rose to say 
 farewell, at our last interview, we had been conversing for about 
 an hour. I had laid before him with perfect openness and sin- 
 cerity my hopes and prospects, for I then regarded him only as 
 a warm and faithful friend. He could scarcely be expected to 
 approve of my partiality for a military life, but he had know- 
 ledge enough of character to perceive that my inclinations were 
 not to be controlled on this matter, and he did not seriously 
 attempt it. 
 
 " Weel, Cyril," said he, " since ye will be a sodger, and are 
 fool enough to gang to be shot at for twa or three shillings a
 
 92 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 day, when ye might stay at hame and do far better, it's needless 
 for me to try and reason you out o' what I see ye've set your 
 heart on. But gang where ye like, ye'll hae the prayers o' an 
 auld man for the blessings o' Providence on your head. May 
 God's mercy be a fence and a buckler to you in the day of battle, 
 and His grace ever guide you and protect you in the perilous 
 course of life on which you are about to enter!" 
 
 Here the old man was silent; the expression of his face was 
 stern and unmoved as ever, but my own heart sympathetically 
 told me of all that was working in his. Tears gushed from my 
 eyes as I rose to bid him adieu. I endeavoured — but I could 
 not speak. He grasped my hand in his, with a strong and yet 
 somewhat tremulous pressure. For a minute there was silence, 
 but the old man became gradually calmer, and thus spoke : — 
 
 "Farewell, Cyril, farewell; it's like that on this side o' the 
 grave we may never meet again. Yet 1 may live to hear o' your 
 well-doing, and that will be to me the best and maist joyfu' tidings 
 I can receive in this world. Gang — but mind while I live, gin 
 ye want a friend to help you in time of need, ye hae yin in your 
 auld uncle that will no forsake you in your trouble. Gang — 
 and yer auld uncle's blessing lie on your head, and his prayers 
 shall follow for your happiness and prosperity, wherever it may 
 please God that your lot may be cast." 
 
 As he spoke, he laid his hand solemnly on my head, then 
 embracing me, he turned suddenly from me. I rushed, much 
 moved, from the apartment, and in a moment found myself — in 
 the arms of Girzy. Before I succeeded in extricating myself 
 from tins unpleasant predicament, I had undergone the penalty 
 of several kind kisses, while I felt her arms clasping my neck 
 with such a gripe, as that with which a vulture seizes a lamb. 
 "Just promise to come back again," said the worthy creature 
 with red eyes ami in a choking voice — " Jusi promise to come 
 back and see us again, and I'll let you gang." 
 
 " Yes, yes," I answered, anxious to escape, anil quite overcome 
 by this unexpected prolongation of the scene — " Yes, and may 
 God bless you;" ami by a sudden effort 1 released myself from 
 her grasp, and effected my escape. 
 
 No cure for mental depression is so efficacious as travelling. 
 My heart was heavy when, seated in the Carlisle mail vis <i VIS 
 to my friend Conyers, we whirled rapidly through the Gallow- 
 gate, and bade -,\ Long, probably an eternal farewell to Cla^gow. 
 With reverted eye, I gazed upon the lofty towers of the Cathe- 
 dral, till, by the increasing distance, they could no longer be 
 distinctly traced in the dense canopy of smoke which overhung 
 the city. My attention, however, was soon engrossed by the 
 new objects which were constantly presenting themselves as we
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CIIAPTER XIV. 93 
 
 advanced ; and long- before we reached Hamilton, " my bosom's 
 lord sat lightly on its throne," and my spirits were light and 
 buoyant as the air I breathed. 
 
 Never did I pass a more delightful week than that which we 
 spent in the neighbourhood of the Lakes, in exploring their tran- 
 scendent scenery. Amidst such objects, and at such an age, was 
 it possible for beings, with hearts young and unoppressed by the 
 cares of the world, to be otherwise than happy ? We required 
 no artificial stimulus — no extraneous excitement, to goad on our 
 fancy to enjoyment. " The common air, the earth, the skies," 
 were in themselves all-suificient. They gave us then, what 
 millions, did I possess them, could not purchase now. In youth 
 happiness is cheap, but the enjoyments of a jaded spirit must 
 be dearly bought, and when bought, are vapid. 
 
 On quitting the Lakes, a day's journey brought us to the house 
 of Squire Parkyns, who received both his ward and myself with 
 a hearty welcome. He was a gentleman of a good estate, and 
 a justice of the quorum, a warm-hearted and well-meaning man, 
 and marked by that devotion to field-sports " which is the 
 badge of all his tribe;" but I should imagine, one of the most 
 unfit persons in the world to be intrusted with the guardianship 
 of a young man. His wife, Conyers told rne, had been dead 
 many years, and he had lost an only son, who was killed by a 
 fall from his horse when out hunting. Under this latter blow 
 the old man's spirits had long succumbed, but they had again 
 recovered ; and, notwithstanding that he had three daughters 
 married in the neighbourhood, he preferred keeping what he 
 called "bachelor's hall," to again submitting his establishment 
 to female management and control. 
 
 To a jovial old spirit like this, the society of Conyers and 
 myself was not unpleasing. We admired and praised his stud, 
 listened to his sporting anecdotes, and in all disputes about 
 hunting or shooting, deferentially chose him as our umpire. In 
 three days we drank him into a fit of the gout, and in three more 
 I received a letter from Lord Amersham, expressing in courtly 
 phrase his thanks for the proposed visit, and the delight which 
 both he and Lady Amersham would feel in receiving at Staun- 
 ton Court the son of his old and valued friend. 
 
 After receiving this communication, I spent a week in the 
 society of Conyers and the old squire, before I could bring 
 myself to think of taking my departure. Even then I was indu- 
 ced more than once to uncord and unpack my trunks when all 
 prepared for a start, and to add another day to the duration of 
 my sojourn. With regard to Conyers, our characters amalga- 
 mated wonderfully, and a strong mutual regard had grown up 
 between us. Of all the men I have ever known, Conyers, I
 
 94 CYRIL TIIOBNTON. CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 think, possessed in the greatest degree the power of conciliating 
 attachment. He was indeed a fine and generous creature ; and 
 the gayety of his spirit, the openness of his disposition, and his 
 entire recklessness of self, were enough to disarm the censure of 
 the most rigid moralists on his failings. 
 
 At length we parted ; but there was no tinge of melancholy 
 in our adieu : we embraced, vowed friendship, and bade fare- 
 well, with all the warmth and sincerity, yet with all the light- 
 heartedness of youth. We were about to enter on the same 
 profession, to encounter the same dangers, to mingle in the same 
 world. We were to meet frequently, and were destined to pass 
 many happy days in each other's society — we were but to enjoy 
 the pleasures, to pluck the rose of life ; and as for its thorns, we 
 thought not, knew not of them. 
 
 And so we parted. The Gazette shortly after informed me 
 that Charles was appointed to a cornetcy of dragoons in a regi- 
 ment then stationed in Ireland. Soon after joining, he wrote 
 me in ecstasies of his new profession, entreating me to procure, 
 if possible, a commission then vacant in the regiment. But it 
 was yet dubious whether my father would consent to my 
 becoming a soldier. In any case it was very certain, that my 
 preference for a particular regiment woidd be treated by him as 
 a mere boyish whim, and disregarded as such. Under present 
 circumstances, therefore, I felt and knew the obstacles to the 
 accomplishment of my wishes to be insurmountable. Years of 
 separation elapsed. Our correspondence, regular at first, became 
 gradually less frequent, as the pleasures and business of the 
 world thickened around us, and more deeply engrossed our 
 thoughts ; and, long before we again met, it had been altogether 
 discontinued. 
 
 On parting from my friend and the old squire, I had thirty 
 miles to travel before reaching Staunton Court, the seat of my 
 noble relatives. Hitherto 1 had mixed but little in society, and 
 that little in the character of a boy. The dignity of a grown 
 man — a gentleman — which I had known only by anticipation, 
 I was now for the first time to enjoy; and it was not without a 
 sense of novel dignity, that I fell myself about to take part in a 
 scene which, even to my own imagination, seemed worthy of the 
 actor. Still it was with sonic palpitation of the heart — some 
 more than wonted misgiving of my own powers — that I beheld 
 the gates of the lodge tin-own open at my approach, and thought, 
 as the carriage wound along the stately and serpentine approach, 
 that the wislied-f'or moment was at hand. 
 
 The park was extensive, and stocked with the finest timber. 
 Large herds of deer were cropping the pastures, or reclining in 
 the shade. Every thing around gave indication of magnificent
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIV. 95 
 
 antiquity — of a residence which, in my imagination, well befitted 
 one whose ancestors had bled in the crusades — a descendant of 
 those noble barons who gained, at their sword's point, the great 
 and enduring charter of their country's freedom. The hand of 
 wealth, indeed, was every where visible, but with none of that 
 tinsel ornament and gewgaw profusion which marks the splen- 
 dour of a nouveau riche. 
 
 An approach of three miles brought us at length in sight of 
 the house. It was a large and massive pile of building, of a 
 quadrangular form, and showing, in its style of architecture, 
 that picturesque peculiarity by which the works of Inigo Jones, 
 our English Palladio, are so generally distinguished. The house 
 had originally been surrounded by a moat, hut that was now 
 dry, and planted with flowers and shrubs of singular beauty and 
 luxuriance. Across this was thrown a bridge of light and 
 graceful construction, terminated by an arch, over which the 
 arms of the family, surmounted by an earl's coronet, were cut 
 in high relief, and supported on either flank by a ferocious 
 dragon, displaying all the exuberance of tail and tusk with 
 which heralds usually rejoice to adorn their fabulous creations. 
 Beneath, the motto, " A gladio et per gladium" was emblazoned 
 in golden characters, and harmonized well with my own ideas of 
 the chivalrous dignity of baronial tenure. 
 
 On descending from the carriage, I entered a circular hall of 
 spacious dimensions, the roof of which ascended to the full 
 height of the building, and was lighted by a cupola in the centre. 
 The walls were wainscoted and hung with pictures ; and on a 
 pedestal in the centre stood a statue of Charles the Second, who, 
 in the days of his adversity, had found both welcome and safety 
 within the walls of Staunton. 
 
 I was ushered across this magnificent apartment through a 
 troop of liveried menials, and, after ascending a short marble 
 staircase, adorned and perfumed by a double row of beautiful 
 exotics, entered the library, which I found untenanted. The 
 groom of the chambers then informed me that neither Lord nor 
 Lady Amersham were at home, and requested to know whether 
 I chose any refreshment after my journey. To this I answered 
 in the negative ; and the attendant, making a polite bow, quitted 
 the apartment. • Thus left alone, and perhaps a little daunted 
 by the pomp and ceremony by which the scene around me was 
 invested, I seated myself in an easy-chair, and once more gave 
 the reins to my fancy. 
 
 I pictured to myself the owner of this splendid demesne. 
 " Undoubtedly," I said, " he is a person of lofty carriage and 
 finished elegance of manner ; proud, for how can he be other- 
 wise? but his is a generous pride, ever veiled in courtesy to his
 
 96 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 equals, and kindness to his inferiors. Raised by his wealth and 
 
 station above the petty cares and anxieties by which meaner men 
 are agitated, he is liberal, nay, munificent in his ideas, with a 
 hand open as day to melting- charity. He is a hero; for the 
 blood of the noblest chivalry of England flows in his veins. lie 
 is a patriot ; for he cannot forget the country to which he owes 
 so much. He is loyal ; for his station marks him out as a here- 
 ditary bulwark of the throne." 
 
 In this manner did mv imagination run on, adding new colours 
 to the picture it had drawn, till the owner of the mansion seemed to 
 stand before me invested with every possible grace and excellence. 
 
 " And I am now," thought I, " to appear in the presence of 
 this noble and transcendent personage. With what an air of 
 deference and respect must I address him, and what impression 
 can I, a raw, ignorant, and untutored boy, expect to make on 
 one -whose taste and talents must, at a glance, lay bare to him 
 the whole extent of my deficiencies? 
 
 " I shall at least do my best." resolved I, and rising from my 
 chair, I advanced towards a pier-glass, in front of which I began 
 to practise such bows and deferential modes of address, as 
 appeared to me best suited to so formidable an introduction. In 
 order to derive all possible benefit from this preparatory rehearsal, 
 I judged it right to suit the word to the action, addressing my- 
 self first in the character of Lord Amersham, and then framing 
 a fitting answer in my own. 
 
 '• .Mr Thornton," said I, as his lordship's mouthpiece, assum- 
 ing at the same time an air of graceful dignity, mingled with 
 much kindness and condescension, " 1 am delighted to have the 
 honour of welcoming you for the first time to Staunton Court. 
 Believe me, 1 sincerely rejoice in this opportunity of cultivating 
 an acquaintance, which circumstances have long— too long, 
 delayed. Lady Amersham, let me present to you our relation, 
 Mr Cyril Thornton. Lady Melicent, I beg to introduce youi 
 cousin." 
 
 " My lord." replied I, in my own character, making, as I 
 >poke. a profound obeisance, '•dome the honour, 1 pray your 
 lordship, to accept my very sincere thanks for your kindness 
 and condescension. To Lady Amersham and my fair cousin, 
 
 Eere I was interrupted by a half-suppressed titter in the 
 apartment, a sound al thatmomenl more dreadful to my ear than 
 would have been that of the explosion of a mine beneath my 
 feet, or the hissing of a boa-constrictor beneath the drawing- 
 room table. I stood for an instant as if transfixed, mj head bent 
 
 forward in the act of addr< iy noble hot. and my right 
 
 hand extended to receive the friendly pressure of his palm.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIV. 97 
 
 At length, assuming the courage of despair, I determined to 
 know the worst at once. I raised my head, and looking round, 
 beheld two young ladies, who had evidently been witnesses of 
 my absurd exhibition. Fancy a youth of acute, nay, almost 
 morbid sensibility, placed in such a situation, and it is possible, 
 barely possible, if you are a person of strong imagination, that 
 you may form some inadequate idea of the spiritual torture I 
 then suffered. If any thing in this world can afford a good apo- 
 logy for suicide, it is undoubtedly such a detection as that of 
 which I was the subject. Luckily neither pistol, razor, nor pen- 
 knife, presented themselves, nay, not a bodkin, or I verily believe 
 that instant had terminated my mortal career. From the top of 
 my head to the sole of my foot, I had a pulse throbbing like a 
 sledge-hammer in every inch. My eyes stared wildly round, in 
 the hopeless effort to find some avenue of escape. I would have 
 given my inheritance for a snug berth in the coal-cellar, or have 
 paid down a handsome difference to have changed situations with 
 Daniel in the lions' den. I would have caught at a cell in the 
 Inquisition or the dungeon of Baron Trenck, and have thought 
 the penalty a light one, compared to the agonizing horror of 
 such a detection. Never did Ghost, Gorgon, or Chimajra, appear 
 so terrific to human eyes, as did the vision of these two elegant 
 and blooming girls at that moment to mine. 
 
 They stood near the fireplace, 'shawled and bonneted, as if 
 just returned from a walk. One of them was curiously recon- 
 noitring me with an eyeglass, and the other was evidently endea- 
 vouring to suppress a laugh, in which she was not wholly suc- 
 cessful. What could I do ? To prolong the ridicule of my 
 situation, by continuing to stand before the mirror, was impos- 
 sible ; to advance or retire, equally dreadful. Which evil I at 
 length preferred, whether I rushed on Scylla or Charybdis, my 
 mind was in too great a state of confusion to enable me now to 
 recollect. 
 
 At length, one of the ladies, making a strong effort to resume 
 her gravity, advanced, and thus addressed me : — " Since chance 
 has thus thrown us together, there is, I think, no reason to wait 
 for a formal introduction. Some expressions of your soliloquy, 
 which we accidentally overheard, sufficiently betrayed that you 
 are Mr Cyril Thornton, who has been, I know, an expected 
 guest for some days. Mr Thornton, let me introduce you to 
 Miss Pynsent — Miss Pynsent, Mr Thornton." 
 
 In reply to this address, delivered with the most perfect self- 
 possession, and an air of grace and high breeding, the union of 
 which was remarkable in one- evidently so young, I stammered 
 out some enquiries for Lord and Lady Amersham, bowed, and, 
 I suppose, looked like a blockhead. I am very sure I felt like one. 
 
 G
 
 98 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The ice, however, was now broken ; and though, in a case 
 like the present, it cannot exactly be said that " cest ne que le 
 premier pas qui coule" it is certainly true, that the premier pas 
 is, out of sight, the most painful and difficult, and each succeed- 
 ing one becomes comparatively easy. The young lady was lively 
 and animated, and did not suffer the conversation to languish ; 
 and I might have hoped that my folly had been either over- 
 looked or forgotten, had I not observed that a look of laughing 
 intelligence was occasionally interchanged between the fair 
 companions. 
 
 " Come, Julia," at length said the Lady Melicent, " our mal 
 apropos intrusion has already too long interrupted the rhetorical 
 studies of Mr Thornton," at the same time rising to depart ; 
 " we must get rid of these odious walking habiliments. — Mam- 
 ma and Lady Pynsent are going to call at Feversham Park," 
 continued she, addressing me, and looking at her watch. " It 
 is now half-past four o'clock, and we do not dine till seven, so 
 you still have two hours in which to practise oratory ; but should 
 you tire of that, and choose a turn in the park, you will pro- 
 bably meet papa at the farm, to which any one will direct you. 
 Au revoir; pray, do not forget to introduce into your speech 
 something peculiarly elegant about your fair cousin." So say- 
 ing, she linked her arm in that of her sister grace, and, with the 
 lightness of sylphs, they glided out of the apartment. 
 
 She spoke with a wicked archness of look, and there was a 
 laughing devil in her eye, by no means soothing to my irritated 
 sensibilities ; and, when left alone, I for some time paced the 
 apartment with long and irregular strides, reflecting, in no en- 
 viable mood, on the ridiculous figure I must have made before 
 those very persons on whom I was most anxious to make a 
 favourable impression. It may be imagined, I had no inclina- 
 tion to resume the exercise in which 1 had been so unseasonably 
 interrupted. I determined, therefore, on a stroll in the park, 
 and to effect my introduction to Lord Amcrsham, in case I 
 should enounter him in my walk. 
 
 Tin 1 air and exercise tended to calm my spirits, and some- 
 what to restore the self-composure, of which my unfortunate 
 (I. hiil in the library had so utterly deprived me. There is some- 
 thing in the very aspect of nature — in its simplest sounds and 
 commonest features — soothing and delightful. They seem as if 
 intended to act as an oblivious antidote to those mental per- 
 turbations which are generated by the cares and anxieties of 
 artificial life. For such wounds nature has provided a simple 
 medicament, which the united experience of mankind proves to 
 be efficacious. The citizen retires to his box at Hackney or on 
 Champion-hill, and the lawyer •' babbles of green fields" at his
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIV. 99 
 
 villa in Kent or Hertfordshire. They are conscious of the effect, 
 though perhaps ignorant of the cause. They feel that the thou- 
 sand tight-drawn ligaments which bind them to the world are 
 for the moment loosened — the shackles fall from their limbs, 
 and they draw from the bosom of nature that simple nourish- 
 ment, which strengthens and braces them again to undergo the 
 repetition of their daily toils. 
 
 Of this restorative power, I felt in my ramble the full efficacy. 
 The park was fine and extensive. The venerable oaks cast their 
 shadows broader as the sun sunk in the horizon, on the green- 
 sward beneath them and around. The birds were caroling 
 their vespers ; and the deer that stood on a neighbouring emi- 
 nence, tossing high their branchy foreheads, showed like crea- 
 tures embedded in the purple glory of the sky. 
 
 Occupied with the scene around me, I had forgotten my pur- 
 pose of seeking Lord Amersham, till warned of the necessity of 
 returning to the house by the sound of the first dinner-bell. 1 
 had turned for that purpose, and was leisurely retracing my 
 steps to the mansion, when I observed a person of rather outre 
 appearance approaching hastily in a diagonal direction, evidently 
 with the wish to overtake me. I accordingly waited for his 
 approach, and, as he advanced, had time to take a pretty accu- 
 rate observation of his person. 
 
 He was dressed in a jacket of bottle-green, garnished with 
 buttons of mother-of-pearl, of dimensions unusually large. His 
 nether integuments were of dark plush, and over his legs, which 
 were exceedingly clumsy and unshapely, he wore gaiters, the 
 under part of which was of cloth, and the upper of dingy- 
 coloured leather. His beaver was of a drab colour, distinguished 
 by an unusual latitude of brim, and bearing evident marks of 
 long exposure to the vicissitudes which mark our climate. In 
 his hand he carried a long pole, terminating at its lower ex- 
 tremity in a weeding-hook. His figure was round and squab, 
 of ungainly proportions, and marked, when in motion, by a 
 singular jerking of the body and limbs, producing altogether 
 rather a ludicrous effect. His face and head were large. The 
 former slightly pitted by the smallpox, and displaying features 
 coarse and apparently unsuited to each other, constituting just 
 such a countenance as one might be supposed to form, were he 
 to select a feature from each of his ugly acquaintances, and 
 huddle them altogether into one visage. Judging from the tout 
 ensemble, he might be park-keeper or farmer ; one probably 
 well to do in the world, and in his obesity furnishing at once a 
 practical illustration and comment on the " scope and tendency 
 of Bacon." 
 
 Curious to know what such a person could want with me, and
 
 100 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 taking compassion on the exertions -which his pursuit evidently 
 cost him, 1 stopped my walk, which at first I had only slack- 
 ened, till he came up. For some seconds he was unable to 
 speak, and stood panting for breath to enable him to commence 
 his address. 
 
 " Mr Cyril Thornton, I presume?" said this grotesque per- 
 sonage. I bowed in acquiescence, and without pausing, he 
 proceeded. " Beg ten thousand pardons that you should have 
 been left so long alone. — Delighted to see you at Staunton. — 
 Saw your carriage pass, and guessed it was you, but was so busy 
 with Sam Brown, (my farm bailiff,) that I could not escape a 
 moment to welcome you. We farmers, Mr Thornton, as you 
 will probably know by and by, are literally ad scripti glebm ; we 
 must follow the plough, and trust to the good-nature of our 
 friends to forgive omissions. You must come to-morrow and 
 see my farm ; I'll show you stock worth the seeing. But let us 
 move on now, for the dinner-bell has rung, and we have no time 
 to stand chattering." 
 
 This voluble address was so rapidly enunciated, that I found 
 it impossible to hitch in any thing in reply; and as we pro- 
 ceeded towards the house, the Earl, for he it was, still continued 
 to talk. 
 
 " Hope you left your family quite well ? — Your mother is a 
 charming woman — first saw her at a ball at Bath, two, three, 
 four, five-and-twenty years ago — turned the heads of all the 
 young men in those days. Your father, too, a most worthy and 
 excellent person, and my particular friend. But oh ! I forget, 
 you're not from Thornhill ; I think I heard you were at school, 
 at — at — at — Manchester P" 
 
 " At the College of Glasgow, my lord," interrupted I, rather 
 piqued at the mistake, and unwilling to bo mistaken for a Man- 
 chester school-boy. 
 
 " Oh, ah, Glasgow was it? — my memory is so bad, and I am 
 :q>t to make a sad jumble when talking of those, as Mr Pitt 
 called them, ' great emporiums of trade,' — Leeds, Sheffield, 
 Glasgow, Manchester. 1 knew you were at one or another of 
 them, though not exactly certain which. Glasgow, eh ? Then 
 you're from Scotland, and must tell me all about the Scotch farm- 
 ing — the succession of crops, and all that. — Scotch blackfaced 
 sin ep too — capital mutton, but devils for leaping fences — not so 
 good on the huggins as Leicestershire, and coarse in the fleece. 
 Notwithstanding all you've seen in Scotland, flatter myself you'll 
 like our farming in Yorkshire. To-morrow morning you must 
 come to the farm and see my new patent thrashing-machine — 
 nine-horse power, and managed by a boy." 
 
 We now reached the house, and the necessity of speedy pre-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XV. 101 
 
 parations for dinner, occasioned an abrupt termination to be put 
 to the conversation. I retired, accordingly, for this purpose, 
 and when engaged in the operations of the toilet, could scarce 
 refrain from smiling, when I remembered how ludicrously all 
 my anticipations of the person, manners, and character of Lord 
 Amersham, had been at variance with the truth. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 If love ambitious sought a match of birth, 
 
 Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanch ? 
 
 King John. 
 
 Lord Amersham, to whom in the latter part of the last 
 chapter I have introduced my readers, had been bred a soldier. 
 Possessing rank, fortune, title, high connexions, and Parliament- 
 ary influence, his rise in his profession had been impeded by 
 none of those obstacles which men in ordinary circumstances 
 always find it difficult, often impossible, to surmount. He rose 
 rapidly to be a general, and without encountering either the 
 hazards of the field, or the vicissitudes of climate, obtained his 
 full share of the solid pudding, as well as of the empty honours 
 of his profession — a regiment of dragoons, and the insignia of 
 the Bath. 
 
 Of such a distribution of rewards in a society constituted as 
 ours, it were vain and perhaps wrong to complain. Of late years, 
 perhaps, the military profession, of all others, is that in which 
 distinguished merit can with least justice complain of being 
 treated with neglect ; and while this is so — while the system is 
 admitted on all hands to work practically well, we may safely 
 permit a few of its honours to be diverted — if you will have it 
 so — from their natural and legitimate channel, into another, 
 which, if it does not equally enrich and fertilize the soil, at least 
 adds something to the general tone and splendour of the land- 
 scape. 
 
 There was certainly nothing in Lord Amersham's character 
 to indicate any intention of nature to mould him into a great 
 military commander. He was a person, nevertheless, of very 
 tolerable talents, and by no means deficient in any of the ordinary 
 acquirements befitting his rank. Unfortunately he was of a dis- 
 position insatiably restless and bustling, and made a point of 
 never suffering his faculties to subside into quiescence. With
 
 102 CYRIL THORNTON". CHAPTER XV. 
 
 • of real business than falls to the share of any ordinary mor- 
 tal, he contrived to spend his life in a flurry. His mind was 
 always on the tread-mill, continually working, but seldom with 
 any visible result ; or, to use a better-sounding simile, Lord 
 Amersham was a planet revolving eternally in the same orbit, 
 and presenting itself to the gaze of the astronomer in a very 
 limited variety of phases. His lordship, in short, was generally 
 something of a bore, and when talking of bis favourite pursuits 
 was apt to be rather too prolix in his reasonings, and minute in 
 his enumeration of details. There was something indeed almost 
 ludicrous in the strong contrast which existed between his mind 
 and body — the one ever bustling and active, the other heavy and 
 inert ; and it seemed to an observer passing strange, that so small 
 a spirit should be able to stimulate into almost constant action 
 a mass of matter so large and unwieldy. 
 
 In the absence of other more important avocations, Lord 
 
 Vmersham had betaken himself to farming, and by applying all 
 
 his ingenuity to its practical details, had succeeded, I believe, 
 
 in discovering, and carrying into practice several agricultural 
 
 improvements. 
 
 There was but one misfortune in the life of Lord Amersham, 
 which had occasioned him any deep and permanent regret — the 
 want of a male successor to his hereditary honours and estates. 
 It is true, there was nothing in the tenure by which these were 
 held, to prevent their descending to his daughter; but it was 
 galling to reflect, that the far-descended line of which be was 
 the head, would cease in his person to boast a male representa- 
 tive, and that the titles and wide demesnes which had been at- 
 tached to it for centuries, would probably, by devolving on a 
 female, become the appanage of some other and perhaps less 
 noble family. The anticipation of such an event was not unac- 
 companied by pain, and bad long been felt as a serious deduction 
 
 t'roin their happiness, both by Lord and Lady Amersham. To 
 the latter it is now time the reader should lie introduced. 
 
 In her youth Lady Amersham bad been a beautiful woman, 
 and was still a tine one. She was tall and of a Stately person, 
 
 bearing herself with a demeanour dignified and imposing. The 
 expression of her countenance was perhaps too deficient in soft- 
 to lie pleasing; and there was ;L coldness almost approach- 
 ing to hauteur in her manner, especially in mixed company, 
 
 which showed her fully aware of her own claims in society, and 
 
 rigid in exacting a due observance of them in others. Where 
 Lady Amersham, however, had any object to gain, or where she 
 
 wished to make a favourable impression, no one possessed in a 
 
 iter degree the power of doing bo. No one could unbend 
 
 i. lore gracefully, and cast aside for a season that air of distance
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XV. 103 
 
 and repulsive dignity, by which all nearer approach was pre- 
 cluded from those whose claims to such a distinction were at all 
 apocryphal. Bred in the precincts of a court, and accustomed 
 through life to move in the very highest circles of ton, she was 
 an able and experienced tactician in all the underhand man- 
 oeuvres and expedients which are necessary to preserve the efful- 
 gence of even the brightest star in the hemisphere of fashion, 
 from occasional obscuration. Over Lord Amersham she exer- 
 cised an influence greater than he was perhaps aware of. Her 
 power, however, was rather felt than seen ; and while she threw 
 no obstacle in the way of his indulgence in his favourite bucoli- 
 cal pursuits, she succeeded in bending his inclinations to her 
 own, by securing his consent to a house in Grosvenor Square, 
 and at least four months per annum of a town life. That there 
 were amiable traits in Lady Amersham, I have reason to 
 know; and though feared and disliked by her rivals in the 
 great world, there was in her character a certain splendid 
 munificence and generosity of heart, which made her beloved 
 by her inferiors. 
 
 The pride and ambition of both parents naturally centred in 
 their only daughter; and in truth she was a creature in whom 
 parental partiality required little apology for feeling pride. Lady 
 Melicent de Vere was then about sixteen years of age, and rising 
 into the pride of womanhood. Her figure was rather below than 
 above the common height, but moulded in symmetry which might 
 have afforded a model for the sculptor. Her features were neither 
 Roman nor entirely Grecian, but belonged to a certain nonde- 
 script medium, which might almost, according to the fancy of 
 the observer, be included in either. I know not whether, if exa- 
 mined by a rigid critic, her face might have been considered 
 analytically beautiful ; but nothing could exceed the brilliancy 
 of her dark eyes, or the fascination of her smile ; and her coun- 
 tenance was lit up with so much spirit and vivacity, as to render 
 it doubtful whether features more classically regular, might not 
 have somewhat injured the charm of its expression. Unaccus- 
 tomed to restraint, and habituated from her infancy to be the 
 object of admiration, she had acquired a self-confidence somewhat 
 precocious, and moved in society with all the ease and grace 
 " which mark security to please." 
 
 Such was the Lady Melicent as she now rises to my me- 
 mory, in recurring to the period of my first visit to Staunton 
 Court. 
 
 Having dispatched the duties of the toilet as expeditiously as 
 possible, I descended, and found a portion of the dinner-party 
 already assembled in the drawing-room. Lady Amersham, 
 though somewhat stately, was kind, made many obliging en-
 
 104 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XV. 
 
 quirics respecting my mother and sisters, and introduced me td 
 the assembled circle. 
 
 This consisted, imprimis, of Lord and Lady Pynsent, people 
 perfectly comme il faut, polite and personable; in short, just 
 such people as one would a priori suppose to possess a tenement 
 in St James's Square, or expect to meet at a reputable dinner- 
 party in Piccadilly or Park Lane. Along with these came Mr 
 Horace Pynsent, their son, an ensign in the Guards, and their 
 daughter Miss Pynsent, a very pretty and accomplished young 
 lady, not unmarked by something of that paleness, and, if I may 
 so write, that conventional manner and expression, which an 
 early subjection to the restraints of a town life seldom fails to 
 substitute for the natural vivacity of youthful spirits. 
 
 Next in order came Sir Cavendish Potts, Knight, M.P., 
 Commissioner of the Victualling Office, Clerk of the Pipe, &c. 
 &c. Sir Cavendish had begun the world as an inferior clerk in 
 one of the public offices, with a salary somewhat less than a 
 hundred a-year. By dint of constant assiduity, and vigilance in 
 seizing every opportunity of making himself useful to his supe- 
 riors by little extra-official services, he had gradually risen to 
 the enjoyment of the lucrative and distinguished offices above 
 mentioned. Sir Cavendish was now become a person of some 
 importance ; but his exertions did not slacken with his elevation. 
 The same qualities to which he owed his worldly advancement, 
 likewise procured his admission to the coteries of the beau- 
 monde. He was the favourite of all dowagers of quality, arranged 
 the programme of all grand entertainments, and superintended 
 the execution of the details; was assiduous in procuring rich 
 partners for sedentary young ladies, and danced himself, when 
 occasion required, with the plain ones; knew all that was said 
 or done, in every house, in every fashionable street or square in 
 the metropolis, and was, in short, a very encyclopaedia of anec- 
 dote, an inexhaustible calendar of scandal and tittle-tattle. 
 
 Of course, therefore, lie was a favourite with the ladies; as 
 for their husbands, he had always a full budget of politics at 
 their service. Be visited the prime minister, and was hand in 
 glove with his under-secretary ; could tell news, of the authen- 
 ticity of which there could he no doubt, though he was not at 
 liberty to mention his authority ; knew of every meeting of the 
 
 cabinet, and the result of its deliberation five minutes after it 
 broke up. In the sporting world, his information was no less 
 accurate and extensive, lie could quote you off-hand the latest 
 
 oddl on the Derby, knew exactly the condition of all the horses, 
 ami would mention in a confidential whisper the name of the 
 winner. 
 
 Such and so distinguished a person was Sir Cavendish Potts,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XV. 105 
 
 who, at the season of the year when it was " impossible to live 
 in town," annually diffused his visits among his noble friends in 
 the country. 
 
 In this catalogue raisonne, I think I have included all the 
 members of the party. — No, there was a Miss Cumberbatch, a 
 person who seemed to fill a sort of nondescript situation, and to 
 hold a sort of nondescript rank in the menage. She could 
 scarcely be called a friend, for neither Lady Amersham nor her 
 daughter admitted her to the privileges which such a title would 
 imply, while she was evidently treated with more consideration 
 than would probably have been conceded to a person in the rank 
 of governess in such an establishment. With no distinct duties 
 to perform, she seemed to hold her situation in the family, on 
 the difficult and precarious tenure of being not only generally 
 useful, but generally agreeable. Miss Cumberbatch was an 
 extraordinary adept in working lace, and unusually skilful in 
 embroidery ; possessed great taste in dress, and was quite 
 unrivalled in the scientific adjustment of drapery; did the 
 honours of the breakfast-table with due propriety, and was 
 always ready, when called on, to supply music, and favour the 
 company with a song. 
 
 Such were part, and but a small part, of Miss Cumberbatch's 
 qualifications. Add to these, she could fill a place on a sofa, 
 and, on a look from Lady Amersham, be conveniently instru- 
 mental in breaking off a tete-a-tete, where Lady Melicent was 
 engaged in one, with a person whom the prudent mother did 
 not think sufficiently entitled to such an honour. With regard 
 to Lord Amersham, she was an excellent listener, never yawned 
 nor betrayed lassitude during the recital of the most tedious 
 story, and had always a smile or an exclamation of wonder ready 
 to introduce at the proper time and place. Miss Cumberbatch 
 was therefore a decided favourite with his lordship, who found 
 in her an auditor whose patience his utmost loquacity could not 
 exhaust. 
 
 Lord Amersham had not yet descended to the drawing-room 
 when I entered, and when he did so, I confess it was not with- 
 out surprise that I witnessed the metamorphosis he had under- 
 gone since our rencontre in the park. I now beheld an elderly 
 gentleman, not much indebted to nature certainly, but exceed- 
 ingly recherckd in his dress, and bearing about him the visible 
 impress of distinction. He wore his hair highly powdered, and 
 curled in a manner so complicated, as evidently to have required 
 the skill of no ordinary friseur. His clothes were made to fit 
 as tight as possible, apparently with the view of diminishing to 
 the utmost the bulk of his figure. In his shoes, and at the knee 
 of his inferior garments, (to use a delicate periphrasis,) which
 
 106 CYHIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XV. 
 
 were white, lie wore gold buckles, and his upper regions were 
 adorned by the star and riband of the Hath, decorations to which, 
 as they were considered indicative of military distinction, he was 
 particularly partial. 
 
 The dinner-bell had sounded some minutes before his lord- 
 ship appeared, lie entered with hasty steps, which shook, the 
 apartment at every foot-fall, and trotting up (for walking it cer- 
 tainly was not) to Lady Fynsent, he proceeded to hand her to 
 the dining-room, uttering, with uncommon volubility, as he 
 advanced, a profusion of apologies for having kept the company 
 waiting so long. To these Lady Pynsent did not apparently 
 pay much attention, for, turning towards her son, then engaged 
 in conversation with Sir Cavendish, she thus addressed him : — 
 
 " Now, 1 lorace, if Lady Melicent does you to-day the honour 
 of accepting your arm, be less awkward than yesterday, and take 
 care you don't tear her flounce again by your carelessness. For 
 such an offence you could scarcely expect, even from her sweet 
 temper, a second forgiveness." 
 
 This, of course, was a pretty intelligible hint to the young 
 gentleman what part he was expected to take in the ceremonial, 
 and he approached with an air of unhesitating self-complacency 
 to offer his services. They were playfully rejected. 
 
 "No," replied Lady Melicent: "1 must not have my sweet 
 temper put again to so early a proof. You may practise to-day 
 with Miss Cumberbatch ; and if she reports you to have shown 
 yourself a tolerable proficient in the duties (if a carpet-knight, 1 
 may perhaps once more put your skill to the test. — Mr Thornton, 
 it is time we relations should become better acquainted, and I 
 therefore appoint you my chevalier for the day, hoping you will 
 take warning by the fate of your predecessor, and demean your- 
 Belf in your office with all manner of grace and propriety." 
 
 Mr Pynsent, though evidently rather mortified, did not ven- 
 ture to disobey; Lady .Melicent, laughing, took my arm, and we 
 descended to the dining-room. 
 
 I sat beside her at dinner; and (his fact may perhaps serve as 
 
 an excuse for my Liability to give any satisfactory detail of the 
 
 entertainment. Let the reader take lor granted, therefore, that 
 it was a sumptuous one ; thai the courses appeared and vanished 
 
 in due order of succession ; that the routine of the table was 
 
 conducted with as much ceremony and minuteness of observance 
 as might have satisfied the most vulgar parvenu; and that not 
 one 01 the party compromised his reputation by the enormity of 
 Calling for porter. 
 
 At Brat, I fell a little embarrassed by the vivacity of my fair 
 eighbour. The events of the morning recurred rather unplea- 
 
 uitlv in m\ recollection, and 1 was inclined to regard her with
 
 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XV. 107 
 
 somewhat of those feelings which Faust entertained — rather 
 unreasonably — towards the devil, after the conclusion of his bar- 
 gain with that legitimate and infernal potentate. 
 
 When seated at table, therefore, I was silent, or, when abso- 
 lutely called on to speak, my remarks were trite and common- 
 place. " This is really very intolerable," at length said Lady 
 Melicent, addressing me ; "I chose you for my esquire to-day, 
 because I really expected you to turn out the most amusing per- 
 son in company, and here you have actually sat out the fish and 
 soup without speaking a syllable, or at least only such syllables 
 as could just have been as well spoken by my macaw. Now, 
 this will never do. You must really get up something smart 
 and entertaining another time — that is, in case" — glancing at 
 me at the same time a look of playful malice — " in case all 
 your speeches, like those of this morning, require a previous 
 rehearsal." 
 
 " Nay, on that point I must sue for mercy, though I fear it is 
 impossible to expect it from one whose perceptions of the ludi- 
 crous are so keen as those of the Lady Melicent. Yet a generous 
 warrior does not trample on a fallen foe." 
 
 " Nay, do not trust to my generosity in a case like the pre- 
 sent ; the story is too good a one to be lost, and must positively 
 be told. Your only chance of escape is to conciliate my compas- 
 sion. Begin, then ; I am ready to hear all you can allege in 
 mitigation of punishment." 
 
 I felt great relief in having an opportunity thus afforded me 
 of getting rid of at least some portion of the ridicule I had incur- 
 red, and proceeded to tell the story of my disaster, glozing and 
 suppressing the stronger and more ridiculous features of the case, 
 and joining in the laugh at those which I found it impossible for 
 my ingenuity to overcome. 
 
 " Well, then, I spare you for the present," said Lady Melicent, 
 " not for your own sake, but merely because there is nobody here 
 to whom I should have any pleasure in telling the story. Lord 
 Pynsent would hear it with polite gravity; her Ladyship with 
 an affected smile ; Mr Pynsent would adjust his cravat, and call 
 you an extraordinary person ; but not one of them would listen 
 to it con amore, or indulge in a hearty laugh at your expense. 
 Sir Cavendish perhaps might, but then the anecdote would spread 
 at once through all the world of fashion, and you would be a 
 ruined man. Now, we are to have a large party next week for 
 York races, and I believe I shall keep it in petto till then." 
 
 " Nay, that would be malice prepense, a refinement of cruelty, 
 of which I think — nay, I am sure — Lady Melicent is incapable." 
 
 " Indeed, you don't know that ; but, at all events, remember I 
 am not the sole depository of the secret. Miss Pynsent was a
 
 108 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XV. 
 
 witness to your oratorical exhibition as well as myself, and must 
 likewise be wooed to silence ; — not a very easy task, I can tell 
 you ; for we women, though paragons in every thing else, are not 
 particularly remarkable for secrecy. Now, I should be glad to 
 know how you can expect to interest her in your favour ?" 
 
 " Through your kind intercession." 
 
 " So you would attempt to gain one woman by means of 
 another ? Do you think this a plan very likely to be success- 
 ful?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am sure I could not possibly select a fairer or a more 
 eloquent advocate ; certainly not one on whose candour and good- 
 nature I would more willingly confide." 
 
 " Well, I will try what can be said for you, for I really did 
 feel compassion for you. Never did man look more desperately 
 stupefied than you, on discovering we had been witnesses of your 
 soliloquy ! Why, you would have made a capital study for 
 Hamlet on the entrance of his father's ghost, your hair on end ; 
 ' like quills upon the fretful porcupine;' your eyes half starting 
 from their sockets, and fixed as if by the gaze of a basilisk ; 
 your mouth open, your limbs stiff as those of Niobe. But, come, 
 I see you are rather sore on the subject, and I won't laugh at 
 you. Let us try something else. Have you brought no amusing 
 details with you from Scotland? You really look like a person 
 who possessed the faculty of second-sight ; do afford us a small 
 specimen of your talents in that line. Of course, you are 
 familiar with ghosts, wraiths, and all beings of that description, 
 and -were apparelled in the plaid, bonnet, and other inexpressi- 
 ble appendages of Scottish costume, delightfully uncomfortable 
 and picturesque. Pray begin, therefore ; for, in satisfying my 
 curiosity, you will have a tolerably long task to perform, I assure 
 you." 
 
 Stimulated by the piquant badinage of my charming cousin, 
 which was perhaps BOmewhat aided in its operation by a glass 
 or two of champagne, I ceased to be the mute and changeling 
 I had hitherto appeared, and shone forth, if not with native 
 brilliancy, at Least with the reflected lustre of another and a 
 brighter planet I seemed to inhale excitement in the very air 
 I breathed. There was a delightful exhilaration in the bare idea 
 nf being, even for a few fleeting moments, the sole object of 
 
 attention to a creature so radiantly captivating, whose smiles 
 
 would probably erelong become the object of contention to the 
 
 highest and noblest of the land. My faculties enjoyed their 
 lull swing, and all the liner powers of intellect and fancy, with 
 which nature had endowed me, awoke ax from a slumher, and 
 came at that moment to mv aid. In short, if I did not BUCCeed 
 in making myself agreeable, it was because nature had denied
 
 CYRIL TUORNTON. — CHAPTER XV. 109 
 
 me the means of being so ; for unquestionably I made the effort 
 under a combination of the most favourable circumstances. 
 
 Our tete-a-tete had been too animated and too long, to escape 
 the notice of Lady Amersham, who at length thought it prudent 
 to break the cbain of our conversation, which appeared in her 
 eyes somewhat too continuous and engrossing. It is true, my 
 acquaintance with her daughter had been too recent, and I was 
 altogether a person of too humble pretensions, to excite any 
 apprehensions — at least any serious ones — in her ladyship. To 
 her, I believe, it seemed as impossible that Lady Melicent should 
 form a liaison with Cyril Thornton, a commoner, and heir to an 
 estate of some two or three thousand a-year, as that she shoidd 
 elope with the butler, or establish a sentimental correspondence 
 with the Irish Giant ; but she systematically disapproved of 
 any thing approaching to a monopoly of her daughter's smiles, 
 and " divide et impera " was the maxim by which her policy was 
 governed. Her ladyship took occasion, therefore, to address to 
 me certain questions, which made it necessary that I should 
 enter, in reply, into considerable details, and at the same time 
 skilfully contrived to engage Lady Melicent in conversation with 
 Mr Pynsent. Having thus succeeded in her object, I found 
 myself, for the first time, at liberty to turn my attention to the 
 general conversation of the table. 
 
 Distinguishable above all other voices was that of Sir Caven- 
 dish Potts, shrill in tone, and scattering iina. vreqosvra. on all 
 manner of subjects, from a change in the Cabinet to the faux 
 pas of an alderman's wife, and never missing an opportunity of 
 insinuating a compliment to his noble host and hostess. Among 
 his other qualities, Sir Cavendish was something of a gourmand, 
 and distinguished for his gout in all matters of the table. 
 
 " Nothing can be more exquisite," said he, at the same time 
 depositing his fork, " than this fricandeau a la sauce piquante. 
 Bertrand's dishes have certainly a peculiar character one never 
 meets with any where else. When I was at Grimsthorpe, about 
 a month ago, Colonel Haviland — no very great judge, you know 
 — praised his Grace's dinners as being quite superior to all 
 others. — ' Why, no,' said the Duke, ' the dinners are but barely 
 tolerable, and a very few things in them perhaps are really done 
 well ; but, Colonel, if you can only manage to get me Lord 
 Amersham's cook, I may perhaps have some chance of meriting 
 your compliment.' I agreed with him, that under no other cir- 
 cumstances could it be possible for his Grace's entertainments 
 to rival those of your Lordship." 
 
 " Yes," said Lord Amersham, " Bertrand is really very great 
 in his line, though I think he sometimes carries the display of 
 his powers a little too far. No such thing as a plain joint ever
 
 110 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XV. 
 
 comes to table. The venison is generally stuck all over with 
 cloves and pepper-corns ; and I have given up all hope of ever 
 tasting my own mutton, so thoroughly disguised is it by Ber- 
 trand's sauce and spiceries." 
 
 " The skill of Bertram!," said Lord Pynsent, " seems like the 
 philosopher's stone — it turns every thing into gold." 
 
 " Ay, just so," replied Lord Amersham ; " but then the baser 
 metals are of use likewise, and I wish Bertrand would not insist 
 in applying the Rosicrucian process to my Southdown. By the 
 by, I have got a new cross, with which I intend astonishing Mr 
 Coke of Holkham, when he comes next month. Such fleece and 
 such mutton ! I wish my old friend, John Duke of Bedford, had 
 been alive; how delighted he would have been! I remember 
 when he was last at Staunton, a short time before he died, we 
 walked together over my farm ; he was prodigiously taken with 
 it, and said, ' Lord Amersham, you are undoubtedly the first 
 farmer in England !' But about my new sheep, they are a mix- 
 ture of the Welsh, Leicestershire, and Southdown, with a dash 
 of the Angola and Merino. Lord Pynsent, if you would like a 
 ram, there is one at your service; it will improve your breed 
 amazingly. Your lordship is almost the only person to whom I 
 would nave offered such a thing. I assure you to nobody but 
 your lordship" 
 
 Lord Pynsent here cut short his brother peer, by professing his 
 grateful acceptance of this magnificent donation. 
 
 While the earl was thus copiously disserting on his favourite 
 topic, Sir Cavendish had transferred his attention to the ladies, 
 whom he was amusing by recounting the most recent fashionable 
 on dits, describing Lord Pentonville's new house, and the splendid 
 establishment which 1. adv. lane St Lawrence was about toacquire, 
 by becoming the bride of a certain Mr Blackmore, a wealthy 
 Oriental, who had recently returned with heavy pockets and 
 disordered liver from Bengal. For myself I found little oppor- 
 tunity for conversation with Lady Melicent during the rest of 
 dinner, and what did pass was of that light and evanescent cha- 
 racter which, when the words cease to vibrate on the ear, passes 
 away and is forgotten. Mr Pynsent, too, was assiduous in his 
 attentions, and divided her notice; and though my vanity told 
 me I had no reason to Bhrink from competition with such a 
 
 rival, still, in affairs of love, I had a vague consciousness that 
 
 the battle is not always to the strong, and that Mr Pynsent, 
 heir to a coronet, possessed advantages to which I could lay no 
 claim. 
 
 The dinner was succeeded by the dessert, the dessert by the 
 ■ i iparture of the ladies, and the gentlemen were left to the unre- 
 strained enjoyment of their own masculine dulness. With its
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XV. Ill 
 
 cause likewise fled my inspiration. A lassitude crept over me — 
 I was thoughtful and absent, and anxious only for the moment 
 which should bring with it an adjournment to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Lord Amersham, apparently attributing my reserve to boyish 
 shyness, endeavoured to draw me into conversation ; talked of 
 hounds and horses, and other topics calculated to operate^ as 
 excitements to youthful eloquence. Lord Pynsent, too, was kind 
 and urbane, introduced me particularly to the notice of his son, 
 and gave me an invitation to his house in town. The young 
 gentleman, who, till now, had eyed me askance, and considered 
 it impossible that a person whose coat was evidently made by a 
 provincial tailor, could be worthy of any notice on his part, now 
 deemed it necessary to make some advances to acquaintance, 
 and addressed me in a few condescending remarks. My answers 
 were dictated by a spirit at least as proud and aristocratic as his 
 own ; and the conversation, after languishing through a succes- 
 sion of vapid and uninteresting observations and replies, died at 
 length a natural death from mere exhaustion of matter. 
 
 The wished-for moment, however, came at last, and we 
 adjourned to the drawing-room. When we entered, Lady Meli- 
 cent was singing to her own accompaniment on the harp. Her 
 voice, even an indifferent auditor must have admitted to be 
 charming ; to me it was the voice of an angel sounding in celes- 
 tial music from the spheres. Her figure, as she bent forward to 
 the instrument, was fine, and something even of poetical grace 
 seemed to be shed over and around her. The song was the hymn 
 of the Venetian Mariner — a wild, beautiful, and simple air, which 
 it might soothe the most troubled spirit to hear borne by the sea- 
 breeze, at the close of twilight, over the sleeping waters of the 
 Adriatic. The low and tremulous swell with which the words 
 " Oh Santissima, oh Purissima /" were murmured at the com- 
 mencement of the song, the almost sublime altitude and volume 
 of voice with which she gave sound to the increasing fervour of 
 praise and adoration as it advanced, are at this moment in my 
 ear, like the voice of a departed spirit, fainter yet the same. 
 
 I stood mute and motionless, scarcely daring to breathe till 
 the music ceased, and she arose from the instrument. The en- 
 chantment which bound me, then changed its character without 
 losing its power. Leaning on the arm of Sir Cavendish, and 
 laughing as she advanced, she passed me without a look, and 
 seated herself beside Miss Pynsent on an opposite ottoman. The 
 knight stood before them, apparently engaged in the narration 
 of some amusing anecdote, which succeeded in drawing forth 
 abundance of wreathed smiles from his fair auditors. But the 
 mothers, not the daughters, were the more peculiar objects of
 
 112 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XV. 
 
 his gallantry, and he soon retired, leaving the field open to more 
 youthful competitors. Mr Pynsent succeeded him, and, seated 
 beside Lady Melicent, all hopes of a nearer approach on my 
 part seemed for the present cut oft*. 
 
 I sat ruminating on a fauteuil, my eyes fixed with a half 
 vacant stare on an equestrian portrait of one of the family pro- 
 genitors, by Vandyck. It was a noble picture — the attitude 
 bold and commanding, the -costume gorgeous and graceful, and 
 the horse — nothing could be finer. It was such a horse, as, ac- 
 cording to the description of Job, might be supposed to " say 
 unto the trumpets, ha, ha ! and to laugh at the strength of the 
 armed men." 
 
 Not one scintilla of approbation, however, did this splendid 
 performance extract from me. My organs of perception were 
 in full activity, but the connexion between these and the mind 
 was broken ; I saw and did not see. Engrossed by my own 
 thoughts, I was yet perfectly free from all moodiness and men- 
 tal depression. It has been truly said by Godwin, that our 
 waking dreams are those of activity and power, our sleeping 
 ones of passive sufferance. Mine were dreams of glory and of 
 pride, of happy love and gratified ambition, and perhaps not less 
 baseless and ridiculous than that of Alnaschar in the eastern story. 
 
 Be their character, however, what it might, they were ab- 
 ruptly broken by the sound of my name pronounced by Lady 
 Melicent. I started up; the guardsman was gone, and she 
 beckoned me to approach, pointing at the same time to a stool 
 m front of the sofa, which stood nearly equidistant from her- 
 self and Miss Pynsent. The signal was obeyed with joyful 
 alacrity. 
 
 '• Really, Mr Thornton," said she, addressing me in a tone of 
 playful raillery, " this will never do. You are fast acquiring the 
 character of a dull, stupid, and disagreeable person. Since you 
 entered the drawing-room, you have not uttered one syllable, 
 but have sat like Patience on a monument, in an arm-chair, as 
 fixed and immovable as the picture you have been staring at. 
 To punish \nii. I retract the halt" promise I gave you at dinner, 
 to interest Miss Pynsent in your favour, so far as to keep the 
 secret "f your morning's soliloquy, and leave you to advocate 
 your own cause. Nay, do not be alarmed, my dear Julia, at the 
 idea <>f a l<'li -i-tite— I only go for a moment to speak to papa, and 
 1 assure you, he is not quite so bad as he appears — a little stupid 
 and silent at first, but he improves a good deal on nearer 
 acquaintance." 
 
 So Baying, Bhe tripped away, leaving me to perform a task for 
 which 1 felt little inclination. 
 
 In a drawing-room, the distance of a yard or two constitutes
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XV. 113 
 
 for some purposes a solitude as complete as one could enjoy in 
 the very centre of the great desert of Zahara ; and left alone with 
 Miss Pynsent, there was quite privacy enough to be disagreeable, 
 that is, to make us feel mutually awkward, and at the same time 
 to impose the necessity of immediate advances to conversation. 
 Lady Amersham, Lord and Lady Pynsent, and Sir Cavendish, 
 were engaged in a partie quarree at cards ; and Lord Amersham, 
 who had hitherto amused himself in overlooking the game, and 
 criticizing the play of all parties, w r as now half reclining with 
 his daughter on a chaise loiigue, her beautiful arm encircling his 
 neck, and her countenance affording a strong contrast in juxta- 
 position to his indented and hard-featured visage. Mr Pynsent 
 was seated at a remote table, apparently deeply engaged in study- 
 ing a portfolio of prints of military costume. From the party 
 thus variously occupied, there appeared no immediate hope of 
 any seasonable interruption to our interview, and I felt obliged, 
 invito. Minerva, to set seriously about the task of making myself 
 agreeable. 
 
 There can be nothing more cloudy and unhopeful than the 
 first dawn of conversational intercourse between a town-bred 
 lady and a young gentleman born and educated in the country, 
 who has never even approached within eyeshot of the metropolis. 
 Between such persons there appears no channel of approxima- 
 tion. The opera, balls, parties, and Hyde Park, are cut otf on 
 the one hand, and all matters of provincial interest are equally 
 a dead letter on the other. Still, when two people, however 
 different in habit and ideas, are anxious to be agreeable, the 
 means of accomplishing their object will rarely be found want- 
 ing. In the most dissimilar characters there will be found, on 
 nearer view, some points of contact, some coincidences of senti- 
 ment and feeling, some unison of tastes, solid enough to serve 
 as the foundation of such a light and fragile superstructure of 
 regard, as is requisite for the purposes of pleasant intercourse 
 in society. 
 
 With this hypothesis, at least, my own experience coincided. 
 The awkwardness of first address was at length surmounted, 
 and the conversation of Miss Pynsent and myself became fluent 
 and agreeable. The voung lady was, fortunately, fond of poetry 
 and romance, and talked enthusiastically, and not ungracefully, 
 of Marmion, the Pleasures of Hope, and the Mysteries of Udol- 
 pho. Coincidence or difference of opinion on these subjects, 
 naturally led to the introduction of others equally interesting. 
 In short, when an interruption to our colloquy did at length 
 occur, it found me sailing with a fair breeze on smooth waters, 
 and was received with none of that thankfulness with which, at 
 an earlier moment, it would have been welcomed. 
 
 H
 
 114 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 In return for the apparent partiality which had led to an 
 hour's tetc-a-titc with their daughter, both Lord and Lady 
 Pynsent regarded me with eyes ot" favour, and were profuse in 
 their civilities. The secret of all this perhaps was, that though 
 in a matrimonial point of view I was infinitely beneath the 
 acceptance of a person of the very high pretensions that attached 
 to the heiress of the Amersham title and estates ; yet, in the 
 eyes of the world, I was by no means an ineligible match for 
 Miss Pynsent, without fortune, and the eldest daughter of a 
 tolerably numerous family. So probably thought Lord and 
 Lady Pynsent, who were apparently resolved that no want of 
 encouragement on their part should diminish the chance of their 
 procuring an unexceptionable establishment for their daughter. 
 Of such views, however — if such did exist — I was entirely 
 unconscious, and was disposed, in my ignorance of the world, 
 to attribute the very favourable accueil which I experienced 
 from both parents, either to disinterested benevolence on their 
 part, or to uncommon powers of prepossession on my own. 
 
 Thus did the first evening of my sojourn at Staunton pass 
 away ; and when, on retiring to my chamber, I cast a retro- 
 spective glance on the day just closed, 1 found I could regard it 
 altogether with a degree of tranquil complacency, far greater 
 than the character of some of its occurrences might have led me 
 tn anticipate. The long excitement and consequent exhaustion 
 of my spirits, soon brought their natural restorative; and when 
 slumber that night descended on my eyelids (need I say it?) 
 the Lady Melicent was in my dreams. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Vis. there are Becret rivets to my heart, 
 
 \\ here Berenice's charms have found the way, 
 
 Subtili- as lightnings. 
 
 Dbydbn 
 
 Who oomes from die chamber ? 
 
 It is Azraul, the angel of death, 
 
 TllALADA. 
 
 My sojourn in the world of dreams continued till the sound of 
 
 the morning-bell recalled me to the perception and the conscious- 
 
 n of grosser and more material entities. 1-W moments were 
 
 to restore my senses to their wonted activity; and I 
 
 sprung up to prepare for participation in the pleasures and
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XVI. 115 
 
 business of that less visionary world of which I again found 
 myself a denizen. My preparations, however, were made with 
 less facility than usual. The duties of the toilet were protracted 
 for a space considerably transcending the limits ordinarily found 
 sufficient for their due discharge. I was uncommonly fastidious 
 about the adjustment of my hair, displayed through the interstice 
 of my waistcoat an unwonted superfluity of frill; and, after many 
 unsuccessful experiments, remember of being eventually by no 
 means satisfied with the tie of my cravat. On descending, I 
 found the party (with the exception of Lady Amersham, who 
 seldom appeared till considerably later in the day) assembled 
 in the breakfast-room. Lord Amersham, in his morning-garb, 
 exhibited the same grotesque figure which had excited my 
 astonishment the day before at our meeting in the park. After 
 breakfast, which he dispatched as hurriedly as possible, his 
 lordship addressed many apologies to Lady Pynsent for his 
 speedy departure. 
 
 " Your ladyship will, I hope, excuse me, but we farmers, 
 Lady Pynsent, cannot neglect our calling, or our calling wiil 
 neglect us ; the eye of the master must overlook, as the proverb 
 goes, or the plough will speed badly. If your ladyship only 
 knew the torrent of business I have to encounter. — In the first 
 place, my wool ; I have to receive offers for that, and sell to the 
 best bidder — never show favour or affection in a case of that 
 sort — all fair and above board — sealed offers, and the highest 
 carries the day. Then comes Tompkinson with contract for 
 two steam-engines, thirty-horse power, to set the coal-mines 
 a-going. People may talk of the Golconda mines as much as 
 they please, but none are so valuable, you may take my word 
 for it, Lady Pynsent, as the black diamond mines. Then I 
 have to superintend the preparation of my two-bout ridges, an 
 original invention of my own ; no succession of crops necessary — 
 wheat — wheat for ever, and the soil never exhausted — fresh as 
 after the first crop. Quite a new era in farming — expect to be 
 awarded the gold medal at the next meeting of the Agricultural 
 Society. Mr Coke is jealous as the devil of my success, and 
 Sir John Sinclair pretends to undervalue it. Sir John is a 
 Scotchman, so no wonder. But your ladyship must not seduce 
 me to stand tittle-tattling a moment longer. I must endeavour 
 to carry off Lord Pynsent, however. — Lord Pynsent, is your 
 lordship inclined this morning for a walk to the farm ? You 
 know t'other day we were interrupted by the rain, and I had 
 not time to show you half my lions." 
 
 As an excuse for declining the proffered honour, Lord Pynsent 
 pleaded the fact of having that morning received important let- 
 ters, which required to be answered by return of post.
 
 116 CYRIL THORNTON — CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "Well, then, young gentlemen," said Lord Amersham, address- 
 ing Mr Pynsent and myself, " I must lay an embargo on you. 
 One of you is a fighting man already, and the other, I dare say, 
 would give his ears to become one; but the time will come at 
 last, when, like me, you will imitate Cincinnatus, and turn your 
 swords into ploughshares; and the sooner you begin to prepare 
 for the change the better. As for you, Mr Thornton, I want 
 you to be able to tell your father all about my improvements, 
 for I know he has a taste for farming. Come along, come along 
 — not a moment to spare. Good-morning, au ?-evoir, ladies; 
 
 necessity, you know — dire necessity" and, without finishing 
 
 the sentence, his lordship waddled out into the hall, and having 
 seized his long weeding-hook, and esconced his cranium in the 
 broad-brimmed drab-coloured hat already commemorated, we 
 set out for the farm. 
 
 Most probably, good reader, you are not a farmer, and have 
 nut the smallest curiosity to be troubled at length with the 
 details of the many inventions and improvements with which on 
 that morning we were made acquainted. Suffice it, therefore, 
 that it was proved to demonstration, by the inspection of Lord 
 Amersiiam's farm, that the simplest operations of husbandry 
 might be performed, if need were, by very complicated machinery ; 
 that capital, to almost any extent, may be expended on the soil 
 without adequate return; and lastly, that farming by a noble- 
 man on a great scale, however strong his partiality for the 
 business may be, is, of all modes of employing an estate, the 
 most unprofitable. 
 
 Such are the principal corollaries that appeared to flow natu- 
 rally from the involuntarily minute inspection of that morning. 
 At the commencement of my task, I was not without hopes of 
 effecting mj escape, after cursorily examining the more promi- 
 nent wonders of the scene; and Mr l'ynsent with some difficulty 
 did bo, pleading an engagement to drive Lady Amersham in her 
 pony-chair. Bui bis Buccess only seemed to increase the obsta- 
 cle to mine. In short, all my hopes and efforts proved alike 
 abortive, ami, making a merit of necessity, I submitted with the 
 best grace 1 could to the penance that, awaited me. 
 
 Had I been merely called on to admire the luxuriant crops 
 ami specimens of mechanical ingenuity, the task might have 
 been dull, but not positively unpleasant Hut this was by no 
 means all. Lord Amersham' s experiments extended to the 
 animal as well as to the vegetable creation. There was a huge, 
 bloated, scrofulous-looking animal, stall-fed on rape and oil- 
 cake, its limbs tottering under (t8 unnatural and prodigious 
 
 weight. A sight more thoroughly disgusting it is scarcely poss 
 
 libit tu conceive; yet this was called, pur ej-ccllciicc, "the
 
 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XVI. 117 
 
 Staunton Ox," to which the gold medal had been awarded by 
 the Agricultural Society ! Then there were pigs, the very sight 
 of which was almost enough to justify a man for turning Jew, 
 and making the abjuration of bacon a part of his religion. And 
 sheep too but enough. 
 
 My patience was completely exhausted by the occupation of 
 the morning, which seemed to me interminable. We returned 
 to the house just in time to dress for dinner. The party assem- 
 bled in the drawing-room was the same as on the preceding day. 
 I had taken my situation beside Lady Melicent, in order to 
 watch the opportunity, when dinner should be announced, of 
 offering myself as her escort. In this I was baffled. Whether 
 Lady Amersham perceived my intention, I know not, but she 
 decreed me the unwelcome honour of supporting her to the 
 dining-room, and Lady Melicent followed, leaning on the arm 
 of Sir Cavendish. At dinner I sat next Miss Pynsent, who had 
 thrown off much of that retenu of manner in conversing with 
 me, which had rather predominated at our first interview. She 
 was amiable, modest, frank, and unaffected, and never descended 
 to the use of those vulgar arts of captivation, which, in the pre- 
 sent day, even demoiselles of high caste do not always scruple to 
 employ. 
 
 To a young man whose feelings are fresh, and yet unblunted 
 by worldly experience, there is a charm even in the most unim- 
 passioned intercourse with the other sex. Woman ! To him 
 how vast a charm is comprised in the narrow compass of a 
 word ! In this single abstraction, unconnected it may be with 
 any individual reality, are united all his purest dreams of hap- 
 piness, all his brightest conceptions of imaginary beauty. With 
 it no thought of grossness or sensuality comes to contaminate 
 his fancy or his heart. This is at once the portion and the 
 penalty of grey-haired debauchery, the wormwood which mingles 
 in the cup of pleasure, changing the sparkling contents of the 
 goblet to bitterness and poison. 
 
 Whether from accident or design I enjoyed but few opportu- 
 nities of particular conversation with Lady Melicent. When 
 these did occur, she maintained towards me the same light and 
 riant manner with which I had been originally delighted. Still, 
 charming as it was, I should have been better pleased had she 
 changed it for one more congenial to the sentiments of which I 
 was myself conscious. It was a manner that expressed no feel- 
 ing, and gave an apparent denial to my fondly-cherished hopes 
 of having created a strong impression on her heart. But what 
 right had I to expect that any thing in our trifling intercourse 
 had, or could have, inspired such sentiments, in one accustomed 
 to receive, and to neglect, homages deep, and admiration far
 
 118 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 more flattering than mine ? None ; and yet the disappointment 
 was not less deeply felt, because it was unreasonable. Who is 
 there, in whom youthful vanity has not excited such hopes, to 
 whom it has not occasioned such disappointments ? If such a 
 person exists, he is a being cold and calculating, dull of heart 
 and fancy. Poet, hero, or patriot, he can never be. Philosopher 
 — yes, in the modern sense of the term, he may be a philosopher. 
 But with such a one I have no communion of spirit ; our lot 
 and our portion have been cast apart ; let him close this book, 
 nor listen further to the confession of follies which he will 
 despise, of frailties for which his heart can afford no sympathy. 
 
 There was one person in company, of whom, after a formal 
 introduction to the reader, I have yet said nothing : I mean Miss 
 Cumberbatch, who was generally seated at a small embroidery- 
 table apparently engrossed by her work, and was seldom called 
 on to bear any share in the conversation or proceedings of the 
 party. The neglect with winch she was treated, tended in no 
 small degree to excite my compassion. She was in the party 
 but not of it, a solitary person even when mingling in the 
 crowded vortex of society. 
 
 Miss Cumberbatch was still in the prime of life ; in manner 
 she was distant and reserved, and spoke and moved with that 
 unvarying precision and propriety, which seemed to indicate 
 that every thought and motion had been decided on and selected, 
 as that best suited to her character and circumstances. There 
 was, in short, a good deal of the automaton about her ; her man- 
 ners were obviously artificial ; she courted no notice, and received 
 little, and " noli me tangere" was pretty legibly expressed in her 
 air of self-concentration and retirement. 
 
 There was nothing in all this very tempting to a nearer 
 approach, but a degree of curiosity mingled with my compassion, 
 and I repeatedly took advantage of circumstances to engage her 
 in conversation. My attempts in this way, though not abso- 
 lutely repulsed, were coldly received ; my questions elicited only 
 monosyllabic replies, my best jokes were " damned with faint 
 smiles," my very cleverest observations barely assented to "with 
 civil leer." In short, like the north pole, there was a frozen 
 barrier around her, which 1 hail not enough of Captain Parry 
 about me to attempt very perseveringly to penetrate. Under 
 such unpromising circumstances my efforts gradually slackened, 
 and at length resigning a task so apparently hopeless, Miss 
 Cumberbatch remained, as formerly, solitary and unnoticed. 
 
 'I be first few days of my stay at Staunton were passed with 
 little variation to distinguish them from those already described. 
 I occasionally walked and rode with Lady Mcliccnt, but never 
 alone. Her manner towards me remained unchanged; and
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XVI. 119 
 
 though I did flatter myself she felt a preference for my society 
 over that of Mr Pynsent, mingled perhaps with some degree of 
 personal regard, yet of this preference and partiality I could 
 detect no unequivocal or palpable demonstration. 
 
 The quiet tenor of affairs, however, was soon about to undergo 
 a change. The week following was that of York races, and 
 Staunton Court was then to be the rendezvous of a large and 
 distinguished party. All was to be bustle and gayety, and the 
 anticipated pleasures and arrangements became matter of eager 
 speculation to the younger part of the circle. 
 
 In these projections of future enjoyment, I was a warm partici- 
 pator. The expected scene was armed with too many attractions, 
 both accessory and intrinsic, to fail in exciting a strong interest 
 in a mind susceptible as mine was of every external stimulus. 
 The charm too was rendered more powerful, from the know- 
 ledge that the pleasures, to which with so much boyish eager- 
 ness I looked forward, would be heightened by the smiles and 
 the society of her by whom my thoughts were engrossed. In this 
 mutable world hope constitutes our greatest, might I not almost 
 say our only enjoyment. At all events I was happy. There 
 appeared in my horizon no cloud to shadow either the present 
 or the future. Above and around all was brightness and sun- 
 shine, and time flew by " on rapid, rapid wings." 
 
 The expected day came at last. Splendid equipages were seen 
 in the intervals of the trees, gliding like meteors through the 
 park, and sounding titles were pronounced loudly in the vesti- 
 bule. The establishment were evidently immersed in the bustle 
 of preparation for the reception of guests of no ordinary conse- 
 quence, and my eye encountered servants in sumptuous and 
 strange liveries, as I passed through the hall. Captivated by 
 the pomp and circumstance of the scene, in which I flattered 
 myself I was about to play no undistinguished part, I went forth 
 into the park to indulge in the luxury of solitary reflection, and 
 seek an escape in rapid motion for the preternatural activity of 
 an excited imagination. 
 
 An hour or two's smart exercise had in some degree produced 
 the desired effect ; the tumult of my thoughts had subsided, the 
 flush had left my cheek, and my steps were again turned toward 
 the house. The walk I followed led in a rectangular direction 
 to the principal approach, and as I advanced with leisurely 
 steps, my attention was attracted by the appearance of a car- 
 riage, plain and without servants, and forming altogether rather 
 a contrast to the gayer equipages with which my eye had 
 recently become familiar. The smoking flanks of the horses, 
 and their nostrils covered with foam, gave indication that the 
 journey of the traveller had been performed with unusual speed;
 
 120 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 and the frequent and loud crack of the whips of the postilions, 
 alternating with the voice of the cuckoo from the distant trees, 
 and the nearer song of the linnet, formed a discord unpleasing 
 to the ear, and broke harshly the sweet unison of nature's music. 
 The vehicle passed within a few yards of me, but its progress 
 was suddenly arrested by a loud voice from within, calling 
 vehemently on the postilions to stop. They obeyed the mandate, 
 the door of the carriage flew open, and I saw before me, Hum- 
 phreys, my father's steward. 
 
 My first emotion was that of surprise and pleasure, and I ran 
 towards the old man and shook him cordially by the hand. 
 Suddenly my heart was chilled by terrible forebodings, and I 
 started back from him, for I felt he was the ill-omened messen- 
 ger of fearful tidings. For a minute there was silence. I had 
 no words to ask of what dreadful news he was the bearer, but 
 I looked upon him with keen and fixed gaze, endeavouring to 
 read the dreadful secret in his countenance. That was heavy 
 and mournful, and haggard with sleepless travelling. At length 
 I could bear the agonies of suspense no longer, and exclaimed, 
 " Tell — Oh, tell me, I conjure you, what has happened ! Who 
 is dead? My father, mother, Jane, Lucy? Speak, say whose 
 loss I am to deplore : I can bear any thing but suspense. Speak, 
 as you hope for (iod's mercy ; speak, and speak quickly ! " 
 
 " I have a heavy and grievous task to perform, my dear young 
 master," began the old man, while the tears stood in his eyes. 
 
 In a voice of impatient agony I interrupted him. 
 
 "Who? Who? Who? Quick— tell me but the name!" 
 and I grasped him roughly by the arm as I spoke. 
 
 " My honoured lady, your mother" 
 
 " Is dead !" exclaimed I, striking my clenched hands violently 
 against my forehead. 
 
 "No, not dead," replied he, raising his grey, lustreless eyes 
 to my face. " When I left Thornhill she was ill, but not dead." 
 
 "But she is dying?" 
 
 "Life is in God's hands," said the old man; "lie gives and 
 He takes away." 
 
 " But is there no hope?" said I, relieved at the same time 
 by a gush of fears and a convulsive sob: "is this dreadful, this 
 fatal blow inevitable? " 
 
 " Humanly speaking, yes. The physicians have declared her 
 past hope, and her recovery — it" < > < >« I wills she should recover — 
 can owe nothing to the assistance of man." 
 
 Stupefied by the intelligence, 1 stood for some time in a state 
 of helpless distraction. •' And am I never more to see, to 
 embrace her, to receive no parting kiss, no dying blessing!" 
 
 " ^ es, ins dearest young master, if God so wills it, you may
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVI. 121 
 
 yet see and embrace your angel -mother. It is for this purpose 
 I am come; it is in obedience to her anxious and dying 
 wish, that she may yet live to embrace and to bless her beloved 
 — her only son. But time is short, and life uncertain ; we must 
 be speedy." 
 
 " Enough," I exclaimed, with sudden increase of energy ; "in 
 ten minutes I shall be prepared to return with you to Thorn - 
 hill;" and springing into the carriage, I directed the postilions 
 to proceed directly to the house. 
 
 In the space of a minute or two, the carriage had drawn up 
 at the portal, and in little more I had issued orders to my ser- 
 vant for instant departure. My spirits had become more calm 
 and collected ; I felt there was an awful duty to be performed, 
 and the hope of once more pressing my beloved mother in my 
 arms — of soothing by my presence her last moments — roused me 
 to exertion. 
 
 Precious as time was, I felt it was proper that I should not 
 depart without seeking a moment's interview with Lord or Lady 
 Amersham, and explaining the cause of my abrupt departure. 
 I rung for a servant, and inquired for Lord Amersham. 
 
 " His lordship is not within." 
 
 " Lady Amersham ? " 
 
 " Lady Amersham has gone out airing with the Marchioness 
 of Uttoxeter in her ponv pheeton." 
 
 "The Lady Melicent?" 
 
 " The Lady Melicent is at home." 
 
 " Then go and present to her this note," said I, seizing the 
 writing materials that stood on the table, and writing the follow- 
 ing words on a slip of paper. 
 
 " I am obliged instantly to depart — I wished to have seen Lord 
 or Lady Amersham, but find it is impossible. Will Lady Meli- 
 cent honour me with an interview of one moment, when I will 
 endeavour to speak (for I cannot write) of the misfortune which 
 has occasioned this singular request ? — Cyril Thornton." 
 
 I was not long kept in suspense, for, in a minute or two after 
 my note had been dispatched, Lady Melicent entered the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 "What is this, Mr Thornton?" said she, starting when she 
 beheld the altered expression of my countenance ; " what has 
 happened to make you leave us so abruptly? Your father 
 — your mother — your sisters, I hope, are well — no family mis- 
 fortune" 
 
 " Yes, a sad one — I have received intelligence by a messenger, 
 informing me that my mother is dying, and that instant depar- 
 ture affords my only chance of yet seeing her alive. I have taken 
 the liberty of soliciting this interview, to request you will offer
 
 122 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 my sincere thanks to Lord and Lady Amersham for their kind- 
 ness. — To you Lady Melicent, to you — pardon me, I am confused 
 by this dreadful blow, and cannot say what I ought — think all 
 I should feel, in bidding you farewell, and — believe I feel it." 
 
 She was moved, and there was moisture in her eyes, as she 
 replied — 
 
 " I feel — I deeply feel for you," she said, holding out her hand 
 at the same time, which was instantly pressed in mine. — " For 
 my father and mother, as well as for myself, I may say, you carry 
 with you our sympathy and best wishes for your happiness ; and, 
 as a relation — I may also add" — she here hesitated, and a slight 
 flush rose to her cheek as she spoke — " our kind remembrance 
 and regard. On an occasion like this, I would not delay you an 
 instant — Farewell, farewell." 
 
 The last word was spoken in so low a tone as to be scarcely 
 audible, and, as she pronounced it, she half averted her head. 
 
 "Farewell !" I exclaimed, lingering on the word, and aware 
 it must be the last ; and raising her lingers, which she made no 
 effort to withdraw, to my lips, I rushed from the apartment, and 
 in a moment after felt myself whirled rapidly through the park 
 jii my return to Thornhill. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The voices of my home ! I hoar them still ! 
 
 They have i n with me through the dreamy night — 
 
 The blesscil household voices, wont to fill 
 
 My heart's clear depths with anaHoy*d delight ! 
 
 I hear them still unchanged— though some from earth 
 
 Ar.- music parte.l; ami the tones of mirth — 
 
 Wild silvery tones, thai rang through 'lays more bright, 
 
 Have die. I in Others, yet to me they come, 
 Singing of boyhood hack — the voices of my homo! 
 
 Forest Sanctuary. 
 
 \Yi. travelled La Bilence. My grief could brook no communion, 
 and my aged companion, worn out alike by the agitation of his 
 spirit- and the fatigues of his journey, Bought in sleep, deep 
 though interrupted, the refreshment necessary for his exhausted 
 frame. I was pleased at this. The presence of a human eye 
 Beemed an intrusion on th>' Bacredness of my sorrow, and I felt 
 olitude was freedom. 
 
 We journeyed with all the speed that money could command. 
 Daj gradually faded into darkness, the long night-hours passed
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVII. 123 
 
 away, and the glorious sun was once more abroad in the firma- 
 ment. But these changes passed unheeded. External nature 
 was to me a blank — my eyes saw only the image of my dying 
 mo ther — the sound of her sweet and feeble voice was in my ears 
 — the hope of once more beholding her alive, of soothing her 
 last moments by my presence, occupied and engrossed my heart. 
 We approached Thornhill in the evening of the following day, 
 and I beheld once more the familiar objects of my youth. Under 
 circumstances how sad and melancholy was I again restored to 
 them ! 
 
 As we passed through the adjacent village, I looked from the 
 carriage, perhaps expecting to discover in the countenances and 
 deportment of the inhabitants, traces of that sorrow and sym- 
 pathy which the loss of so kind a benefactress might be expected 
 to inspire. No change was discernible — the business and the 
 pleasures of humble life were proceeding as usual ; the sound of 
 revelry and merriment was heard from the little inn in the 
 market-place ; groups of ragged urchins were at play ; and the 
 labourers, after the toils of the day, were singing merrily as they 
 returned from the hay-field. I could not bear to look on this 
 scene of tranquil happiness, and closing my eyes, and throwing 
 myself back in the carriage, I opened them not till we had entered 
 the avenue to Thornhill. 
 
 The day, which had been a fine one, had set in clouds, and the 
 wind roared loudly among the trees. The ravens, sailing home- 
 ward to their rookery amid the tall chestnut trees, rose and 
 descended in their course, as if tempest-tost on airy billows, and. 
 uttering their harsh notes, seemed birds of evil omen. I listened 
 for the cooing of the ringdove, in which I had formerly delighted, 
 but it came not from the wood ; and even the multitude of 
 smaller songsters were mute. To me all nature seemed joined 
 in one mournful presage. 
 
 The house now rose upon my view, canopied by a dark thun- 
 der-cloud, so low that it seemed almost to rest upon the roof. 
 In a minute more all my dreadful fears would be resolved into 
 certainty. I wished, and yet I feared to know the worst, and I 
 sat in awful stillness waiting the arrival of the moment that was 
 to end my suspense. 
 
 We approached the front of the house, and the windows were 
 closed. The smoke from the chimney tops alone gave indication 
 that it was tenanted by living beings. At length the carriage 
 stopped, and I stood once more on my paternal threshold. 
 
 Nearly a minute elapsed before the signal of my arrival was 
 answered, and that minute seemed to me an age. The door was 
 opened at last by old Jacob Pearson, whose countenance was lit 
 up by a mournful smile on beholding me. I rushed instantly
 
 124 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 into the hall, exclaiming', " My mother — how — where is my 
 mother ? — I must see her instantly ! " 
 
 " Alas ! you cannot see her, but my master" 
 
 "O God, she is dead!" exclaimed I, tottering into a chair, 
 and covering my face with my hands. Jacob was silent, and I 
 knew the truth. I remained for some time in a state of helpless 
 stupefaction — how long t know not. 
 
 When 1 regained my senses, I felt the pressure of little fingers 
 on my temples, and of warm kisses on the cold hands by which 
 my eyes were still covered. I looked up, and it was little Lucy 
 smiling on me, yet with eyes red with weeping. I snatched her 
 to my arms, and covered her with my tears and kisses. 
 
 Strangely constituted is the human heart! — As I gazed on 
 the beauty, and felt the infantine caresses of this innocent and 
 simple child, the burden of my sorrow became less grievous, and 
 I was soothed and comforted. And Jane, too, had left her 
 station by the death-bed, and came to welcome her brother. She 
 was pale, and worn by long watching in the sleepless hours of 
 the night; but her sorrow was calm and resigned. Few words 
 were interchanged at this mournful meeting; and encircling my 
 orphan sisters in one fond embrace, our tears were mingled in 
 silence, and we prayed together to that Being, by whom the 
 prayers of an afflicted and bruised spirited are never disregarded. 
 
 The passionate turbulence of my grief thus passed away, and 
 from the meek, though suffering resignation of my sister Jane, 
 I learned to bend before the blow which had fallen so heavily, 
 and implicitly to submit to His inscrutable decrees, in whose 
 hands arc the issues of life. My heart was softened by suffering ; 
 and when I gazed on Jane and Lucy, bereaved and motherless 
 by the same sad dispensation, I felt how little it became me to 
 indulge in violent and selfish grief with those around me, whose 
 loss bad been as greal as my own. 
 
 Bv .lane I was informed of all the particulars connected with 
 the last moments of our dear departed parent. She told me that 
 the progress of her complain! —which was an inflammatory one 
 — had been unusually rapid; that in the endurance of the 
 deepest bodily suffering her mind had been serene and her 
 patience exemplary; that, aware of the fatal termination which 
 WM fas! approaching, she had expressed a wish to press her son 
 
 \et once again to her bosom ; that the lastefforts of her expiring 
 strength had been to write a letter to myself, containing her 
 
 parting injunctions; that Bhe had uniformly spoken of me" with 
 
 the warmest affection, and with her latest breath bequeathed 
 
 me h,r blessing. I learned also, that the grief of my father, on 
 
 learning the fatal character of my mother's complaint, had been 
 
 intense: that since her death, he had secluded himself from his
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVII. 125 
 
 family in the solitude of his own apartment, where he sorrowed 
 as one that had no hope. 
 
 Such was the outline of the details I received, connected with 
 the sad event, and they carried with them consolation. That 
 my mother's last wish of again beholding me had not been 
 gratified, I felt comforted in thinking, was not attributable to 
 any want of exertion on my part. All I could wish to know — 
 that she had loved me to the last, blessed me, and prayed for 
 me — I had now learned. 
 
 Exhausted as I was by fatigue, strong mental emotion, and 
 want of sustenance, (for two days had elapsed since I had taken 
 food,) Jane grew alarmed at the visible ebbing of my strength, 
 and entreated me, with loving earnestness, to take the refresh- 
 ment evidently so needful, and retire to rest. But rest I felt 
 was impossible, till I had visited the chamber of death, and 
 gazed on all that yet remained to us of our beatified parent. I 
 wished to go alone, but Jane entreated to accompany me, and 
 little Lucy would not be denied. Clinging together, as if for 
 mutual support, and with palpitating hearts, we entered the 
 apartment, and our footsteps were as soft and noiseless as if we 
 had indeed feared to disturb the sleep of the dead. On the bed, 
 which was surrounded by wax-lights, lay the cold and inani- 
 mate remains of our beloved mother. The expression of the 
 countenance was calm and tranquil, and the death-agony had 
 passed over it without leaving any traces of its violence on the 
 features. Yet the repose I beheld was evidently not that of 
 sleep ; on every lineament the signet of death was too visibly 
 impressed to be mistaken even for a moment. The body was 
 wrapped in a winding-sheet of white satin, and the thin pale 
 hands were crossed upon the breast. The coffin stood open at 
 the foot of the bed, waiting for its inmate, and recalled the sad 
 recollections of how soon even these poor relics were to be taken 
 from us for ever. While these remained to us, it seemed as if 
 our lost parent were not wholly gone; and while I gazed on 
 them, I felt all the truth of the sentiment, (and what heart in 
 such circumstances has not felt it ?) so beautifully embodied in 
 the words of Charles Wolfe— 
 
 If thou wouldst stay, even as tbou art, 
 All cold and all serene — 
 I still might press thy silent heart, 
 And where thy smiles have been. 
 While e'en thy chill bleak corse I have, 
 Thou seemest all mine own ; 
 But there, I lay thee in the grave, 
 And now — I am alone ! 
 
 I stood for a short space with my sisters, gazing on the mourn- 
 ful sight before us ; then gently withdrawing my arms, I
 
 126 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 advanced alone to the bed, and bending forward, imprinted the 
 last kiss of filial love on the cold hard lips of my beloved mother, 
 and watered her face with my tears. Then kneeling, with Jane 
 and Lucy by my side, we made our common prayers to the 
 Throne of Grace, for comfort and support in this hour of trial. 
 
 At length we left the chamber, and when we separated for the 
 night, sleep profound and unbroken visited my eyelids. 
 
 I forbear to dwell on the recollections connected with my 
 mother's death. My father remained secluded even from the 
 society of his family, and was not present at the funeral. A 
 week had elapsed since my return to Thornhill, and yet I had 
 not been admitted to his presence. I felt this estrangement 
 deeply, the more so, perhaps, that I appeared to be its exclusive 
 object. To his daughters he had certainly never been a fond 
 father, and the place which Charles had filled in his affections 
 was destined to be occupied by no successor. They were occa- 
 sionally admitted, however, to the privacy of his apartment, and 
 Jane was frequently employed in reading to him, till the utter 
 exhaustion of her strength occasioned the intermission of her 
 task. The ban was extended to me alone ; and it seemed as if, 
 by my mother's death, the only link which had bound us to- 
 gether had been snapped in twain. 
 
 Time, however, which in all cases of sorrow is the best and 
 most efficacious physician, brought to my father's grief its heal- 
 ing influence; and after an interval of some weeks, he once 
 more quitted his habits of rigid solitude, and betook himself to 
 his ordinary avocations. But there were few of these in which 
 the loss of my mother was not sensibly felt. She was in a man- 
 ner entwined with all his pleasures and pursuits. In a thousand 
 unknown and imperceptible ways she had contributed to his 
 comfort; and the verdure which she had scattered on his path, 
 ami the flowers with which she had adorned it, were perhaps 
 only first discovered, when the hand that spread them was gouu 
 for ever. 
 
 Hi-, therefore, was a loss neither to be supplied nor forgotten. 
 It was recalled to him in every occupation — in health and sick- 
 in solitude and society. To my father's temper, unfortu- 
 nately, affliction brought no healing balm — it came like the 
 toad, Ugly ami venomous, but bore no jewel in its head. In 
 early life he had been :m ambitious man, and, by the loss of for- 
 tune, his schemes of ambition had been blighted. In bitterness 
 
 of spirit he had withdrawn himself from society, and sought 
 for happiness in study, in retirement, and the quiet enjoy- 
 ment, of domestic life. Of these enjoyments my mother was 
 tin- scry life and essence, and with her they too perished. He 
 had Buffered much — dispensations heavy to bear had been laid
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVII. 127 
 
 upon him — he had felt the terrible smiting of an Almighty arm, 
 but from its inflictions he had not risen a " wiser and a better 
 man." To me he had ever been an object rather of fear than 
 affection. I had wished to love him, but could not ; for, even 
 in the case of parent and child, connected as they are by nature's 
 closest and most powerful ligaments, love, to exist at all, must 
 be reciprocal. 
 
 When we met, his reception of me was cold and embarrassing. 
 Since we had last met, I had studied, and with some distinction, 
 at College. My mind had been, opened and enlarged ; I had 
 laid up some trifling stores, at least, of liberal and useful know- 
 ledge ; and my father was himself a man of elegant taste and 
 literature, well qualified to discern and appreciate the extent of 
 my acquirements. But whatever change in these respects was 
 discernible, he regarded without interest ; and to him my mind 
 was destined to remain a sealed volume, the contents of which 
 he cared not to know. We were, in short, as two planets kept 
 asunder by a repulsive power, which, while it prevented the 
 possibility of nearer approach, unfortunately was not opposed to 
 an unlimited divergence. 
 
 My father's ideas, of family government were of the most 
 despotic kind. He was little disposed in any case to mitigate 
 the harshness of command, in proportion to the advancement in 
 years and knowledge of those who were subject to his sway : — 
 Least of all in mine. To me his authority was always put for- 
 ward in its most offensive form ; and even in instances where 
 the slightest intimation of his wishes would have been sufficient 
 to guide and regulate my conduct, he preferred to govern by the 
 exercise of command, rendered only more offensive because it 
 was felt to be gratuitous. 
 
 My temper, too, was high, and how long I might have sub- 
 mitted to such unreasonable despotism, without deviating into 
 rebellion, unfurnished with stronger motives to obedience than 
 my own perception of the propriety of filial submission could 
 supply, fortunately remained untried. In the letter which my 
 mother had addressed to me on her death-bed, she made it her 
 solemn and parting injunction that I should, under all circum- 
 stances, comport myself towards my father with reverence and 
 obedience, and that no harshness of treatment, no act of injus- 
 tice, however marked on his part, should induce me to throw off 
 the filial allegiance due to my only parent. 
 
 The behest of a dying mother was not — could not be dis- 
 obeyed, by a spirit yet bleeding for her loss ; and thus my 
 rebellious heart still continued to yield a proud though implicit 
 obedience to the stern mandates of parental authority. 
 
 With peculiar emphasis, too, had my mother consigned my
 
 128 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 sisters to my especial care and support. She entreated that I 
 would guard and watch over them with more, if possible, than 
 even brotherly anxiety, and that in every alternation of for- 
 tune, I would' prove their stay, their guardian, their protector, 
 their friend. I read the letter alone and on my knees, and it 
 seemed as if the voice of the dead might yet be listened to by 
 mortal ear. I felt the magnitude of the trust thus confided 
 to me, and I invoked curses on my head if ever I neglected or 
 betrayed it. 
 
 A month or two had elapsed, and the current of affairs at 
 Thornhill had subsided into the channel in which it seemed 
 hereafter destined to flow. It was evident that the health oi 
 my father had suffered considerably, yet little change was dis- 
 cernible in his habits and deportment. But his temper was 
 subject to more frequent and violent exacerbations. lie mingled 
 less frequently than formerly in the family circle, over which 
 his presence never failed to cast a gloom ; and his favourite and 
 grey-haired domestics were treated with an austerity and harsh- 
 ness to which they had been unaccustomed. 
 
 Of his views relative to myself, I had yet learned nothing, 
 nor had I made known to him my own wishes with regard to 
 the choice of a profession. Meanwhile the languid monotony of 
 mv life was becoming daily more intolerable. It is true, I had 
 my dogs and my horses; and my amusements were now a 
 matter of too great indifference to my father to become the 
 objects of restraint. But it was neither the season for hunting 
 nor shooting, and I felt certain "prophetic swellings in my 
 breast," which told me I was destined for higher things, than 
 become a mere 
 
 Fishing, hawking, hunting country gentleman. 
 
 In the society of my sisters, to whom I had now beoome the 
 chief object of attachment, I found, indeed, a never-failing 
 resource." I read aloud to .lane while engaged in her work, 
 heard the lessons of little Lucy, and played with her at blind- 
 man's buff, rode and walked with both, and amused them with 
 descriptions of Scottish scenery and manners, their Highland 
 relations, and the eccentricities of our rich uncle, the Glasgow 
 merchant. 
 
 But Buch placid enjoyments are better suited to the decline of 
 life than its commencement. To a mind youthful and ardent, 
 which pants for the lull exercise of its powers and passions^ they 
 arc luit as dewdrops on the mane of the sleeping lion, glitter- 
 ing and beautiful in themselves, but which he shakes from him 
 unheeded, when he rouses himself to action. My schoolfellows 
 and companions had already gone abroad into the world. Wil-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVII. 129 
 
 Ham Lumley -was at Oxford, and about to take his bachelors 
 degree ; Conyers was a dragoon ; and Jack Spencer had entered 
 the navy and fought at Aboukir ; and was I alone, in this busy 
 and bustling world, to remain idle and inactive ? Was I to drag 
 on a life of thraldom and insignificance, subject to the whims 
 and humours of a cold and capricious father ? My very soul 
 revolted at the thought. No ! I would go forth and play such 
 a part as became me, in the great theatre of the world. An 
 ancient and honourable name should be illustrated by my 
 achievements. I would seek my father. I would lay open to 
 him the whole bent and passion of my soul, inform him of my 
 resolutions, enforce their reasonableness, refute his objections ; 
 and if he still persisted in refusing his consent, I would shake 
 the dust from my feet as I quitted his threshold, go forth 
 unaided and alone, enter as a volunteer in a regiment abroad, 
 and with no sign " save men's opinion and my own good sword," 
 woidd win my way to honour and distinction. 
 
 Such were the visionary projects of youthful enthusiasm. 
 Luckily I was not driven to receive practical proof of their 
 futility. 
 
 While I was endeavouring to arrange my ideas for an eclair- 
 cissement, and hesitating whether I should solicit an interview 
 verbally or by letter, I received one morning a message from 
 my father, commanding my presence in the library. My heart 
 throbbed violently, for I felt the long looked -for moment was 
 come, in which the character of my future prospects, perhaps 
 the happiness of my life, was to be decided. Endeavouring, 
 therefore, to concentrate my ideas as much as, in the tumult of 
 my thoughts, was possible, I proceeded to the conference, filled 
 with the deepest anxiety for its result. 
 
 When I entered the library, my father was seated at a table, 
 engaged in writing ; but on my entrance he rose, and having 
 twice paced the apartment, remained standing in front of the 
 fireplace. Then turning towards me, and looking at me for 
 the first time, he said, 
 " Be seated." 
 I obeyed. 
 
 " I have sent for you, sir," continued he, " because I think the 
 time has at length arrived, when it is fitting we should come to 
 a mutual and clear understanding. You are a young man, and 
 have your way to make in the world. Have you thought of a 
 profession?" 
 
 " Long and deeply." 
 
 " And, of course, feel that your own knowledge and experi- 
 ence are of themselves perfectly competent to decide your choice? 
 Is not this so?"
 
 130 CYRIL THORNTON. CnAPTER XVII. 
 
 There was something of a sneer discernible on his counte- 
 nance as he spoke, and I did not answer. — He went on. 
 
 " You say you have considered the subject of your future 
 profession long and deeply — coolly and dispassionately had been 
 belter words, and more to the purpose. You had once a boyish 
 inclination for the army. Does this still continue, or has some 
 newer whimsy supplanted it? — Speak, sir!" 
 
 " My sentiments are still unchanged. In a military life are 
 centred all my hopes and wishes, and my heart tells me I must 
 be a soldier or nothing." 
 
 " So — I thought as much ; and since I now understand your 
 views and intentions, it is fitting you should understand mine. 
 Murk well, sir, what I am about to say to you, for every syllable 
 of it concerns you deeply. When Dr Lumley formerly com- 
 municated to me your wishes in regard to a profession, I need 
 not tell you I had two sons, and you were the younger. As 
 such, you could expect but a slender provision, and the military 
 life is one in which poverty is perhaps attended with fewer evils 
 ami privations than any other. I did not, therefore, think it 
 necessary to oppose your inclinations. Since then, you know 
 how the aspect of this family has been changed. Deep and sad 
 changes have blighted the only hopes, which to me, for long 
 years, had brightened the waste of existence. Your elder 
 brother is no more, and of his death you were the cause. I 
 do not mean to accuse you— the innocent cause, if you will — 
 but still by that very hand," — pointing as he spoke, and slightly 
 shuddering, — "he received his death; and when you returned, 
 I saw it — yes, I saw it — red with his blood. Nay, I would not 
 willingly wound your feelings," observing my emotion, "but 1 
 have often thought, and cannot but still think, how much sorrow 
 and suffering had been spared us all, had it pleased God that 
 you had never breathed, or had been mercifully snatched from 
 us in the cradle. — Compose yourself." 
 
 I had indeed need of composure. Had I been stretched on 
 the raek, 1 feel convinced my sufferings would have been less 
 acute than those I endured during this harsh and unfeeling 
 address. As he uttered it, I kept my eyes iixed on his coun- 
 tenance, as if with all my energies collected to brave the storm. 
 Not once, even when his words pierced deepest, did I withdraw 
 them. At one moment, it seemed as if he quailed beneath their 
 gaze, for be half averted his face, and looked upon the ground. 
 1 endeavoured, with all my strength, to be calm, and my coun- 
 tenance, I believe, was so; but beneath, every nerve and muscle 
 of my body seemed heaved into distinct and separate action, 
 which 1 had neither the power to command nor to repress. My 
 frame shook as if with an ague. My father betrayed signs of
 
 CYRIX. THORNTON. CHAPTER XVII. 131 
 
 vehement emotion, both in speech and gesture, and the com- 
 posure he prescribed to me, was evidently not unwanted by 
 himself. He paced several times up and down the apartment, 
 and then confronting me in his former station, he resumed : — 
 
 " You are now an only son, and probably expect to enter on 
 life with greater advantages and higher prospects than before. 
 The world, of course, looks on you, and you perhaps look upon 
 yourself, as the heir to this estate. Indulge not in such a 
 delusion. It is but justice to let you know your real situation. 
 While another child of mine survives, Thornhill will never be 
 yours. Such is my determination ; and if you view it calmly 
 and aright, you ought not — you cannot wish it otherwise. [You 
 have been made the instrument of divine vengeance on your 
 family. Would you accept reward for this? Through your 
 murderous negligence your brother lost his life. Would you — 
 could you, turn fratricide to profit and take wages for your 
 brother's blood ? Think you wealth thus acquired would come 
 to you unburdened by a curse ? Or could you for a moment 
 drown, amid its poor and pitiful enjoyments, the remembrance 
 of the price you paid for them ? Believe me, in this respect, at 
 least, I am not unjust to you, and doubt not that you would 
 cast from you, as a loathsome thing, fortune so detestable and 
 unhallowed in its acquisition. Were it otherwise, I should 
 disown you for my son, and think of you as a disgrace to your 
 name and lineage. But enough. Expect nothing from me but 
 the provision you were originally entitled to as a younger son. 
 You now know the footing on which you will enter the world. 
 Whatever your inclinations may be, in regard to your future 
 pursuits, I will not oppose them. But ponder well before you 
 decide. In the church there is a living in my gift, to which, if 
 you take orders, you may reasonably look forward. In the 
 army I can assist you little. In this matter, however, I wish 
 not to influence 3 r ou ; let the decision be your own. At present 
 retire, and at some other time I will be glad to learn the issue 
 of your deliberations." 
 
 I did not immediately obey the mandate to depart, but 
 remained with my eyes still riveted on the speaker, for some 
 time after he concluded his address, partly from a desire to be 
 certain that I had now heard all, and partly, that from mental 
 agitation I did not at first feel my physical energies to be equal 
 to the required task of locomotion. These, however, soon 
 returned, and rising slowly from my chair, I bowed low to my 
 father, and left the room. 
 
 My face felt heated, and my head overcharged with blood. 
 I could not endure the atmosphere within doors, and seizing my 
 hat, went forth into the air. About a gunshot in rear of the
 
 132 CTSIL TIIOKXTON. CHArTER XVII. 
 
 house, there rises a hill of considerable eminence, and wooded 
 to the summit, on which stands a turret commanding a beauti- 
 ful and extensive view of the neighbouring country. There, if 
 there is a breath of wind stirring, you are sure to meet with it, 
 and it was to this spot I bent my steps. 
 
 During my walk, the scene which had just passed appeared 
 but as a dream. I had a distinct, idea of it as a whole, but I 
 could not resolve it into its component parts, as one may per- 
 fect iv remember the contour and expression of a face, though 
 utterly unable to' describe the features of which it is made up. 
 But the influence of the cooler atmosphere in which I had fixed 
 my station, soon restored my memory to its wonted powers. I 
 reflected long and deeply on the extraordinary address to which 
 I had recently listened. I analysed it in my mind, and endea- 
 voured to recall, if possible, the very words of my father. I 
 did this, I think, on the whole, calmly and deliberately. Re- 
 sentment I certainly did feel, but not that resentment which 
 seeks to pervert the motives of its object. I passed in review 
 all my conduct to my father, from my very infancy. Towards 
 him I stood acquitted, for I felt that the natural promptings of 
 my heart had been to love and duty. 
 
 What, then, had I done, that the greatest and most terrible 
 misfortune of my life, under which even my reason had suffered 
 temporary obscuration, should thus be cruelly recalled, and made 
 matter of insidious and malignant charge ? What heart but 
 my father's could have done this ? Was it not enough to deprive 
 me of my natural inheritance, and. by so doing, to affix a stig- 
 ma to my name, without adding insult and outrage to injury, 
 torture to injustice ? lie could plead no provocation, no pas- 
 sion, do chafing of the blood, to palliate the gratuitous ferocity 
 of the attack. No, it was made coolly and deliberately; and, 
 with premeditated malice, a vital part had been selected for every 
 stab. 
 
 The mere loss of fortune affected me but little; and though 1 
 felt internal consciousness, that the privation was unjust, yet 
 worldly advantages had entered too little into my calculations 
 of happiness, to occasion any very poignant or lasting disappoint- 
 ment by their loss. The \iews of youth are seldom interested; 
 the value of wealth is learned only by experience, and experience 
 
 I bad Done. The inheritance of my fathers was about to pass 
 
 from in" ; but iii the possession of my sisters I felt I could regard 
 
 it without envy, almost without regret. It was against the cruel 
 
 and implacable spirit which my father had betrayed towards me, 
 
 that my whole soul rose in arms. The ocean, it seemed, could 
 not separate US more widely than we wen' destined thencefor- 
 ward to be divided. There was a u;u\i' between us, which, once
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVIII. 133 
 
 passed, like the Stygian river, could never be recrossed. The 
 ties of filial love and reverence seemed to be unloosed for ever, 
 and the shackles of parental bondage to have fallen from my 
 limbs. 
 
 And it was so. From that hour I was free and independent. 
 My father saw in my calm and stately bearing that his authority 
 had passed away, and never afterwards attempted to control my 
 actions. His manner towards me was more considerate and 
 conciliating than formerly, and when, in a few days, I informed 
 him that my preference for a military life was decided and im- 
 mutable, he received the communication in silence, and bowed 
 his acquiescence. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Love is a tiring to ■which we soon consent, 
 As soon refuse — but sooner far repent. 
 
 Thracian Wonder. 
 
 The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree 
 I planted — they have torn me and I bleed ; 
 I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 Before the interview with my father, the particulars of which 
 have been already narrated, my chief source of anxiety had arisen 
 from the dread of opposition on his part to my own resolute 
 determination to become a soldier. That cause of apprehension 
 had been now removed, and my mind was tranquillized by the 
 knowledge, that in the attainment of this, the chief object of my 
 wishes, I should have no further obstacle to overcome. My 
 father, I was aware, had taken the necessary steps to procure 
 me a commission, and I calmly waited the arrival of the moment, 
 when I should be called from my retirement, to start forward 
 in the high career for which I imagined myself to be destined. 
 
 Time, too, which softens the human heart, and mitigates its 
 fiercest passions, had not failed to exercise its salutary influence 
 on mine. The bitterness of feeling, which the harsh and unkind 
 conduct of my father had at first excited, gradually subsided. 
 His health was bad ; the objects dearest to him had been snatched 
 away ; he was a man of dilapidated fortunes and blighted hopes ; 
 and to these causes I was willing to attribute much of that 
 unfeeling moroseness by which his character was marked. His
 
 134 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 love I had never possessed, and I had long known it ; of his 
 strong aversion I now knew myself to be the object. Yet my 
 heart was not formed long to be the depository of unkind feel- 
 ings towards an only parent. There, indeed, my resentments 
 had been stored; there I imagined them to be safely treasured; 
 but when I endeavoured to recall them — they were gone. The 
 perusal of my mother's letter, too, again did much. It was ever 
 carried in my bosom; and when I looked on it, I felt a relenting 
 of the spirit, and the injustice of my father was forgiven. 
 
 In the establishment at Thornhill the death of my mother had 
 created a void not easily to be supplied. She had in fact been, 
 as it were, the mainspring of the machine, by which each sepa- 
 rate part was indirectly impelled and regulated. The superin- 
 tendence of all domestic arrangements, and the education of my 
 sisters, had been her peculiar provinces, and in these her loss 
 was irreparable. Jane was now sixteen, and, under the tuition 
 of her mother, had almost grown up into an elegant and accom- 
 plished woman. In point of acquirement she was perfectly 
 qualified to conduct the education of her younger sister ; but it 
 was perhaps scarcely reasonable to expect, in a girl of her age, 
 the steadiness and energy of character necessary for such a task. 
 To maintain a constant control over little Lucy, indeed, was no 
 easy matter. Never was there a creature of gayer and more 
 buoyant spirit : 
 
 she w.-in .is sportive as tlio f.iwn. 
 
 That, wild with glee, across the lawn, 
 
 Or up the mountain springs. 
 
 No shadow lingered in her path, and she went on her way 
 rejoicing in the wild revelry of her own innocent and happy 
 heart. 
 
 .lane's health, too, was delicate; she was a creature too fra- 
 gile to bear a heavy burden, and the new duties which were 
 about to devolve on her, as the future mistress of the establish- 
 ment at Thornhill, would, to one so young and inexperienced, 
 be ot' themselves sufficient, without the addition of those neces- 
 sarily allied to the education of her sister. 
 
 It was not, however, without mixed feelings of surprise and 
 regrel on our part, that my father, after perusing a letter one 
 morning at the breakfast-table, informed us that, in a few days, 
 we might expect the arrival of a lady, who was to form a per- 
 manenl addition to our domestic circle. She was, he said, a 
 person of good family, amiable and accomplished, intended to 
 fill the double roleoi companion to .Jane, and governess to little 
 Lucy. 
 
 The anticipation of such an addition to our family party, was 
 at first by no means pleasant. But, on more mature considera-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVIII. 135 
 
 tion, I felt inclined to admit the propriety of the step taken by 
 my father. Jane's spirits were variable, and required occasion- 
 ally a degree of support, which neither my father nor Lucy, 
 though from different causes, were capable of affording. In the 
 society of a person of her own sex, this alone could be found ; 
 and I could not, on reflection, disapprove of an arrangement, 
 which, if my father's statement might be credited, provided her 
 with a companion in every respect eligible. 
 
 I remember one day, about the time when my sistere were 
 anxiously expecting the arrival of this new inmate, with mingled 
 feelings of dread and curiosity, I had just returned from a ride, 
 and was dismounting from my horse, when a post-chaise drove 
 up to the door. The vehicle was loaded externally with an 
 unusual quantity of luggage, for the commodious conveyance 
 of which it seemed ill calculated. An enormous black leather 
 trunk was fastened to the back part of the carriage by a volumi- 
 nous complexity of rope ; the summit was crowned by a gigantic 
 band-box ; and in front, the driver, instead of a dickey, was seated 
 on a trunk, which seemed, from its colour and dimensions, twin- 
 brother to that behind. 
 
 To catch a glimpse of the owner of so much worldly posses- 
 sion, was impossible, for nothing in the inside of the carnage 
 was discernible but a confused mass of baskets, bonnet-boxes, 
 and other appurtenances of a female traveller. The door of this 
 uncomfortable receptacle, however, at length opened, and, after 
 a world of miscellaneous articles had been removed by the 
 united activity of the servants and the driver, to my infinite 
 astonishment, I beheld descend from the vehicle — Miss Cumber- 
 batch. 
 
 The circumstance was so unexpected, that I at first imagined 
 she was merely the bearer of some message from Lady Amer- 
 sham ; but a second glance at the confused multitude of pack- 
 ages which had filled the hall, most of which were addressed, 
 in large characters, to " Miss Cumberbatch, Thornhill Park," 
 convinced me she was the true Amphytrion — the real and 
 genuine governess, of whose arrival we were in expectation. 
 
 I approached her, therefore, and claiming the privilege of 
 former acquaintance, requested to be allowed the pleasure of 
 conducting her to my sisters' apartment, and introducing her to 
 them. My offer was, of course, politely accepted, and the 
 duties it imposed duly discharged. The eyes both of Jane and 
 Lucy were directed with some anxiety towards a person on 
 whose character and qualities so much of their future comfort 
 was likely to depend. The latter, I observed, eyed her askance. 
 To her she came in the character of a governess ; and the anti- 
 cipations she had formed of the duties attached to that office,
 
 136 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 seemed by no means to prepossess her in favour of the person 
 by whom it was to be filled. 
 
 But the scrutiny of deeper physiognomists than cither Jane 
 or Lucy might have been baffled by the countenance of Miss 
 Cumberbatch. It seemed the face of one long a stranger to 
 strong emotion of any kind : whose passions, whatever they had 
 been, were become torpid through continued inaction. But 
 whether this unruffled placidity was the gift of art or nature, 
 whether it was transient or unchangeable, it might have puzzled 
 Lavater himself to determine. Her deportment, however, was 
 in all respects marked by strict propriety; her manners, if not 
 prepossessing, were at least far from repulsive ; and even the 
 prejudices of little Lucy gradually gave way, when she found 
 her governess was not <jHit<> so disagreeable as she had expected. 
 
 In truth, there was nothing in her appearance to provoke 
 either ridicule or dislike. Jane, too, was pleased with her new 
 companion; and even the half aversion with which she had 
 inspired me at Staunton Court, gave place to more kindly feel- 
 ings. In short, after the arrival of Miss Cumberbatch, every 
 thing went on at Thornhill, if possible, more smoothly than 
 In 'tore. 
 
 It may be well, however, to inform the reader bow Miss Cum- 
 berbutcli came to make her appearance so unexpectedly in the 
 circumstances already described. The truth was, my father 
 had written to Lady Anicrsha.m. requesting her assistance in the 
 weighty matter of procuring a person requisitely gifted for the 
 situation. Lady Amersham, perhaps not averse to get thus 
 easily rid of a dependent, for whose services she had little fur- 
 ther occasion, or, to adopt a more charitable supposition, really 
 believing Miss Cumberbatch to be well qualified to discharge 
 
 the necessary duties, bad recommended thai lady to my father 
 
 in the strongest terms. The latter did not hesitate in offering 
 her an advantageous engagement ; and Miss Cumberbatch arri- 
 ved safely and in due season, with bag and baggage, as before 
 described. 
 
 M\ narrative has now reached a point, when I am called 
 upon to record events of a somewhat dill'creiit character from 
 any which have yd found place in these memoirs. I would 
 they might be omitted, but it cannot be; their recollection is 
 U)0 darkly .and deeply interwoven with my story to be passed 
 
 over ill silence. 
 
 1 have already said that in the walks of my sisters, I was 
 
 generally their companion. These were frequentlj directed to 
 a cottage in the neighbourhood, of which there was apparently 
 no other inhabitant than a young and beautiful girl, whom Jane 
 occasionally employed in little works of embroidery and needle-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XVIII. 187 
 
 work. In appearance and manners, she was certainly consider- 
 ably above the common order of cottagers' daughters, and there 
 was a settled melancholy on her countenance, evidently not its 
 natural expression, which could not be regarded — or at least on 
 my part certainly was not regarded, without compassion. The 
 gloom and depression under which she laboured were clearly 
 not constitutional, for the gleams of a spirit naturally light and 
 joyous, broke occasionally forth, and, like those of a winter's 
 sun, seemed brighter by contrast, with the heaviness and obscu- 
 rity by which they were preceded and followed. 
 
 But Mary Brookes (for such was her name) did not dwell in 
 the cottage alone. She lived with her father, a rude and violent 
 man, of whose character report did not speak very favourably 
 in the neighbourhood. Isaac Brookes was sprung of respectable 
 parents, and had commenced life in a station somewhat above 
 that which he now occupied. He had been a farmer, but he 
 was an imprudent man, given to irregular habits, and had not 
 thriven in the world. His stock was distrained for rent, and he 
 was ejected from his farm. Henceforward his hand was raised 
 against every one, and the hand of every one was raised against 
 Isaac Brookes. 
 
 In this contest, as might be expected, he had come off worst. 
 Many were the bruises and buffetings he had to endure, and he 
 bore them with bitterness of heart, and a reckless spirit. In his 
 more prosperous days he had married, and his wife, it was said, 
 had fallen a victim to his harshness and brutality. She died, 
 and left him the father of a daughter. Willing to be relieved 
 of such a burden, Isaac had consigned her to the care of his 
 wife's sister, who reared the infant, and loved her as her own 
 child. This aunt had been for many years a housekeeper in a 
 nobleman's family, and when unfitted by the infirmities of age 
 for further service, had retired to a neighbouring cottage, and 
 passed the days of her declining life in comfort, on a pension 
 allowed her by her former master. By her had Mary Brookes 
 been instructed in all this aged matron was qualified to teach ; 
 and the accomplishments which she thus acquired, were the 
 objects of envy and admiration to the village maidens. When 
 on the verge of womanhood she had lost her kind protectress. 
 Her pension ceased at her death, and Mary was obliged to seek 
 a home in the cottage of her father 
 
 It was indeed a home very different from the one she quitted. 
 Isaac Brookes was still a widower, and his temper had become 
 ferocious from poverty and disappointment. Deprived of all the 
 comforts to which she had hitherto been accustomed, and treated 
 by her father with cruelty and neglect, it is not to be wondered 
 that her spirits sunk under a change of circumstances so sud-
 
 138 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 don and severe. Her sorrow, though deep, was silent and unob- 
 trusive; if she wept, her tears were shed when no eye beheld 
 them ; if she sighed, it was in the solitary desolation of her 
 heart, when there was no human ear to listen. 
 
 Such was the situation of Mary Brookes, when, with my sis- 
 ters, I first visited her father's cottage. A creature more 
 interesting it is difficult to conceive. Her figure was tall, and 
 its natural grace was perhaps rendered more remarkable by the 
 simplicity of her dress, and the air of retiring modesty visible in 
 every look and gesture. Her face was pale ; but when she spoke 
 there was a suffusion in her cheek, as if the sound of her own 
 sweet voice had made her fearful. She was 
 
 A maiden never bold 
 Of spirit — so still and quiet, that her motion 
 Blush'd at itself. 
 
 To me she seemed a being, whom, to gaze upon, was necessarily 
 to love, who would find sympathy in every heart, and support in 
 every arm. But it was not so. The punishment of the father 
 had been extended to the daughter, and she was friendless. Who 
 would show kindness or protection to the daughter of Isaac 
 Brookes ? To whom could she look for comfort or support in 
 her sufferings and trials ? To none. The superiority of at- 
 traction she possessed rendered her an object of dislike to the 
 mothers, and of jealousy to the daughters ; for it is always pecu- 
 liarly galling to be excelled by the unfortunate. From my 
 sisters, it is true, she received all the kindness and consolation 
 which they were prompted by their own feeling hearts to be- 
 stow. And I too — think of the beauty and distress of this fair 
 creature — of her meekness in suffering — of her fragile frame 
 gradually sinking- under the heavy burden that was laid upon 
 her, and think whether every generous impulse of my soul was 
 not awakened in her behalf. Alas for poor human nature, that 
 the indulgence of even our best and purest feelings should lead 
 but to guilt and error! 
 
 In the company of .lane and Lucy, I paid several visits to the 
 cottage of Isaac Brookes. Of him we saw nothing, for early in 
 the morning he went forth, and never returned till night; and 
 Mary WOB Left, sad and .solitary, the livelong day, to the cheer- 
 iest task of lace-making or embroidery. 
 
 The strength of the > j >« -1 Is she had cast around me daily 
 increased; berimage haunted me l>y night and by day, yet never 
 
 was thethoughl of injuring a creature, so innocent and defence- 
 
 [ess, inch I'm- one instant harboured in my soul. No, in all my 
 dreams anil they were wild and countless — the Searcher of 
 Ileal ts know- that
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XVIII. 139 
 
 I never tempted her with word too large; 
 But, as a brother to a sister, show'd 
 Bashful sincerity, and comely love. 
 
 One day I visited the cottage alone, charged with a message 
 from Jane, and I found Mary seated as usual at her work ; but 
 her eyes were heavy and bloodshot, and she was evidently under 
 the influence of deep depression. There was nothing in the 
 circumstances of my visit to alarm the most scrupulous delicacy, 
 far less to excite apprehension in one so simple and confiding as 
 this poor girl. She saw — she could not but see — that I was 
 deeply interested by her distress, nay, that could the outpouring 
 of my blood have contributed to restore her to happiness, it 
 would have been shed as water. 
 
 Poor Mary ! her heart leaped up within her at the voice of 
 kindness, long a stranger to her ear ; and while she listened to 
 the words of pity and of comfort with which I sought to soothe 
 
 her, 
 
 She could not hear their gentleness, 
 The tears were in their bed. 
 
 Most true is the old adage, that pity is akin to love. The 
 stream of one passion flows into another so imperceptibly, that 
 the point of union cannot be discovered, and we glide onwards 
 with the current, insensible alike of our own progress, and of the 
 direction in which we are carried, till we strike on some sunken 
 rock, and are left, perhaps, to float a shattered wreck upon the 
 waters. 
 
 Day after day were my steps directed to the cottage, and 
 anxiously did Mary watch, in her innocence and simplicity, for 
 the accustomed hour, when her solitude would be cheered by 
 my presence, her heart gladdened by my voice. From her own 
 lips I listened to the story of her griefs. She told me her father 
 pressed her to a hateful marriage with a gamekeeper on a 
 neighbouring estate, a rude and violent man, whom she detested. 
 That on her acceptance of his addresses depended her father's 
 safety and continuance in this country ; for, on this condition 
 alone, had Pierce agreed to quash a prosecution for poaching, in 
 which conviction was certain. Her tears flowed fast as she 
 spoke, for her heart was torn by conflicting emotions. By a 
 sudden impulse I caught her in my arms, and kissed the moisture 
 from her cheeks, which in an instant glowed like crimson. She 
 started back from my embrace with the offended dignity of 
 maiden modesty, and I knelt down, and, invoking God to wit- 
 ness the purity of my intentions, vowed to guard and to protect 
 her with a brother's love. And thus her fears were calmed ; but 
 alas! from that moment our fate was sealed. 
 
 The frequency of my visits to Brookes's cottage afforded, as
 
 CYRIL rilORNTON. CUAPTER XIX. 
 
 might be expected, matter for village gossip, too interesting to 
 be overlooked, and it became necessary that our interviews 
 should be arranged with secrecy and caution. The heart of 
 every woman tells her, almost instinctively, of the close affinity 
 between guilt and concealment, and that of Mary shrank from 
 it with fear and trembling. But she was young, inexperienced, 
 and, above all — she loved. Our place of rendezvous was the 
 tower on the hill already mentioned, and there we met at mid- 
 night, in silence and secrecy. Night after night these visits 
 were repeated, and there did we linger till the dawn of morning 
 twilight gave the signal for departure. The Being who alone 
 knew our weakness, knows likewise with what purity of purpose 
 we trode the brink of the precipice to which our steps had 
 brought us. 
 
 Need I go on? The tale of guilty love, of hearts alike 
 deceiving and deceived, has been often told. At length caution 
 slept — we were but weak and erring creatures — Mary ceased to. 
 be virtuous — and the reproaches of my own heart told me I was 
 a seducer. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Oh, County Guy, the hour is nigh — 
 
 Tin- sun lias left the lea, 
 Tlic orange flower perfu s tin' bower, 
 
 'I'lio breeze is on the sea; 
 
 Tin' lark, his lay who trill'd all day, 
 
 Site hush'd his partner by ; 
 Breeze, bird, and flower, the) know the hour — 
 
 But where la Count] Guy i 
 
 (iii? a tin Durwurd. 
 
 <)\ the night following I was again at the lower, hut the 
 hour of tryate passed, and Mary came not. It was a moonless 
 summer's night, and the air was sultry and oppressive. For 
 long liours ilid I sit watching for the sound of her footsteps, in 
 tile path that wound along the hill-side, and start at every rust- 
 ling of the leaves made by the fox, as lie stole through the 
 bushes towards bis earth in the furze cover — but Mary came 
 
 not, ami the [light passed in solitude and sadness. I lingered 
 
 till day-dawn ; and the song of the birds thai came forth to carol 
 
 their BWeel matins in the sunrise, wana-d me that my hopes 
 were \aiii. ami I BOUght my pillow with worn spirits and an 
 
 anxious bosom.
 
 CTRII. THOKNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 141 
 
 My dreams were wild and dreary, and I woke only to encoun- 
 ter the fierce upbraidings of offended conscience. A lovely, 
 friendless, innocent, and defenceless creature had trusted herself 
 to my honour and protection, and I had plunged her in irre- 
 trievable nun. What need was there to add new and more 
 intolerable anguish to the griefs of one already desolate and 
 oppressed ? Why select as a victim the most innocent, the most 
 confiding, the most unhappy of her sex ? In vain did I attempt 
 to " lull the still small voice," by pleading that I too had fallen 
 unwarily into the snare. The pitfall was not dug in my path — 
 I had sought it — I had voluntarily courted the temptation under 
 which I fell. Had I not sworn, and called on the Deity to 
 witness my truth, to love her but with a brother's love, and to 
 guard her honour stainless and immaculate ? She had trusted' 
 me. To her innocent and unsuspecting heart, my promises had 
 been as those of gospel truth. She had clung to them with 
 woman's faith. In them she had embarked all that belonged to 
 her in this world — her innocence — and she had been betrayed. 
 What was it now to say, that I had overrated my strength, or 
 to deplore the fatal consequences of my ungoverned passions ? 
 Are not the consequences of his guilt lamented even by the 
 most selfish and hardened sinner, when the enjoyments it 
 afforded him are past ? But what could avail regret, however 
 bitter ? The victim had fallen — the altar had been desecrated 
 by the sacrifice, and the immolation of innocence had been 
 completed. " Vile seducer ! unprincipled betrayer of confiding 
 love ! Like Cain, shalt thou be branded among men, and go 
 down into the grave with the guilt of perjury on thy soul." 
 
 Never till now had I felt the bitterness of an upbraiding 
 conscience, and it goaded me to the quick. There is no ex- 
 tremity of bodily suffering I would not have preferred to the 
 mental agonies I then endured. I strove to escape from my 
 own reflections, but could not, like the wretch who feels in his 
 quivering flesh the flames by which he is surrounded, and 
 attempts escape in vain, for he is chained to the stake. 
 
 And Mary, too, where was she ? Might she not have been 
 driven to some act of despair, and might not even the guilt of 
 murder be added to my already dark catalogue of crimes ! Was 
 I not once more to see and comfort her, to join my tears with 
 hers, to tell her how much her very weakness had endeared her 
 to my heart ? I was indeed full of anxiety on her account, but 
 I feared to venture to the cottage, for I knew my visits there 
 were watched, and guilt is ever full of many fears. 
 
 My steps were directed, therefore, to a part of the park, from 
 which it was overlooked, and there did I sit for hours gazing on 
 its thatched roof, and the little garden that lay between it and
 
 142 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 the road, neglected and full of weeds. The sun had gone down 
 ere I quitted my station. No living being had approached the 
 house, no smoke rose from its chimney ton — it seemed tenantless 
 and deserted. 
 
 Sick of soul did I return to Thornhill. I shrank from so- 
 ciety — the caresses even of little Lucy were become hateful and 
 distressing. I pushed her rudely from me ; and while the tears 
 started up into her large and blue eyes at my unkindness, I 
 retired to solitude and suffering in my own apartment. 
 
 Night came, and the stars again saw me at my watch-tower 
 on the hill-top. They rose and disappeared, but Mary's foot- 
 step had not gladdened my ear, nor her tall and slender form 
 delighted my eye. Heavily did the sun appear that morn to 
 raise his disk above the dark curtain of the clouds, and less than 
 usually jocund, methought, was the jubilee of living nature in 
 his return. I did not return home, but roamed onward through 
 the woods ; and selecting the path that led to where the shadow 
 of the dark green pines was deepest and least pervious, I cast 
 myself on the ground, and listened to the melancholy sound of 
 the waterfall that ascended from the glen. 
 
 It was noon ere I reached Thornhill ; a letter had come for 
 me by the post, and I knew it was from Mary. I thrust it 
 hastily into my bosom, rushed up stairs to my apartment, and 
 having secured my chamber-door from the possibility of intru- 
 sion, I opened it with a trembling heart. It was indeed from 
 Mary, and gave melancholy evidence that her spirit, which till 
 now had borne up against sorrow and misfortune, was at length 
 broken. It contained no reproaches ; she upbraided me not 
 with my broken faith. She had foolishly, she said — almost 
 wickedly loved, where love was hopeless, and a dreadful punish- 
 ment had followed her offence. She said that all thought of 
 happiness had lied lor ever, and she now knew herself to be a 
 creature alike alienated from God, and despised by man. She 
 told me, too, that her father now treated her with more harsh- 
 ness and cruelty than ever; that he even threatened her life, if 
 she refused to pay the price of his safety by marrying Pierce; 
 and what could she do; — her heart was broken, and she knew 
 not. She concluded by wishing me farewell for ever. We 
 
 could never el again. She had been guilty, but her nature 
 
 would not suffer her to persisl in guilt. Her love would cease 
 
 only in the grave, ii was mine unalienably, indefeasibly mine, 
 
 yet she desired me to forget her. She was but a guilty, miser- 
 able, and worthless thing, unworthy of a thought — a weed tossed 
 upon the waters, bound by no tie, and destined to be the sport of 
 wind and waves. 
 
 The letter was written with trembling fingers, and blotted
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 143 
 
 with tears. Shall I attempt to describe the effect it produced on 
 me ? No. The feelings of suffering that letter cost me shall 
 still rest undisturbed in their sepulchre, nor shall the grave be 
 called on unnecessarily to open its ponderous and marble jaws, 
 and cast them up again. 
 
 Notwithstanding the expressed determination of Mary to see 
 me no more, I felt it was necessary to my peace that at least 
 another interview should take place. I wrote her a letter of 
 comfort ; I accused myself as the sole cause of her misfortune ; 
 I assured her of my undiminished, my unchangeable attachment ; 
 I entreated her to quit her father's roof, and accept an asylum 
 from me, and I made a solemn vow never to intrude myself 
 unbidden on her presence. Lastly, I conjured her by the love 
 she bore me, to see me once more, to grant me at least the 
 melancholy consolation of bidding her an eternal farewell. 
 
 I despatched this letter by a sure channel, and with trembling 
 anxiety awaited the answer. A day, and yet another day passed, 
 and it came not. I could bear the tortures of suspense no longer, 
 and determined at all events to seek an interview. Prudence 
 had hitherto withheld me from visiting the cottage of her father, 
 but my mind was now in too high a state of excitement to think 
 of prudence. 
 
 There, therefore, I resolved to seek her. And I did so. My 
 heart beat almost audibly as I approached the cottage. I lifted 
 the latch, and listened for a moment to catch if possible some 
 signal that the house was still tenanted by her so dear to me. 
 No sound but the monotonous ticking of a clock broke the silence 
 of the dwelling. I advanced slowly and on tiptoe, and through 
 a half-opened door I beheld Mary, with her head bent forward 
 to the table, and her face covered with her hands. A basket 
 with her work lay beside her, but it was evidently untouched. 
 I saw before me the creature whom I had ruined and betrayed ; 
 my heart was moved with something of awe and fear, and I 
 almost dreaded to approach. For a moment or two I stood irre- 
 solute, and then I called her by her name. Quick as lightning 
 she started up, and gazing on me with a look of wildness, 
 exclaimed, " Oh, why have you come ? God help me, my misery 
 needed not this ! " 
 
 " Yes, God will help you, dearest Mary," said I ; " let not 
 your heart be cast down ; accept shelter and protection from one 
 who would peril body, nay soul, in your defence." She sank 
 back into her chair as I spoke, and I advanced and knelt before 
 her. " Pardon, pardon the wretch who has betrayed you — mine 
 was the guilt, not yours. Spare your self-reproaches, accuse 
 him who is alone guilty, and who now sues for that pardon from 
 you which his own conscience can never grant."
 
 144 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 .Mary's only reply was a loud shriek; quick and heavy steps 
 were heard on the floor, and, turning- round, 1 beheld Isaac Brookes 
 and Pierce the gamekeeper. I was instantly on my feet, and 
 turned to front the intruders. The face of Pierce was black as 
 Erebus, and was marked, I thought, by an almost diabolical 
 malignity. lie had lowered the butt of the gun which he car- 
 ried to the ground, and he stood, with his arm resting on the 
 muzzle, regarding me with a settled scowl. The face of Brookes, 
 though of a different character, Avas equally marked by evil pas- 
 sion. Its first expression seemed to be one of unmingled fury ; 
 but that soon passed away, and his countenance assumed, as he 
 approached me, a look of sardonic, or rather of malignant suavity, 
 more unpleasant than ungoverned passion, because more difficult 
 to deal with. 
 
 " Your servant, young squire," said he, slightly touching his 
 hat; " I thank you for your kindness to my daughter, and the 
 care you seem to be taking of her ; but when your honour thinks 
 of visiting her again, you had better let me know before you 
 come; because if you do not," and his assumed mildness of 
 expression was changed into a look of deadly determination, " it 
 may hap that evil may come of it," glancing a look at the same 
 time on Pierce's gun. 
 
 " I came, I assure you," answered I, feeling all the awkward- 
 ness of my situation, but making an effort to conceal it, " I 
 solemnly assure you, with no evil intentions towards either your 
 daughter or yourself. My sisters are deeply interested for her, 
 and I " 
 
 " Thank them and you too," interrupted Brookes ; " you are 
 very kind and condescending, and I am grateful, as in duty 
 bound. In return, take one word of advice from me, and that is, 
 neither to write to my daughter" — and he produced at the same 
 time my letter from his pocket — " nor to visit her for the future, 
 if you would live to inherit your father's estate. So, good morn- 
 ing to you, sir. Come, Mary, why don't you wish the gentleman 
 farewell, that's been so kind to you ? — Good morning to you, sir; 
 and I recommend you to think on my advice." 
 
 I left the cottage immediately, and as 1 passed the door a peal 
 of hellish laughter from within sounded in my ears. 
 
 Baffled in all my hones, 1 returned home in a state of wretched 
 depression. By my imprudence I had aggravated Mary's mis- 
 fortunes, and exposed her to ignominy and violence. Her lather, 
 it was evident, was aware of our correspondence, and was thus 
 furnished with an instrument of fearful power to bend his 
 Unhappy daughter to his wishes. I would have periled every 
 thing to protect her from the ferocity of her brutal parent. But 
 what could I do ? Every avenue of communication between us
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 145 
 
 was closed. If I approached the cottage, my steps were watched ; 
 if I wrote, my letter would probably be again intercepted by her 
 father ; and to incur detection in either case, what was it but to 
 draw down on Mary's head persecution yet more severe, and add 
 new dangers and difficulties to the labyrinth of those in which 
 she was already lost. Now, indeed, all the fearful consequences 
 of my crime were opened to my view. I beheld, in all its extent, 
 the dark and fearful gulf into which, on the stream of passion, 
 we had floated. I saw Mary perishing in the waters, and yet 
 was unable to rescue or assist her. — Such were my first lessons 
 in morality, and they were bitter and severe. 
 
 Time passed on, and my grief became of that passive charac- 
 ter which requires only patient endurance, and calls into action 
 none of the more active energies in our nature. It was deep, 
 not vehement; fixed, not loud; and experience tells me that 
 such sorrow is more difficult to bear, than that which comes 
 suddenly, and like a torrent, upon the heart ; which 
 
 Flows like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; 
 
 and which, sweeping down with the rapidity and desolation of 
 a hurricane, like a hurricane also passes away. I felt no longer 
 relief in the solitary indulgence of sorrow, but once more sought 
 society, and strove to extract from it the only solace that remained 
 for me — the power to forget. 
 
 My sisters were engaged to pay a visit of some duration to a 
 neighbouring family, and I agreed to accompany them. I was 
 absent about a month, and during that period received no intelli- 
 gence of Mary. Alas ! had such intelligence never reached me 
 I had been comparatively happy, for I learned, on my return to 
 Thornhill, she had become the wife of Pierce. 
 
 And now did the hurricane I have spoken of, rage in all its 
 violence within me ! I uttered curses and execrations on her 
 father, on Pierce, on myself, nay, even on Mary. Why, I 
 exclaimed in my almost impious frenzy, had this horrid and 
 accursed deed been suffered by the great Ruler of the world ? 
 Why had he not blasted with his lightning the perpetrators of a 
 crime so black and unparalleled ? Were those lips that I had 
 kissed — that bosom which had throbbed against my own, to be 
 contaminated by the touch of a low and brutal barbarian. There 
 was almost madness in the thought, and yet it was a thought I 
 was compelled to endure. To flee from it was impossible; it 
 haunted me like my shadow. I saw the look of conscious 
 triumph on the face of the vile minion, as he gazed with gloat- 
 ing eyes upon his victim. I saw the convulsive shudder that 
 came over her as she recoiled with loathing from his touch. I 
 could not go on. The picture was too horrible to be voluntarily 
 
 K.
 
 146 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 contemplated ; and, to avoid it, I would have plunged into the 
 crater of a volcano. But what was past could not be recalled, 
 and submission to the necessary course of events, is in man not 
 optional but imperative. 
 
 Weeks again elapsed : my feelings gradually reverted to their 
 former tone, and I regarded Mary, if possible, with even deeper 
 compassion tban before. We had been disjoined by an irrever- 
 sible fiat, and yet I was loath to think that we had already 
 separated for ever. In a short time I should bid farewell — cer- 
 tainly a long — possibly an eternal farewell, to Thornhill; and I 
 felt I should depart with a lighter spirit, if I could meet Mary 
 once more. The obstacles to such a meeting seemed almost 
 insurmountable — it was even difficult to convey to her an inti- 
 mation of my wishes. Project after project was considered and 
 rejected, for the consequences of exciting the jealousy of Pierce 
 were too serious to allow me to adopt any plan which involved 
 even the possibility of discovery. 
 
 I had at length nearly given up the attempt in despair, when 
 I learned that Pierce had gone to the county town to give evi- 
 dence in several trials for poaching, and that his presence would 
 be required there for some days. This circumstance was too 
 favourable to my wishes not to be taken immediate advantage 
 of. Pierce's cottage was about two miles off, situated on the 
 estate of which he was keeper. On three sides it was surrounded 
 by a wood, which skirted the little garden behind, and where 
 that did not intervene, approached still more closely to the 
 house. In this wo id it was possible to lie concealed, and at the 
 same time to command a view of every thing that passed around 
 the dwelling. 
 
 Having arranged my plans, I wrote a letter to Mary, in which 
 I told her of my approaching departure — that it was necessary 
 to my happiness that I should learn whether there was any 
 thing in which I could contribute to her comfort and tranquillity; 
 ami, above all, that I should receive from lierownlips assurance 
 of her forgiveness. I urged with all the eloquence I could com- 
 mand, that in the memory of having thus parted with her in 
 kindness, I could alone hope for consolation when far distant, 
 and conjured her, standing on the verge, as we did, of an eternal 
 separation, not to deny ibis last— this parting request, to one 
 whom >he had oner loved, who still loved her. My letter like- 
 wise indicated the hour and place of meeting on the following 
 night; and if she agreed to this arrangement, I desired she 
 would give Bignal of her consent by appearing at the window 
 with a white handkerchief in her hand. 
 
 Before sunrise I was at my post, but the execution of my scheme 
 wa by DO means easy. There were servants about the house,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 147 
 
 by whom it would have been ruin to be discovered. Of Mary 
 I had only caught a few occasional glimpses as she happened to 
 approach the window, and no opportunity occurred of attracting 
 her observation. At length, however, she came forth into the 
 garden, singing, in a voice weak but exquisitely sweet, a song 
 whose mournful cadences seemed breathed from a weary and a 
 bursting heart. Every note of it sank deep into my soul. She 
 had approached nearly to the extremity of the garden, which 
 opened by a small wicket into the wood, when I advanced, 
 crouching as much as possible to avoid all chances of detection, 
 and throwing the letter in her path, retreated hastily to my 
 place of concealment. I feared the suddenness of the surprise 
 might have caused her to scream, but it did not. When she 
 saw the letter, she leant for support against a tree, as if suddenly 
 bereft of strength, but soon recovering, she took it up, and I 
 saw her returning with tottering steps to the house. 
 
 A long interval followed, which was passed by me in a state 
 of restless anxiety. At length she approached the window, her 
 eyes evidently swollen with weeping, and the white handkerchief 
 was in her hand. She pressed it to her bosom and retired. I, 
 too, satisfied with the success of my mission, returned to Thorn- 
 hill, screening myself as much as possible from observation, by 
 directing my steps through the thickest and least frequented 
 part of the wood. 
 
 During the remainder of the day my mind was restless and 
 uneasy. Our interview would of necessity be a melancholy one, 
 and I almost regretted having sought it. Mary, I thought, was 
 too weak to support the agitation it must necessarily occasion ; 
 and the motives which had induced me almost to force it upon 
 her, I feared were wrong and selfish. But the die was cast, and 
 it was necessary now to stand its hazard; and when night 
 closed in, I was on my way to the place of meeting. 
 
 It was a field distant about a quarter of a mile from Pierce's 
 cottage, in the middle of which stood a group of chestnut trees 
 of uncommon size and luxuriance ; and from this circumstance 
 it was distinguished among the country people as "the field of 
 the Five Chestnuts." It was a green and sunny spot ; such a 
 one as the passer-by might pause to gaze upon, before he plunged 
 once more into the dark shadows of the surrounding wood. Here 
 and there a large tuft of broom glittered like a mass of molten 
 gold ; but I need not describe it, for, after all, it was nothing 
 more than a pretty field, such as one may meet almost any 
 where. Why I had selected it as a place of meeting I know 
 not ; but here it was, beneath the shadow of the chestnut trees, 
 that Mary and I w r ere once more to meet, and bid each other an 
 eternal farewell.
 
 148 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 When I reached the appointed place, my watch informed me 
 that the hour of meeting was not yet come, and throwing my- 
 self on the ground, I endeavoured, both for Mary's sake and my 
 own, to acquire fortitude and self-command sufficient to enable 
 me to pass calmly through the approaching trial. The spot 
 where I lay was too much sheltered for the wind to reach it ; 
 but the swiftness with which the clouds travelled in the sky, 
 showed its influence to be powerful above. One moment a mass 
 of opaque vapours veiled the moon, and the earth for a time 
 was covered with the curtain of darkness. Anon, they had 
 passed away, and the glorious planet again shown forth in her 
 brightness. 
 
 Such was the night, but my observations on the firmament 
 were cut short, by perceiving that my watch already indicated the 
 hour of meeting to have come. I started up, and taking advan- 
 tage of the glimpses of the moon, whenever in queenly royalty 
 she came forth from her canopy of clouds, gazed anxiously 
 around to watch for the approach of Mary. At length I saw a 
 female figure at some distance, emerging from the wood. It 
 was she — it was my once pure and innocent — my still beau- 
 tiful Mary. With the swiftness of a greyhound loosed from his 
 leash, I sprung to meet her. In a moment I was by her side — 
 my arms were extended to fold her once more to my bosom, 
 when the report of a gun was heard, and at the same instant I 
 felt myself wounded. A bullet had passed through my shoulder 
 — I staggered backward a few paces and fell. 
 
 The circumstance of being shot, always produces a consider- 
 able confusion in a man's ideas. I have no very clear remem- 
 brance of what passed around me as I lay on the ground. But 
 a -liiiek, loud and piercing as ever gave expression to human 
 anguish, yet seems to tingle in my ear, when I revert to that 
 moment. 
 
 By degrees I became more clear and collected, and felt de- 
 sirous, for the night air now seemed damp and chill, to return 
 oon as possible, and procure surgical assistance for my 
 wound, i rose, though with difficulty, for my Loss of blood had 
 been considerable ; and, stanching the wound with my handker- 
 chief, directed my steps to the neighbouring village, which had 
 the advantage of including in its population a professor of the 
 
 healing art. I was weak and faint, and my progress was slow; 
 
 but 1 at length succeeded in reaching the doctor's bouse, and, 
 with somewhat more difficulty, in knocking up the doctor from 
 bis comfortable bed. lie came rubbing his eyes, and still ap- 
 parently half asleep. 
 
 " Hey — what — Mr Thornton ! -bleeding too! — gun-shot 
 WOUnd ; not Ln the thorax or abdomen, I hope — vitals safe,
 
 CYRIX THORNTON. CHAPTER XIX. 149 
 
 and no matter for the wings. Is this murder, or robbery, or 
 an affair of honour ? Sit down, my good sir, and let me 
 examine the course of the ball.— Morgan, fetch my instruments, 
 and the tourniquet in the left-hand drawer of my anatomical 
 cabinet." 
 
 The doctor, as the reader will perceive, was a loquacious man, 
 and I had no inclination either to share his loquacity, or be- 
 come the subject of it. I therefore requested he would dress 
 my wound without further colloquy, and desired that nobody 
 might be present in the room when he did so. Morgan was 
 therefore dismissed ; and my wound, having been duly probed 
 and examined, was pronounced, in military phrase, to be severe, 
 not dangerous. The necessary dressings and ligatures were 
 applied ; and after many assvirances that I had made a narrow 
 escape, the bullet having passed between the Corocoid process 
 and the Scapula, luckily without injuring either, the doctor's 
 gig was ordered out to convey me to Thornhill. 
 
 On the way thither, I informed him that it was necessary the 
 circumstance of my being wounded should remain secret, and 
 that my illness should be attributed by my family to a severe 
 injury occasioned by a fall from my horse. In case he consented 
 to these conditions, well ; if not, I should be under the necessity 
 of employing another practitioner. To this alternative, however, 
 I was not reduced by the doctor's obstinacy. He objected, indeed, 
 to committing his character by telling a direct lie, but he had 
 no objection to furnish indirect corroboration to any statement 
 of mine, however much at variance with the fact. This was 
 enough. Our consciences dovetailed into each other admirably. 
 I told my own story — the doctor supported it, and it passed cur- 
 rent in the neighbourhood without question or suspicion. 
 
 On reaching Thornhill, I was ordered to bed. The exhaustion 
 consequent on loss of blood had been succeeded by a state of 
 feverish excitement, which my conversation with the doctor, and 
 the necessity of arranging some project of concealment, had pro- 
 bably increased. My arrival in such a condition, and stained 
 with blood almost from top to toe, of course created, in the phra- 
 seology of the present day, "a great sensation" in the family. 
 Old Jacob Pearson stood aghast when he beheld me, and the 
 olarm of Jane and Lucy was strong, and difficult to be calmed. 
 Even my father, on learning the condition in which I had been 
 brought home, was moved to the display of some share of parental 
 feeling. 
 
 My recovery was slow, and my confinement tedious. Every 
 thing sisterly love could do to relieve the ennui of a sick-bed, 
 was done, but done in vain. Jane could not now, as formerly, 
 be the confidant of all my thoughts and feelings ; secrets impos-
 
 150 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 sible to be disclosed weighed heavily on my mind ; it bent be- 
 neath a burden which could not be lightened or participated, 
 and of which time alone could diminish the oppression. To my 
 sisters I was neither unkind nor ungrateful ; 1 loved them dearly 
 as before; but I felt, and I believe Jane too felt, that the charm 
 which openness of heart had before given to our intercourse was 
 gone. 
 
 Happy — at least comparatively happy, was I, when I could 
 withdraw my thoughts from the past, and li\ them on that para- 
 dise of fools — the future. Sad and painful remembrances seemed 
 indissolubly linked with every object around me, and the thirsty 
 hart pants not more ardently for the clear brook, than I did for 
 the arrival of the expected moment, when I should bid a long 
 farewell to my parental mansion. 1 counted the days — almost 
 the hours, and to me they seemed an cxhaustless calendar. Yet 
 " time and the hour" sped on, and the moment of anticipated 
 happiness came at last. 
 
 My wound had healed, and I was again convalescent, when I 
 once more received a summons to attend my father in the library ; 
 and never was mandate obeyed with greater alacrity. On my 
 entrance, he pointed to a newspaper on the table, and said : " You 
 will find in the Gazette a notification of your appointment to an 
 ensigncy in the regiment of foot. Vim would have pre- 
 ferred, no doubt, a commission in the Guards or the Dragoons ; 
 but, in your circumstances, I have not deemed it prudent or fair 
 to expose you to unnecessary temptation. Remember you have 
 not become a soldier, like many young men of fortune whom 
 you will meet with in the world, merely for the sake of wearing 
 a handsome uniform, or passing a few years in pleasant society. 
 No. The army must be to you a profession, nol an amusement ; 
 and it is by your success or failure in that, you must expect to 
 sink or swim. In future, trust only to yourself, for from this 
 hour you are your own master. Do not think I am your enemy. 
 You will carry with you my warmest prayers for your success, 
 and whatever I can do to advance your interests will be done 
 cheerfully. With advice 1 will not trouble you. From any act 
 
 of dishonour the blood thai flows in your veins will preserve 
 you ; and to avoid acts of folly and imprudence, it is necessary 
 to taste the punishmenl that follows them. It is the price paid 
 for the Lessons of experience thai in fad constitutes their value; 
 cheapen them, and they are worthless. Depart as soon as may 
 be. Life 18 too short to be unnecessarily wasted in indolence. 
 When you Come of age, the fortune you are entitled to claim by 
 Settlement will be paid you ; till then, yon shall have a credit on 
 
 my banker for all suitable expenses. Go to London, and make 
 the necessary preparations for joining your regiment, which is
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 151 
 
 in America. Write often to your sisters — it will give me plea- 
 sure to hear of you through them. Farewell." 
 
 Cold as this may appear, when considered as the parting 
 address of a father to an only son, I was yet moved by the tone 
 of unusual kindness in which it was spoken. My heart was 
 softened, and when he extended his hand, I grasped it between 
 mine, and bathed it with my tears. It seemed as if I were now 
 parting for ever with my only remaining parent. 
 
 " Father," I said, " send me not forth into the world without 
 your blessing." 
 
 His look for a moment softened as he answered, " It is yours. 
 May God bless and protect you ! " 
 
 He withdrew his hand, and left the apartment. 
 
 My journey required few preparations, and these were soon 
 made. On the following morning, I pressed my weeping sisters 
 in my arms — imprinted a parting kiss upon their lips, and bade 
 adieu to Thornhill. 
 
 Of Mary Brookes I saw — I heard no more ; but I have since 
 learned that she died soon after my departure. When I 
 returned to Thornhill, several years afterwards, I wished to shed 
 a tear on her grave. But there was no stone to mark its site ; 
 — the sexton knew it not — Mary and her grave were alike for- 
 gotten. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Now has your well-train'd son mature attain'd 
 The joyful prime, when youth, elate and gay, 
 Steps into life, and follows, unrestrain'd, 
 Where passion leads, or pleasure points the way. 
 
 Wonder of a Kingdom. 
 
 A change has come o'er the spirit of my dream. The days 
 of my boyhood have passed away, and I am now a man — parti- 
 cipating largely in all the hopes, passions, errors, follies, and 
 pursuits which belong to that condition of our being, and about 
 to enter on the part allotted me in the busy scene of life. It 
 has been said that the happiest years of human existence are 
 those of childhood. My own experience would lead me to 
 question this. There is no period of my life, to the contempla- 
 tion of which I return with greater reluctance, than that which 
 is embraced in the preceding portion of this narrative. My 
 horizon had been early darkened by the quenching of its
 
 152 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 
 
 brightest stars. The lines had not always fallen to me in plea- 
 sant places, and my slender bark had been destined, from the 
 very commencement of its voyage, to encounter the bufferings 
 of wind and wave. It may be, misfortunes like mine are uncom- 
 mon. But the memory which recalls most vividly the happiness 
 of youthful days, is generally a more faithless record of their 
 sorrows; and they who delight to dwell on the fragrance of the 
 flower, are always the first to forget the sharpness of the thorn. 
 Who indeed can recall the thousand griefs and anxieties of his 
 early years ? The throng of childish fears and disappointments, 
 by which the sunshine of his young spirit was overcast and 
 shadowed? The sufferings of youth are indeed more evanescent 
 than those of maturer years, but are they necessarily less acute ? 
 I cannot think so. 
 
 I shall not encumber my narrative by any attempt to describe 
 the feelings with which for the first time I entered London. 
 The impression produced by this great mart of the world is, in 
 all cases, I believe, pretty nearly the same ; modified, indeed, 
 in its intensity by the constitutional temperament of individuals, 
 but varying little in the character of the emotions which it 
 excites. 
 
 For the first few days my mind was bewildered by the vast- 
 aess of tin' Bcene, and my conceptions of the character and 
 grandeur of the objects around me were vague and dim. I was 
 incapable of business, and, devoting my time to contemplation, 
 I roamed about the streets, regarding every thing I saw with 
 wonder. By degrees, however, the charm of novelty wore off; 
 and as my eye became gradually familiar with the splendour 
 and magnitude of the objects among which I moved, new and 
 unknown attractions did not fail to present themselves. Fresh 
 allurements daily started up around me, and spread themselves 
 in my path, and I was besef by temptations which my natural 
 temperament and acquired habits of self-command were unable 
 to resist. 
 
 In short, I was my own master, and in London. Chance 
 brought me in contact with several of my early companions, 
 already deep enough in worldly experience to be qualified to 
 
 instruct my ignorance; and before I had been a fortnight in 
 town. I hail become a thorough adept in metropolitan dissipation. 
 
 To a young man in my situation, it is perhaps a misfortune, 
 
 that in London there is scarcely any length to which dissipation 
 
 may not be carried without loss of character. An individual 
 forms so small a fraction of the mighty mass, and his proceed- 
 ings arc so i di a matter of indifference to those around him, 
 
 that the check of public opinion, which in smaller societies 
 
 exerts so salutary an influence, is entirely removed. There is
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 153 
 
 no privacy like that one enjoys in the crowd of a million ; and 
 it has been truly said by Dr Johnson, that he who would live 
 perfectly secluded from his fellow-men, should make London 
 the theatre of his solitude. 
 
 Engrossed by pleasure, I was insensible of the rapidity with 
 which time flew by. The weeks allowed for preparation were 
 gone, when I imagined them to be scarcely commenced. To 
 enable me to prolong my stay, I solicited an extension of my 
 leave, and it was granted. I did not fail to take advantage of 
 the means thus afforded, of continuing my career in the devious 
 path of vice and error on which I had thus early entered. To 
 advance, required no effort of volition, for I was carried on, as 
 it were, in a vortex : to retrace my steps, on the other hand, 
 was difficult, if not impossible. It required the exercise of 
 strong energy — perhaps the influence of higher motives than 
 any by which my actions had been ever swayed. 
 
 Fortunately, circumstances did not permit that I should re- 
 main long enough to become a confirmed roue. The period 
 when it was necessary that I should proceed to join my regiment 
 soon came, and further delay was impossible. I did not regard 
 the necessity thus impossed with much regret. The goblet of 
 pleasure, too often quaffed, had already lost something of its 
 savour. The world I was about to explore was to me a new 
 one. In youth, even mere locomotion is allied to pleasure. 
 Change of scene seems but transition of enjoyment, and the 
 landscape, gazed on by young eyes, is ever bathed in sunshine. 
 
 My military enthusiasm, too, was once more awakened ; 
 dreams of ambition mingled in my slumbers, and hopes of 
 future honour and distinction brightened my waking contem- 
 plations. I would have instantly set about the work of pre- 
 paration, but a new and unexpected obstacle presented itself. 
 I had squandered in dissipation the sum allotted by my father 
 to defray the necessary expenses of my outfit, and I suddenly 
 found myself in a dilemma for which I was wholly unprepared. 
 
 I had no reason to complain of any want of liberality on the 
 part of my father. He had given me a credit on his banker for 
 three hundred pounds, a sum more than sufficient to supply my 
 wants on the most liberal scale of expenditure. This, by my 
 folly and extravagance, had been already dissipated, before the 
 business of my equipment had commenced. What was to be 
 done ? Should I address my father in the character of a peni- 
 tent prodigal, confess the truth, lay bare the secret of my errors, 
 and, in guise of a humble supplicant, solicit present assistance, 
 and forgiveness of the past ? 
 
 It mattered not that my heart told me this was the proper 
 course to be adopted — that it became me not now to shrink from
 
 1.34 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XX. 
 
 the consequences of my guilty weakness — that having - planted 
 the tree, it was fitting that I should taste its bitter fruit. There 
 was something within me that instinctively recoiled from such 
 a course. Morally speaking, I felt that 1 had no father. He 
 to whom I owed my existence had never treated me as a son, 
 even in the Jays of innocent boyhood. From him, situated as 
 I now was, I could expect neither pardon for my folly, nor 
 compassion for my errors. Before him, of all men breathing, 
 the idea of appearing in the garb of penitence and humility was 
 most revolting. I could not bring myself to such a step. 1 
 would not bend at his feet. He might hate, but he should not 
 despise me. Whatever punishment I had drawn down, what- 
 ever sulferings my conduct might involve, I would not escape 
 from them by a humiliation so revolting. 
 
 Having summarily dismissed the idea of an application for 
 assistance to my father, 1 continued to ruminate in a somewhat 
 disconsolate mood on the unpromising- condition of my affairs. 
 A pocket-book, now nearly empty, and a letter from the 
 Adjutant-General, directing me to proceed instantly to Ports- 
 mouth, lay on the table before me, and I gazed on them with a 
 vacant yet a rueful eye. I was aware that instant measures 
 were necessary, yet what measures to adopt I knew not. The 
 time demanded action, yet my circumstances seemed to afford 
 no sphere in which action coidd be beneficial. My reflections 
 on tlie past, and my anticipations of the future, were alike 
 dark and gloomy. I lamented my folly — I bitterly cursed my 
 own imprudence — I vainly sighed to recall that which was 
 irrevocable. 
 
 It may seem strange, that situated as I was, it was long ere 
 the remembrance of my uncle passed through my mind. At. 
 length it came, and my heart was gladdened by the gleam of 
 
 light with which his idea irradiated the gloomy vista of the 
 future. When I though! on him, all my anxieties were relieved; 
 for I knew the old man loved me, and 1 remembered his parting- 
 injunction, to apply to him under any circumstances in which 
 his friendship could he useful. I felt that the words he had 
 spoken were not those of hollow and unmeaning profession; 
 that the love he bore me was not a mere transient impression, 
 which a few days or months of absence might erase. I carried 
 
 with me the belief, thai in my gruff and ascetic uncle I possessed 
 a friend, whom time could not alter, and on whose regard, in 
 
 difficulty or danger, 1 might cast myself in confidence and 
 
 security . 
 
 When the thought of my uncle once occurred to me, my 
 spirit-, which for some time had been at zero, suddenly remount- 
 ed to their usual height ; and my path, which but a moment
 
 CYKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 155 
 
 before seemed to lead along a desert, dreary and limitless, was 
 suddenly begirt by flowers, and became verdant and inviting as 
 it had spread before me in the dreams of boyhood. . I seized the 
 writing materials that lay before me, and without reflection or 
 delay dispatched a letter to the old gentleman, containing a full 
 confession of my folly, and soliciting his assistance in the diffi- 
 culties which that folly had occasioned. 
 
 I believe there is no explaining the eccentricities of feeling. 
 Disclosures, which to my father nothing less than the rack 
 could have wrung from me, cost no effort when made to my 
 uncle. To him, I at once laid open the whole secret of my 
 errors. I introduced no studied palliations of my conduct, and 
 nothing could be more undisguised and veracious than the nar- 
 rative of my unfortunate debut on entering the great world into 
 which I had been cast. Had I been writing to a companion of 
 my own age, I could not have been more sincere, though I might 
 possibly have suppressed some expressions of the regret I could 
 not but feel, in taking a retrospective view of my recent career. 
 Having despatched my letter, there was the necessary inter- 
 vention of a week, before, in course of post, an answer could be 
 received. During this interval, it was my wish to withdraw 
 from the society of my companions ; yet in this I did not wholly 
 succeed. Dissipation, in losing its novelty, had already been 
 deprived of half its charm ; but the spells of the syren's enchant- 
 ment, though weakened, were not yet broken. The disease was 
 not cured, though the violence of its paroxysms was diminished. 
 I yielded occasionally to the persuasion of my companions, and 
 retrode the course already familiar to my footsteps. These 
 relapses, however, did not go unpunished. Each unnatural ele- 
 vation of my spirits was followed by a proportionate depression, 
 and the gallings of self-reproach became daily keener, and more 
 difficult to bear. 
 
 I well remember the morning when my uncle's letter arrived. 
 The hand-writing, strong, round, and betraying a certain 
 mercantile uniformity in the formation of the characters, I 
 recognized at once. It was some time before I opened the letter, 
 for doubt and misgiving had taken possession of my heart, and 
 I laid it on the table, to afford time for breath and reflection 
 before I broke the seal. I imagined that reflection would have 
 dispelled all my fears. But this was not so. My mind was 
 shaken with forebodings of evil. The support on which I had 
 most confidingly relied seemed to sink from beneath me. Even 
 my old uncle had cast me off. When the possibility of this 
 occurred to me, I could bear suspense no longer, and snatching 
 up the letter, read as follows. The writing that first met my 
 eye was not my uncle's.
 
 ]J6 CYRLL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Glasgow, 28th March 18— 
 " Cyril Thoknton, Esq. 
 
 " Sir — We beg to acknowledge receipt of your esteemed 
 favour of 17th current to our Mr 1). S. By his desire we now 
 inclose a bill at sight on Messrs Smith, Payne, Smith, and Co., 
 bankers, London, tor £500, which is placed to your debit. As 
 we observe there are no funds of yours in our bands, we shall 
 be happy to receive, at your earliest convenience, a remittance 
 to balance the debt. We remain, 
 
 " Sir, 
 •■ Yiur most obedient servants, 
 
 " Per pro. David Spreull and Co. 
 
 "John Fergus." 
 
 I confess I was at first rather hurt and surprized, to find my 
 confidential letter thus answered by a clerk ; but observing in 
 one corner, the letters T. (). in large characters, I turned the 
 page, and found on the other side a letter in the well-known 
 autograph of my uncle. 
 
 " My Di: vk Laddie, 
 
 •• Many thanks for your letter, and for thinking of your old 
 uncle in the time of your trouble and difficulty ; yet I'll not 
 deny, that it has cost me a sore heart, and given me much unea- 
 siness on your account. There's dole in the thought that you 
 should, so young, have fallen into sueh courses as you tell me 
 of. in your letter. Three hundred pounds in three weeks! never 
 did I hear of such wasterful expense in all my born days. Four- 
 teen pounds, live and eightpence a-day! this would keep the 
 Lord Provost, Bailies, Demi of Guild, and hail Town-Council 
 of Glasgow, in lied, hoard, and washing for a week! There's 
 an old proverb, Cyril, thai a fool and bis money are soon parted; 
 and, truly, yours Beems lo have melted like snaw atf a dyke. I 
 think you niii-t have been sore imposed on by designing folk, 
 that have been galraviching at your expense, for such a sum is 
 not in he fairlj spent bya callant like you in any way that lean 
 understand. 
 
 M Hut it little matters to think of the money ; could ten times, 
 ay, or titty times the sum do you any good, it should he forth" 
 Coming at a word, and shall he mi when you want it, whether 
 I'm living or dead. Hut 1 would give you a word of advice for 
 your own sake, my dear laddie, even though you may think it's 
 no kind to do so in the time of your necessity. Remember, 
 < 'yril, you're the last prop and Stay of an ancient and respectable 
 house. The eyes of those that love you arc now turned towards 
 yon with hope and fear. Quit the evil course you have already
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 157 
 
 entered. Be not deceived by the glamour and the temptations 
 of vice, but maintain a douce and correct demeanour before man. 
 and a spirit of humble piety towards God. I can only speak in 
 generals to you, Cyril, anent such matters, for I have had no 
 experience of the class of folk among whom your lot has been 
 cast, and cannot warn you more particularly about the trials you 
 are likely to meet in your path of life. But enter on your pro- 
 fession in a right spirit ; take Honour for your compass, and 
 however you may be tossed about by misfortune, by the graee 
 of God both ship and cargo will come safely to port at last. 
 Whenever you want a friend apply to me, and I will always take 
 your doing so a kindness. 
 
 " By John Fergus's letter, on the other side, you will observe 
 that a draft for ,£.500 is inclosed : he knows nothing of the why 
 or the wherefore ; but I like all money disposed of, to be entered 
 in the books of the concern, and therefore I desired John to remit 
 you the bill aforementioned ; but never fash your thumb about 
 what he says anent expecting a remittance in return. Now, may 
 God bless and prosper you, my dear laddie, is the prayer of your 
 affectionate friend and uncle, 
 
 " David Spreull." 
 
 I felt warm emotions of gratitude to the kind old man, as I 
 read his letter, the contents of which had at once liberated me 
 from the trammels of difficulties which might have operated 
 injuriously on my future prospects. For the first time in my 
 life I had incurred a pecuniary obligation, yet the novelty 
 neither wounded my pride, nor weighed upon my spirit. I did 
 look to my aged relative as to a father; nay, from my own 
 experience of that relation, I felt as if there was something even 
 more than paternal in his kindness. 
 
 So engrossed was I with my uncle's epistle, and the varied 
 associations into which it had led me, that a considerable time 
 elapsed ere I recognized on the table before me another letter 
 addressed to myself. That it was so, indeed, required some 
 patience and deciphering to ascertain, for a more perplexing 
 specimen of cacography than the superscription, it would be 
 difficult to imagine. I took it up, and proceeded to break the 
 seal. No impression was there on the wax, of arms and quarter- 
 ing^, of crests, coronets, or escutcheons of pretence, but a thumb 
 of no ordinary dimensions had distinctly stamped on it the lines 
 and crossings of its hard and horny cuticle. Having opened this 
 most uninviting epistle, I read as follows : — 
 
 " Deer Maister Ceeral, 
 
 " I fand your letter in yin o' Mr Spreull's pockets this morn-
 
 1.38 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ing, when I tuk his claes frae his bedside for Jenny to brush ; 
 and as lie tcll't me he had gotten a letter frae you, I couldna 
 thole without readin't, that I micht ken a' the outs and the ins 
 o' how ye are, and what ye are aboot. 
 
 " Lord bless and preserve me, it's just awsome to think that 
 a braw and canty callant like you should be in a place like 
 Lunnon, which, frae a' accounts, is just a perfect sink o' extor- 
 tion and cheatry, without siller. Mrs Dinwiddie, the deacon's 
 wife, that weel kens the Lunnon folk, for she ance leeved there 
 for sax weeks, at a place they c a' Wapping, tells me they're a' 
 uacthing better than a set o' reevors and greedy gleils, that wad 
 rive the very claes aff your back for lucre o' gain ; and gin they 
 had their wall o' ye, wad turn ye oot into the streets as naked 
 and scant o' duds as Adam, afore Eve was tempted by the ser- 
 pent ; yet they wad wile ye by their smooth tongues and fair 
 words, to think them o' a turn maist douce and discreet. Foul 
 fa' baith their fause hearts and creeshy gabs ! 
 
 " Kennin' weel aneuch the sort o' folk ye' re amang, ' My cer- 
 tie,' thocht I, ' he shall ne'er want siller while I hae ony to the 
 fore.' Sac I just cust on my duffle cloak, and aft' I trampit to 
 Robin Carrick's bank, that had a matter o' fifty-sax pounds o' 
 mine in their hands, which had grown frae less to mair, maist 
 without my kennin boo, for it was just siller I had nae use or 
 occasion for, and I tell't them at the bank I wanted to send it 
 to London, and they gied me a bill, that ye'll find pinned up in 
 a piece o' muslin in this letter. Sae ye'll just tak' it, and inak' 
 a kirk and mill o't <rin ye like, for it's o' nae use to me; and 
 
 6* 
 
 tfin Mr Spreull doesna send you aneuch, just drap me a line 
 or twa, and I'sc warrant he shall get little rest night or day, 
 till be sends ye mair. 
 
 '• And ye're gaun to America! — wae's me but that's a lang 
 gait. Tak' care o' yoursel', my braw lad; and mind, afore ye 
 gaed awa', ye promised tu come and see us again, which God 
 grant may be soon, though I'm fear't there's little chance o't 
 at present. Noo, God hies; you, Maistcr (Yeral, and dinna 
 affronl me by refusing the siller. Yours, till death, 
 
 " Girzy Black. 
 
 • I'.S. Mrs Dinwiddie tells me, that in Lunnon there's a 
 wheeii fine-dressed madams that gang about the streets in the 
 gloamin' wi 1 paint on their chafts, like hungry lions seeking 
 young men whom they maj devour. (Jin I had my wall, every 
 
 \iu them should he burnt. Noo dinna lie ta'en-in by their 
 fail- out-ides, lnil tak' lent o' your Bteps, and mind ye dinna fa' 
 int'i their Bnares, for they're the pitfa's o' Satan." 
 
 Such was the letter of this simple and kind-hearted creature,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 159 
 
 and it was read with emotions as vivid as that of her master. Of 
 course, I did not accept her proposal of appropriating the hard- 
 earned savings of her sendee. Robin Carrick's bill was returned 
 with thanks, accompanied by the acknowledgment of a smart 
 gown of snuff-coloured poplin as a remembrance. I mistake, if 
 at her death this gown is not found carefully treasured in her 
 wardrobe. 
 
 With pockets thus powerfully reinforced, the work of pre- 
 paration commenced in good earnest. I was already behind my 
 time, and not a moment was to be lost. Tailors, lacemen, hat- 
 ters, bootmakers, and military accoutrement-makers, were all 
 set to work, and in the course of a few days I found myself pre- 
 pared to start. The sight of my military panoply fanned into a 
 flame that ardour, which, though stifled for a time by other pur- 
 suits, had never been extinguished ; and taking farewell of my 
 companions by letter, instead of dining in their company at the 
 Clarendon, I bolted a tough beef-steak at the " Swan with Two 
 Necks," and quitted London by the Portsmouth mail. 
 
 We travelled by night, and reached that great naval arsenal 
 betimes in the morning. I breakfasted in the coffee-room of 
 the inn ; and at the table next me were a party of young mid- 
 shipmen similarly occupied. A set of merrier beings I had 
 never seen; and jaded, worn, and blue-deviled as I was with 
 the life I had recently been leading in town, I could scarce help 
 envying their light-hearted revelry and glee. Perceiving, per- 
 haps, how little the solitude of my situation agreed with mj 
 inclinations, they invited me, with the frankness by which the 
 address of sailors is always marked, to join their "mess." I 
 gladly took advantage of the proffered kindness, and before the 
 first detachment of rolls and cold meat had disappeared from the 
 board, (a space of time which appeared to me incredibly short,) 
 I felt as perfectly at home with my new associates as if our inti- 
 macy had been the growth of years. 
 
 The duration of the meal was of unusual length, for my com- 
 panions breakfasted as if that repast had not been with them an 
 event of regular occurrence, but a rare contingency, of which 
 they were prudently determined to take every possible advantage. 
 But, even under these circumstances, breakfast is not intermi- 
 nable, and cannot by human effort be infinitely protracted. The 
 general acquiescence of knives and forks at length gave intelli- 
 gible intimation that the force of appetite could no further go ; 
 and I was preparing to move, when the youngest of the party, 
 an urchin apparently not more than ten years old, arrested my 
 attention, by declaring it was quite impossible to stir without a 
 " caulker" an expression of opinion in which his companions 
 cordially joined. The necessary orders were issued : and the
 
 160 CYRIL THORNTON.— CHAPTER XX. 
 
 waiter speedily appeared bearing a flagon of brandy, of which 
 — though somewhat startled at this unusual sequence to a break- 
 fast—I did in it choose to forfeit the good opinion of my com- 
 pany by refusing- to partake. 
 
 Under the guidance of my light-hearted messmates, I visited 
 the lions of the place. It was impossible to see Portsmouth to 
 greater advantage. A large fleet was about to sail for the Me- 
 diterranean, and all was bustle and activity in the town. One 
 could not walk the streets without jostling admirals and post- 
 captains ; and as for other officers, the leaves that strew the 
 brooks in Valambrosa were not more numerous. Even to an 
 uninteresting observer, there is something in the sight and 
 sound of naval preparation peculiarly exhilarating. I was de- 
 lighted with the wonders of the dockyard, and examined, with 
 a soldier's zeal and curiosity, every angle of the very perfect for- 
 titications by which Portsmouth is rendered almost impregnable. 
 Having thus rambled about the place for several hours, my 
 good-natured friends were obliged to return on shipboard, and 
 we parted, not without an interchange of hospitable invitations, 
 and hopes mutually expressed of future meetings. 
 
 On reporting my arrival to the quartermaster-general, I was 
 delighted to learn that a transport would sail in a few day- for 
 Nova Scotia, in which a passage would be provided for me. The 
 intervening time was no more than was necessary for laying in 
 Bea-Stock, and arranging with my fellow-passengers the requi- 
 site preliminaries for the formation of a mess. I therefore lost 
 no time in visiting the ship, and depositing on board, as a nica- 
 Bure of precaution against sudden surprise, the heavier and more 
 dispensable part of my baggage, retaining nothing on shore but 
 what was immediately necessary for present comfort. 
 
 My trip to Spithead was delightful. For t lie first time I was 
 now borne mi the bosom of the pathless deep. There was a 
 breeze, but scarcely strong enough to ripple the surface of the 
 water-, and the ships lay poised and motionless "above their 
 shadows in the dee])," like mighty winged (-natures in the glo- 
 rious sun-liine. As we passed near the admiral's ship, she tired 
 a salute, and the \oice 01 the great leviathan rent the air with 
 
 its thunder. To a landsman like myself, the scene was pecu- 
 liarly striking. Great indeed are the wonders reserved for those 
 " who go dou n to the sea in ships, ami occupy their business in 
 the greal waters." 
 The transport allotted for my conveyance to the New World 
 
 I -mall one. and I was by no means enchanted by an in- 
 spection of (he accommodations to which I was to look forward 
 
 on the voyage. There were several other officers in the ship, 
 who. being of couree senior to myself, had taken possession of
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 161 
 
 all the tolerable berths, and I had nothing left for it but 
 what is called " swinging a cot " in the cabin. Some of my 
 compagnons de voyage being experienced sailors, the task of pro- 
 viding the stores necessary for our common comfort, was by 
 common consent intrusted to them ; and finding nothing suffi- 
 ciently captivating to induce a longer sojourn in the vessel, 
 I returned immediately on shore, and awaited there the signal 
 for sailing. 
 
 This did not occur for some time. The wind chopped round 
 to an unfavourable point, and blew so strongly as to make it 
 impossible for the fleet to quit their anchorage. My time in 
 Portsmouth began to hang heavy on my hands, and I was 
 anxious to be gone. To kill it, I visited Southampton and the 
 Isle of Wight ; but after all it was weary work, and the want of 
 society was one not to be supplied. Every morning I examined 
 the weathercock on the steeple, and endeavoured to flatter my- 
 self into the belief that it veered somewhat nearer to the wished- 
 for point ; but some old sailor always dashed my hopes, by 
 declaring the wind was as bad as could be, and without the 
 smallest symptom of a change. 
 
 Under these circumstances, I determined to tempt fortune by 
 taking a run to town, and tasting once more the goblet of plea- 
 sure, of which I had already drank so deeply. Trusting to my 
 good-luck, and instigated by the blue devils, I set off for London, 
 with the intention of returning the following day. With " Dun- 
 das on the Eighteen Manoeuvres" in my hand, I had, as might 
 be expected from the nature of my occupation, fallen asleep in 
 the carriage before we reached Petersfield. By the stoppage of 
 the vehicle, however, I was awakened from my slumber, and on 
 looking out, judge of my horror and surprize, when I perceived 
 by a vane, which rose in golden magnificence from the summit 
 of the stables of the inn, that the wind had changed to the 
 north-east, the very point most favourable to the sailing of the 
 fleet! 
 
 Of course, all intention of prosecuting my journey was at 
 once relinquished, and I returned to Portsmouth with all the 
 speed to which four horses could be stimulated by the promise 
 of unusual largess to the post-boys. From a hill about halfway 
 the sea was distinctly visible, and there was an evident bustle 
 among the shipping. The Commodore had loosed his foretop- 
 sail, and the blue Peter was flying at his maintopmast-head. 
 The report of great guns was heard at intervals, and I regarded 
 these signals of departure with intense anxiety. To be separated 
 from my baggage, to incur censure by my negligence at the 
 very commencement of my career, and to lose the only opportu- 
 nity which might occur for months of joining my regiment, was
 
 ]G2 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 
 
 a consummation devoutly to be avoided, yet one which, in my 
 folly, 1 had voluntarily courted. 
 
 There is another hill before you reach Ililsea, from which I 
 again had a glimpse of the sea. The fleet was now unmoored, 
 and preparing to follow the Commodore, who was standing 
 onwards with a light but fair breeze for the Needles. The task, 
 of pursuit was now apparently hopeless. How could I expeet 
 to overtake a vessel sailing with a fair wind, already three leagues 
 from the shore ? But the conviction which 1 now entertained 
 of their ineificacy, did not induce me to slacken my exertions. 
 I arrived at the inn, discharged my bill, and in ten minutes was 
 at the Sallyport, calling loudly for a boat to overtake the fleet. 
 But the Portsmouth boatmen understand their own interest too 
 well to answer immediately to such an invocation. The appear- 
 ance of a gentleman in my circumstances is considered by these 
 gentry as a sort of godsend, which, as it comes rarely, is always 
 prudently made the most of. 
 
 " Is it the fleet that sailed two hours ago, under convoy of the 
 Pyranius?" asked an aged and gigantic mariner, with a queue 
 a yard long, and squirting from him as he spoke about a gallon 
 of tobacco spittle, " why, they're out at sea afore now, and will 
 be off Plymouth by the morning." 
 
 " It is precisely because they are gone that I want to follow 
 them. Will you engage to put me on board a transport in the 
 fleet?" 
 
 " Why, master, d'ye see, that depends on our happening to 
 agree about terms. To be sure I have the fastest sailing yawl 
 'twixf here and Southampton, and were the fleet off the Lizard 
 at this moment, I would engage to have you safe on board before 
 they reached the Hay of Biscay. There was a gentleman Last 
 month — wasn't there, Tom ? — that wanted to get on board the 
 Ramillies four hours after she had left the Motherhank, with a 
 spanking breeze in her quarter, and 1 had him up with her by 
 the time -lie gut twenty miles t'other side the Needles, and he 
 gave me thirty pounds— didn't he, Tom!'" Tom grunted assent. 
 ■• So, master, if bo be you'll give the same, why, I'm your man, 
 and am ready to lie oil' with you in a jiffy." 
 
 Thifl demand appeared to me so exorbitant, that I at once 
 refused to comply with it, and endeavoured to make a better 
 bargain with some of the numerous watermen who stood si lent 
 
 spectators of the conference. Hut they betrayed no inclination 
 to -pi.il the market by underbidding their comrade, and 1 found 
 m\ duly resource was to endeavour by chaffering to reduce the 
 
 demand of this >alt-ualer Shylock within limits somewhat less 
 exorbitant. I urged therefore, that as, upon his own show ing, 
 the Ramillies had sailed four hours before he put oti' with the
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHATTER XX. 163 
 
 gentleman in pursuit, and as the fleet I wished to follow was 
 only alleged to have sailed two, of course the demand in the pre- 
 sent case ought only to he half what it had been in the other. 
 But my adversary was abaci logician, and although he admitted 
 my premises, was by no means inclined to subscribe to my con- 
 clusion. 
 
 It is generally impossible to convince a man against his inte- 
 rest, and my choler was so much roused by finding myself the 
 subject of an attempt at imposition so gross and apparent, that 
 I had more than half made up my mind to remain till some 
 future opportunity, and brave the consequences of my negligence. 
 The " aged mariner" had discernment enough to perceive this, 
 for he relaxed by degrees in his demand, and a bargain was at 
 length concluded between us, that for twenty pounds I and my 
 baggage were to be put safely on board the Alfred transport. 
 
 So soon as this agreement had been mutually ratified, prepa- 
 rations were immediately made by the old sailor and his friend 
 Tom to put the yawl in sailing trim. This was soon effected, 
 I leaped on hoard, and the yawl cut swiftly through the water, 
 at a rate which excited confident expectation of soon overtaking 
 the object of our pursuit. Fortunately, the breeze, which had 
 been rather fresh during the day, fell off about sunset, and the 
 light airs that continued to blow during the night, though suffi- 
 cient to propel with considerable speed a boat constructed ex- 
 pressly with a view to swiftness of motion, were yet insufficient 
 to afford any considerable impetus to more bulky vessels. Still, 
 with every advantage on our side, it was morning before my 
 fears were effectually set at rest, by my finding myself on board 
 the Alfred. 
 
 The day is an era in the life of every man, on which, for the 
 first time, he finds himself a wanderer on the trackless ocean. 
 Earth — the dear green earth on which he was cradled, with 
 which his father's dust has mingled — on which are centred all 
 his hopes and memories, his fears and affections — seems to have 
 been blotted out from the vast calendar of nature. He had 
 watched it from the topmast-head as it gradually sunk in the 
 horizon; he saw the altitude of the mountains slowly lower in 
 the distance ; now seen as a cloud afar off, or some transient or 
 fortuitous shaping of the air — visible^ yet vague and indistinct. 
 Soon it is but a speck, distinguishable only by the mariner from 
 the dim shadow which is seen to rest over and around it. Now 
 it is gone. Creation has lost an element, and the ship moves 
 on through a world of sky and waters, with sails bathed in 
 sunshine, and furrowing with her keel the dark blue waves that 
 play sportively around her, and are dashed back with foamy 
 crest from her prow. I remember my feelings as 1 beheld all
 
 1 \[ CYRII. THORNTOX CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 this — tlie throng of deep thoughts that moved ray heart and 
 my imagination — thoughts that found no voice, l'or they were 
 unutterable. 
 
 Our voyage was at first smooth and prosperous, and we lay 
 our course without difficulty; but on the banks of Newfound- 
 land we encountered a severe gale, from which we were glad to 
 escape with the loss of topgallant masts. By another, we were 
 driven from our course almost into the mouth of the St Lawrence, 
 off which we narrowly escaped destruction on a reef of rocks. 
 Luckily this concluded our perils, and the latter part of our 
 voyage, like its commencement, was pleasant. 
 
 By the account I have already given of my accommodation on 
 board, it will not be supposed, though I set the best face on the 
 matter, and roughed it out tolerably well, that I was at all dis- 
 pleased when the cry of " Land ! " from the masthead, announced 
 that our destined port was at hand. 
 
 There is generally nothing very grand or striking in the first 
 appearance of the North American coast. Hills of no remark- 
 able altitude, covered with wood, and sloping regularly to the 
 sea, are its almost uniform features. Such at. least was the 
 character the continent of the New World presented, when, as 
 if emerging from the deep, I saw it stretch slowly upwards into 
 the sky. 
 
 The wind was fair, ami we ran down with facility our short 
 remaining distance. In a few hours we entered the beautiful 
 inlet, on the side of which the town of Halifax is situated, 
 passed the island of St George, and before nightfall the drop- 
 ping of the anchor gave welcome notice of the termination of 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ii - addiction was '■> courses rain, 
 
 Hi- unletter'd, rude, and Bhallow, 
 
 id I -i up v. iih riots, banquets, sports, 
 
 And nevoT noted in him an) study, 
 
 AllJ I 
 
 ml popularity. 
 
 Henry 1 V. 
 
 ■ if my arrival ;it Halifax, the Duke of Kent 
 
 I c lander-in-chief over Nova Scotia and its 
 
 depei I ■ who have ever served under his Royal 
 
 uess, or remember the mutiny which the severity of his
 
 CTRLL THORNTON. Cn.YPTER XXI. 16<3 
 
 disci})line afterwards caused in Gibraltar, will easily understand 
 how little the situation either of officer or soldier under his com- 
 mand, approached to the nature of a sinecure. The duties of 
 the garrison were multiplied to such a degree as to become 
 absolutely oppressive ; and when off duty, the men were har- 
 assed and exhausted by a course of drilling and field exercise, 
 which no inclemency of the weather was suffered to interrupt. 
 The Duke, too, like most officers who have seen little service, 
 attached an overweening importance to matters of costume, and 
 with an acuteness of observation altogether peculiar, could 
 detect at a glance the smallest deviation from the established 
 cut in a coat, or the unwarranted excess of a button in the 
 gaiters ; outrages on military propriety which he never failed to 
 visit with his severest displeasure. 
 
 The regiment to which I belonged formed part of the garrison 
 of Halifax, and my first duty on debarkation was to wait on the 
 commanding-officer and report my arrival. Colonel Grimshawe, 
 I found, did not live in barracks ; and under the guidance of an 
 orderly corporal, I proceeded to his house, which was easily 
 distinguishable from the surrounding habitations, from being 
 guarded by a sentry. 
 
 The colonel was at home, and I was ushered forthwith into 
 his presence. When I entered, he was seated at a table covered 
 with what were apparently military reports, and engaged in 
 conversation with an officer, whose dress marked him to be the 
 adjutant, and who remained standing, with an air of deference, 
 near the chair of his superior. 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir," said the colonel, addressing me, as he 
 perceived I was about to speak : " but I request you will have 
 the goodness to reserve your business for a few moments, when 
 I shall be more at liberty to attend to your communication." 
 As he spoke, he regarded me with a scrutinizing eye, and, as if 
 the impression I had made on him was not wholly unfavourable, 
 he added with a smile, " in the mean time, sir, I request you 
 will be seated." 
 
 In this invitation the adjutant was not included ; and from 
 that circumstance I could not help feeling that it conveyed some- 
 thing of a compliment, since it was evidently one he was not 
 always in the habit of affording to his official inferiors. 
 
 While thus disengaged, I enjoyed an opportunity of minutely 
 observing the person under whose immediate command I was 
 about to serve. 
 
 Colonel Grimshawe was a man apparently between thirty and 
 forty. His face was slightly marked with the small-pox, and wore 
 that tawny sallowne^s of complexion which indicated service in 
 tropical arid unhealthy climates. There was something fine and
 
 lt)6 CYHII. THOENTON. — CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 penetrati&g in his eye; and from the perfect regularity and 
 whiteness of his teeth, his countenance might have passed for 
 handsome, had it aot been disfigured by a sear, of what had 
 originalh, been a harelip, which gave an unpleasant contortion 
 to the mouth. In person he was short, but formed with perfect 
 symmetry and elegance, and there was about him an air of dis- 
 tinction, which marked him out to the most casual observer as 
 a person of high breeding and pretensions. When he spoke, his 
 voice was peculiarly musioal and clear, yet in his mode of utter- 
 ance there v. as a firmness and decision which showed him to be 
 one accustomed to command. 
 
 Such wire mj first impressions of Colonel Grimshawe, who, 
 having finished his conference with the adjutant, whom he 
 directed to wait for further orders, turned towards mi", and with 
 an air of sauvity, received my annunciation of my name and 
 rank. In his manner of addressing me, there was no assump- 
 tion of authority, no air of command, lie spoke witli graceful 
 ease; welcomed me to the New World; hoped my passage had 
 been a pleasant one; talked laughingly of the course of drilling 
 that awaited me; hinted en passant at the strictness of discipline 
 
 observed in the regiment, and warned me, half jocularly, 
 
 to beware of incurring, by any oversight of military observance, 
 the displeasure of the Duke of Kent. " But," continued he, 
 "we shall not require you to perform any duty till you get 
 fairlj out of the hands of Mr I [opkins," pointing to the adjutant, 
 '•to whom I beg to make you known. Mr Hopkins, you will 
 • id enough to accompany Mr Thornton to the barracks, 
 and introduce him to his brother officers. Request Major Pen- 
 leaze to inspect his accoutrements, and let him report to me if 
 they are strictly regimental, in order that Mr Thornton may, as 
 
 BOOD as possible, he enabled to attend parades. In the mean 
 
 time, he may he attached to Captain Spottiswoode's company. 
 
 Good rning, Mr Thornton; 1 shall have the pleasure of 
 
 meeting you at me s, and — ] had almost forgotten— Mr Hop- 
 kins, let the quartermaster find a room in barracks lor Mr 
 Thornton immediately. Good morning, sir," rising from his 
 chair, and slightly bending t" my obeisance; "you will find 
 your brother officers, I think, ven pleasant." 1 withdrew with 
 the adjutant, in whose company I returned to the barracks. 
 M\ conductor was a person who had evidently risen from the 
 
 rank-, a- adjutants generally do, and who was innocent as a 
 
 babe of all knowledge, save thai connected with the subordinate 
 
 military discipline. In conversing with him, 1 found 
 
 he had i'"' co i oil' ilia t air < f deference which he had assumed 
 
 of < lonel Grim haw ' and was not a little anxious 
 
 pear m oij eyes a person "I' consequence and authority.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXI. 1G7 
 
 In addressing me, I thought he assumed a certain air of patron- 
 age, which, coming from one whose claims to consideration 
 were more than commonly equivocal, did not incline me to any 
 uncalled-for intercourse. The task of introduction which bad 
 heen imposed on him, however, he duly performed, and speedy 
 means were thus afforded me of getting into more agreeable 
 company. 
 
 In this respect I had been fortunate in my regiment. The 
 
 officers of the were generally gentlemen both by birth and 
 
 education, and formed among themselves a society considerably 
 superior to what one calculates on meeting in the fortuitous 
 intercourse of a military life. For some of them I have never 
 ceased to entertain a cordial regard ; and it pleases me, while 
 narrating the events of this portion of my life, to recall the 
 names and characters of my companions, still vividly imprinted 
 on my memory. 
 
 There was honest Jack Popham, the best and laziest of 
 mortals, the acknowledged chieftain of that worthy race distin- 
 tinguished by the expressive title of " the King's hard bargains." 
 lie was indeed a hard bargain to the King, but any bargain 
 that deprived them of his society would have been still harder 
 to his brother officers. No one grumbled so loudly at a field- 
 day, or abused more heartily the roster of the adjutant when he 
 read his name in orders for guard. At one time he stood first 
 for purchase of a company, but, on the very eve of a vacancy, 
 his banker became bankrupt, and Popham lost his money, and 
 with it all hopes of promotion for years. Then his heart failed 
 him, officers of much junior standing were passed over him, and 
 from that time forward he had no pleasure in his profession. 
 There was not a soul in the regiment that did not pity him, or 
 who would not wink at his occasionally shirking a guard, though 
 his own tour of duty was thereby accelerated. After many 
 years, in which he tasted the bitterness of hope deferred, he 
 was at length promoted to a company ; and on the field of Water- 
 loo there fell not a braver or more generous spirit than Jack 
 Popham. 
 
 And Frank Stanhope, my friend, my messmate, and brother 
 ensign, how often have we toiled together on interminable field- 
 days, carrying the colours till our arms ached under their 
 honourable burden! — but he sleep- in a watery grave, and I 
 would not speak of him. 
 
 Why, I know not, but Ilolford, the Fal-taff of surgeons, the 
 most humorous of gourmands, rises next to my memory. Never 
 was there so worthy a prototype of " Fat Jack." In point of 
 wit, indeed, the doctor must have knocked under to the knight, 
 but he had enough to set the table in a roar — more had only
 
 168 CYRIL THORNTON. CllAl'TKR XXI. 
 
 been execs.-. He was the target of all our jokes— a beau, too, 
 and the blooming maidens of Halifax rejoiced in his unwieldy 
 gallantry. .Many years have passed since we met, and I know 
 not whither age and campaigning may not have somewhat 
 reduced his bulky volume: 1 hope not. May he continue fat 
 and jovial as 1 n member him, and 1 will answer for it, die when 
 he may, that 
 
 A merrier man, 
 Within the limit jof becoming mirth, 
 
 was never buried with book and benison. 
 
 And now a crowd starts up before me on which I may not 
 linger. They come like shadows, and like shadows shall they 
 depart. First is Major Warburton, melancholy and gentleman- 
 like, the favourite of blue-stocking ladies, fond of Shakspeare 
 and cookery, and a first-rate performer on the flute. Let him 
 pass on, to 'make way tor Denis OTlara, the inheritor of all his 
 country's blunders, and of more than all its native goodness of 
 heart. Denis had but one fault; he was quarrelsome in his 
 cups, challenged his best friends over-night, and apologised to 
 them in the morning, lie fought, indeed, several duels, but 
 not with the officers of his own regiment; and on one occasion 
 only had he been known to return his adversary's fire. That 
 shot cost his opponent a leg. He was taken prisoner early in 
 the Spanish war, and died al Verdun. But I have sadly di- 
 verged from the straight line of my story, to which it is fitting 
 1 should return 
 
 My reception by my brother officers was cordial, and such as 
 — to the credit of the army — a stranger generally meets on join- 
 ing a regiment, toevery man of which, a daj before, his existence 
 was utterly unknown. The day of my arrival happened to be 
 one on which a large party of strangers dined as guests at the 
 mess. Among the number were the port admiral, two captains 
 
 of the Davy, several staff-officers and civilians of note. Colonel 
 Grimshawe was in the chair, and discharged the duties of it in 
 a manner which delighted me. In the course of the evening he 
 
 made several speeches, and he spoke with elegance and without 
 
 Fort. In bis eloquence, if I may so speak, there was nothing 
 technical; it smacked neither of the bar, the pulpit, or the 
 senate; it was nothing more than the natural language of u 
 high-born and high-bred I nglish gentleman, adorned with 
 unusual grace of delivery. \\ ith me he conversed frequently, 
 
 not in the tune of a superior, but a companion; and a person 
 
 who could a — nme more easily every attribute of a delightful 
 
 cue, I had never met before, and am not quite certain 1 have 
 
 ever mel since. 
 
 This being my Brsl appearance at mess, nearly every officer
 
 CYRIL THORXTOX CHAPTER XXI. 169 
 
 at table thought it necessary to drink wine with me. The song 
 went round, the goblet flowed, till a kite hour, and a severe 
 headach, on the following morning, intimated pretty plainly that 
 I had quafl'ed, " not wisely, but too well." 
 
 I was not, however, suffered to sleep off the effects of my 
 carousal. While it was yet dark, I was awakened by my ser- 
 vant, who told me it was time to commence dressing for parade. 
 
 "Parade!" growled I, in no very complacent humour at 
 being thus disturbed, " why, it's now pitch-dark, and I presume 
 the regiment don't parade by candlelight." 
 
 " No, your honour ; but the drum beats at seven, and it's now 
 five, and I take it your honour will find two hours little enough 
 to dress in." 
 
 Notwithstanding I had never employed a quarter of the time 
 in dressing before, I thought it was well to be guided in the 
 present case by the experience of my attendant. Quitting my 
 couch, therefore, without delay, I set about the duties of the 
 toilet, though still unable to imagine in what manner the long 
 interval allotted for them was to be filled up. My ignorance 
 was soon enlightened. I had scarcely commenced the business 
 of preparation, when a knock at my chamber door indicated the 
 presence of some one desirous of admission. I directed him to 
 enter, and a person did so, armed with scissors, comb, and cur- 
 ling-irons. 
 
 " Who are you ? " I enquired, in no very complacent tone. 
 
 " The hairdresser of Captain Spottiswoode's company, come 
 to cut and dress your honour's hair according to regimental 
 pattern." 
 
 " And pray, how can you pretend to cut and dress a gentle- 
 man's hair by the light of a farthing candle?" 
 
 " Practice makes perfect, your honour. I've just come from 
 dressing Captain Spottiswoode and Mr Popham ; and I powder 
 ten heads in the dark for one in the daylight, since we came 
 here to America. Why, sir, I've soaped, floured, and tied ninety- 
 three this very morning, without so much as a rushlight." 
 
 " Come, then, no more talk, but set to work immediately ; " 
 and the obedient barber commenced his task without further delay. 
 
 Lord Byron piqued himself on the whiteness of his hand's, 
 and I confess I was a little foppish about my hair. I flattered 
 myself it clustered in hvacinthine curls, not unlike those of the 
 Antinous, and I gave the barber very particular directions to 
 cause as little devastation among them with his shears as possi- 
 ble. He promised to abstain from all gratuitous havoc, and 
 engaged to proceed not a single clip of scissor beyond what was 
 absolutely necessary for the " regimental cut." Perhaps he did 
 not; but I confess my choler was effectually roused, when,
 
 170 CYRIL THORNTON. CHVPTER XXI. 
 
 looking in the glass, I beheld the change which this villanoua 
 artist bad wrought <m the external appearance of my cranium. 
 On the back and sides of my head, the hair was shorn close 
 to the skin, now almost literally hare, while the summit was 
 adorned by a top-knot, in shape not unlike the comb of a cock, 
 every individual hair of which the art of the friseur had made 
 to stand on end. like "quiUsupon the fretful porcupine."' But 
 my metamorphosis did not stop here; and it was not till after 
 the statutory application of powder and pomatum, that I saw 
 myself completely transmogrified. With feelings somewhat akin 
 to those which a Shetland pony, accustomed to enjoy in all their 
 amplitude the luxury of mane and tail, may be supposed to 
 experience on finding himself suddenly docked and hogged, did 
 1 dismiss the military tonsor, and follow his exit with curses, 
 not loud hut deep. 
 
 The operations of my toilet, which still remained to he per- 
 formed, were not of a character at all calculated to allay the 
 irritation of its commencement. Instead of a neckcloth, my 
 throat was encased in a broad black leather stuck, the hard 
 edges of which created an unpleasant irritation about the upper 
 extremity of the windpipe, and leaving the power of only lateral 
 motion to my head, prevented me effectually from bestowing a 
 sin.' I I ■ on the large military hoots, which reached above 
 the cap of my knee. Then came my coat, one of Stulz's best 
 and t i _;• ! 1 1 . ■ ~ t tit-, which I very unwillingly buttoned to the very 
 top. on an intimation from my servant that such was " the rule 
 of the regiment." My queue was then duly inserted by the same 
 trustj functionary in the nape of my neck, taking care that it 
 should protrude exactly nine inches by measurement, such being 
 the regimental length, and on no account to be exceeded or 
 diminished. Sash aad sword of course followed, not without 
 
 some ] uliarity in their mode of adjustment, discernible, per 
 
 to none hut those who possessed in such matters the true 
 military coup-d'ceil. 
 
 Thus caparisoned, 1 descended to the parade ground, where 
 
 the men. divided into squads, were undergoing the preparatory 
 
 inspection of the non-commissioned officers. The regularity 
 
 and precision with which everything was conducted, could not 
 hut strike even an inexperienced eye. as affording strong evidence 
 of the high state of discipline of the corps. In a few minutes 
 the drum beat for general parade, and the officers were instantly 
 -ecu issuing from their quarters, and repairing each to his 
 appointed post. Mine, of course, was in rear of the company to 
 
 which I was attached ; and catching as well as 1 could the 
 
 true military attitude. I Btood with drawn sword and unwonted 
 of limb.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXI. 171 
 
 "While thus engaged I -was accosted by an orderly sergeant, 
 who delivered, with due respect, an order from Major Penleaze, 
 desiring my presence in the centre of the square. I imme- 
 diately obeyed ; and being directed by the major to stand in the 
 attitude of attention, a minute inspection of my dress and accou- 
 trements took place. Luckily, in the cut of my garments, the 
 tailor had indulged in no flights of fancy, and displayed a laud- 
 able adherence to established pattern. The major, therefore, 
 had only to suggest some slight changes of adjustment, which, 
 without difficulty, were made on the spot. 
 
 It was only in altering the position of my hat that I expe- 
 rienced any additional inconvenience. To enable the reader to 
 understand its full extent, I must premise, that there were certain 
 peculiarities of costume, to the rigid observance of which the 
 Duke of Kent attached peculiar importance. One of these con- 
 sisted in -wearing huge three-cornered cocked hats, not fore and 
 aft, as was the general custom of the army, but right athwart 
 from shoulder to shoulder, descending to the eyebrow on the 
 right side, and proportionally rising on the left. Now, my hat 
 unfortunately was rather small, and the consequence of this 
 arrangement was, that my right eye was entirely closed up, and 
 I found myself reduced at once to the condition of Polyphemus. 
 Thus monoculated, I was reported to the colonel as being in a 
 state of sufficient regimentalism to make my appearance on 
 parade; and I accordingly, though with ardour somewhat damped, 
 assumed the part allotted me in the succeeding pageant. 
 
 The inconveniences from which I at first suffered so severely, 
 however, gradually became more tolerable ; and under the tuition 
 of Mr Hopkins, and his deputy the sergeant-major, I was soon 
 enabled to master all the mysteries of manual and platoon. 
 
 Once a fortnight the Duke of Kent held a levee, and it was 
 considered indispensable that every officer on first joining should 
 be presented. Aware of the unpleasant consequences which the 
 smallest informality of dress would not fail to incur, I was even 
 more than usually punctilious in its arrangement, and appeared 
 at Government-house harnessed completely selom les regies. 
 The building was of wood, and stood upon a height which over- 
 looked the town, commanding a fine view of the sea. There was 
 nothing about it either externally or internally at all allied to 
 magnificence. The rooms were spacious, but plainly furnished, 
 and devoid of all those appliances in which modern luxury 
 delights. No ottomans, no easy-chairs, no chaises longues, with 
 cushions tempting to repose, met the eye. Every thing bore 
 evidence of the military plainness, and almost primeval simplicity 
 of its owner's taste, and appeared rather in contrast with the 
 splendid liveries of the servants.
 
 172 CYRIL THORNTON*. — CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 On entering', I found a large party of officers assembled in 
 the audience-chamber, but his Royal Highness had not yet made 
 his appearance. Precisely, however, as the clock struck one, a 
 (luor communicating with an interior apartment was thrown 
 ii. and the Duke came forward, followed by his staff, bowing 
 as he entered to the general obeisance of the company. His 
 conversation was first directed to General Hunter, the second 
 in command, and was afterwards extended to the field-officers as 
 they chanced to attract his notice. 
 
 The air and appearance of his Royal Highness were certainly 
 in the highest degree military. He wore the undress uniform 
 of a field-marshal, and was distinguished by that well-pro- 
 portioned amplitude of person, which belongs to all the male 
 branches of the Royal Family. His head was large, but well 
 formed, and on the upper part entirely bald. In his face there 
 was nothing intellectual, yet it displayed a certain massive- 
 ness ai '< prominence of feature well adapted for the chisel, 
 and which Chantrey or Flaxman would have turned to good 
 ac 'iint. 
 
 Having made the tour of the circle, and noticed the more pro- 
 minent individual-; who presented themselves, the Duke took his 
 station in the centre, and the presentations commenced. This 
 was by no means so idle a ceremony as it is generally consi- 
 dered ; for, as the officers were successively introduced, he took 
 occasion toexamine them on points of military tactics, and fre- 
 quently pat questions, which the embarrassment of those inter- 
 rogated evidently showed to he not a little puzzling. 
 
 My turn at length came, and, advancing into the circle, I was 
 presented bj Colonel Grimshawe in the usual form. 
 
 "How long have you joined, sir?" enquired his Royal High- 
 ness. 
 
 •■ Aliout a fortnight." 
 
 •• Are \oii from M;irlow ?" 
 
 '• Were yon educated at a public school P" 
 
 ' No. My education has been private." 
 
 " Do Mm understand geometry and fortification ?" 
 
 '• N... ; ' 
 
 " Then, praj . \\ hal do j on undersl tnd P" 
 
 Considering this question a somewhat insulting, I made no 
 tin 'in, attention of his Royal Highness became speedily 
 
 I b other objects. 
 
 • Your -word-licit, sir, comes too much across the body. The 
 
 breast-plate should he more on the left side.- Colonel Grim- 
 
 1 ' this he attended to in future. You have commenced 
 
 drill, of com e? J.'t me see what pro re you have mad? : —
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXI. 173 
 
 Major Warburton, put Mr Thornton through his facings, and 
 let him march about a little." 
 
 Major Warburton, who seemed to like the ceremony not much 
 more than myself, obeyed ; and so annoyed was I at the absur- 
 dity of my involuntary exhibition, that the directed motions were 
 not executed with that deftness and precision which his Royal 
 Highness considered of such paramount importance. 
 
 " Less shuffling of the heels, if you please, sir. — As you were. 
 — Try him once more, Major. In facing to the right about, 
 there is no occasion to swing your body about like a ship in a 
 storm." 
 
 The word, March, was given, and the circle opened to afford 
 me a passage. 
 
 On approaching the door, I was more than half inclined to 
 exchange ordinary into double quick, and make my exit without 
 further ceremony. Strong as the temptation was, however, 1 
 resisted it, and went through the remainder of a scene, which, 
 although ludicrous in description, was practically most annoying 
 in the performance. 
 
 In one respect, however, my apprehensions were unfounded. 
 This sort of exhibition was too common to become, in my case, 
 the subject of any extraordinary ridicule from my companions ; 
 but it will readily be believed, that in future I attended as seldom 
 as possible the levees of the Duke of Kent. 
 
 At first it appeared strange, that notwithstanding the fasci- 
 nating manners of Colonel Grimshawe, he should be unpopular 
 in the regiment. Yet such was the case. lie was admitted on 
 all hands to be an excellent soldier, and one ardently devoted 
 to his profession. No charge of partiality or injustice was alleged 
 against him, and, though a rigid disciplinarian, he never unne- 
 cessarily harassed those under his command. He had served in 
 the East Indies, in the West, and in Egypt, and with distinction 
 in all. No officer knew his duty better, or was more zealous in 
 the discharge of it. 
 
 Singular, however, as the dislike which generally attached to 
 Colonel Grimshawe at first appeared to me, on closer observation 
 I was almost led to join in it. There was certainly something 
 disagreeable in the very marked line which he evidently drew 
 between the commanding-officer and the companion, and nothing 
 could be more rapid and unexpected than his transition from one 
 character to the other, and nothing stronger than the contrast 
 thus produced. In a moment the whole expression of his coun- 
 tenance would change, and his tone of playful jocularity be 
 converted into one of unbending authority. No two people 
 could be more different than Colonel Grimshawe in private 
 society, and Colonel Grimshawe on military duty.
 
 174 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 One <lav, I remember, we rode together into the country, and 
 the drum for parade sounded before we readied the barracks on 
 oar return. I had found him during our ride a most agreeable 
 companion. We parted in perfect good-humour at the bar- 
 rack-gate, and having changed my dress with all possible 
 expedition, I came on the parade-ground just after the offi- 
 cers had fallen in, and the adjutant was engaged in collecting 
 the reports. 
 
 It was perhaps natural to expect, that a lapse so venial, and 
 one of which he so perfectly understood the cause, would have 
 been passed over without censure. Not so. Colonel Grim- 
 shawe summoned me, in a loud voice, to the front of the regi- 
 ment, and in hearing of the whole battalion inflicted a severe 
 censure on my dilatoriness, which, if continued he assured me, 
 would not fail to draw down yet more unpleasant consequences. 
 
 It may be supposed that such treatment caused a permanent 
 estrangement in our future intercourse. No such consequence, 
 however, followed. After parade, Colonel Grimshawe came up, 
 and, taking me by the arm, conversed as if nothing had hap- 
 pened ; and, notwithstanding my irritation, I could not Long 
 resist the lamination of his society. As a friend, I certainly did 
 not, and could not regard him : I knew that for any breach of 
 military discipline 1 had no lenity to expect ; but I had acquired 
 experience enough to know, that ainsi va !<■ monde, and that 
 where it was impossible to turn the current, the best policy was 
 to swim with the stream. 
 
 I am here prompted to record an anecdote of the boyish folly 
 dt' poor Stanhope and myself. We both of us detested the an- 
 noyance of wearing hair powdered, and agreed to substitute in 
 place of it a flaxen wig, for the preparation of which we respec- 
 tively issued orders to the most fashionable peruqyier of 1 [alifax. 
 These were punctually executed, and, enchanted with the inge- 
 nuity of the contrivance, we lost no time in having our heads 
 shaved, anil c ing out in all the honours of our novel head- 
 
 \\ e were received with shouts of laughter at mess, and 
 submitted to all the mirth ami banter which our appearance 
 excited with the most philosophical 8<aig-froid. In similar trim 
 we appeared next morning at parade; but had scarcely taken 
 
 Our place- w hen the adjutant came up. and dropping his sword, 
 
 informed us that it was Colonel Grimshawe's order that we 
 should instantly quit the parade, and remain close prisoners in 
 our apartment until the grovi ih of our shorn locks should qualify 
 us once more to return to duty. A confinement of six weeks 
 followed, notwithstanding even effort to shorten its duration by 
 the strenuous application of Bear's grease and Macassar oil;
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXL 175 
 
 and, cursing our own folly, the flaxen wigs were committed to 
 the flames. 
 
 Another frolic threatened consequences still more disagreeable. 
 Stanhope and myself were members of a general court-martial, 
 and, of course, exempt from duty during its continuance. The 
 court could not be dismissed until the sentence had been ratified 
 by the crown, and as this required a voyage to England, we en- 
 joyed a liberty — if idleness can be called liberty — of some 
 duration. 
 
 Since my arrival in Halifax, I had bought a large Newfound- 
 land dog, which was particularly docile, and had been taught the 
 accomplishment of walking erect on his hinder legs. Neither of 
 us happened to have any partiality for Major Penleaze, who was 
 confined at the time by some slight indisposition, and we deter- 
 mined that Neptune should appear on parade as that gentleman's 
 representative. A tailor of the regiment was secretly set to 
 work to provide this new aspirant for military honours with a 
 suitable uniform ; and, having completed our preparations, Nep- 
 tune by tuck of drum made his appearance on parade, in a coat 
 and epaulets, which bore the distinctive mark of a major's rank 
 — cocked hat, queue, sword, sash, breeches, and military boots, 
 and advanced slowly and erect to the centre of the square. 
 
 The effect was electric. Discipline and decorum were, for a 
 moment, forgotten; ill-suppressed laughter was heard from the 
 ranks, and the countenances, both of officers and soldiers, were 
 simultaneously broadened by a grin. Instantly the voice of 
 Colonel Grimshawe was heard peeling forth like thunder, and 
 every sign of merriment vanished at the sound. His eyes glared 
 round as he spoke with an expression almost terrific, and Stan- 
 hope and myself, who stood enjoying the scene from a window, 
 almost began to repent of our frolic. Colonel Grimshawe formed 
 the line into a hollow square, and addressed them in a speech. 
 He said the outrage just perpetrated was one unparalleled in his 
 whole military experience ; he dilated on its enormity, and 
 expressed his own firm purpose to bring the authors of this flag- 
 rant violation of discipline to signal punishment. " I know not, 
 and I care not," he continued, " who they arc, that have thus 
 
 cast a tarnish on the character of the , which it will require 
 
 long years of discipline and propriety to wipe away ; but they 
 know me little if they expect an impunity at my hands, which 
 would involve a betrayal of the trust reposed in me by my sove- 
 reign. I call upon you, both officers and men, to assist in dis- 
 covering these unknown delinquents. Were my own brother 
 concerned in this outrage, and ruin about to wait on his convic- 
 tion, as there is a God in heaven I would strain every nerve to 
 bring him to justice." Colonel Grimshawe concluded by
 
 17G CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 expressing his intention of punishing the indecorum of which the 
 whole regiment had been guilty, by a series of extraordinary 
 drills, which he gave orders should commence on the following 
 morning. 
 
 Strict enquiries were instantly set on foot to discover the deco- 
 rators of the dog, against whom the wrath of Colonel Grim- 
 shawe was principally directed. My own feelings prompted me 
 to conic forward and confess at once the head and front of my 
 offending; hut older and more experienced officers strongly dis- 
 suaded me from this step. They assured me it would be wilfully 
 sacrificing, not only my own professional prospects, but those of 
 Stanhope, who would not suffer me to bear alone the conse- 
 quences of our ill-judged jest ; that Colonel Grimshawe, if we 
 confessed the " corpus delicti," could not, after what had passed, 
 avoid trying us by a court-martial, the issue of which could not 
 be doubtful ; and that, by remaining secret, we violated no law 
 of honour. 
 
 It is possible, indeed, that Colonel Crimshawe himself, not- 
 withstanding the public display of bis indignation, was really 
 not very anxious for a discovery. The storm passed, and though 
 the perpetrators of the foolery were generally known, yet as no 
 legal evidence of guilt, beyond thai of my being owner of the 
 dog, was elicited by enquiry, no further unpleasant consequences 
 followed. We were generally liked, and our brother officers 
 submitted to the punishment we had brought on them, without 
 resentment towards its authors. 
 
 These were happy daj s. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A f'.-tj.t.-iTu bold iii Halifax, that lived in country quarters, 
 
 1 1 
 
 Miss It vii.kv. 
 
 The Nova Scotian winter sets in early, and, though a season 
 treme rigour, brings with it the usual accompaniments of 
 
 gayety and festivity, and amusements unknown in more genial 
 
 climates. Every precaution is taken to prevent the soldier from 
 
 Sustaining injury from the severity of the weather. On duly, 
 
 the u ' I regimental cap is i fed for one of fur, and an 
 
 additional upply of great-coats and blankets is annually issued. 
 
 i the taper limb8 of the ladies may be .seen enveloped in
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 177 
 
 mocassins and snow-boots, reserving the captivations of foot 
 and ankle for a milder season. 
 
 Notwithstanding the severity of the garrison-duty, and the 
 annoying activity of the Duke of Kent, the winter passed hap- 
 pily and cheerfully. We amused ourselves by driving sledges 
 over the snow, and shooting spruce partridges in the woods. 
 Occasionally, when we obtained leave of absence for a week, 
 parties of pleasure were formed to visit Windsor and Annapolis ; 
 at which places our appearance never failed to be the signal for 
 a ball. Halifax, too, was the scene of gayety. The wealthier 
 part of the inhabitants gave dinners and parties, at which the 
 charms of the fair Acadians were not exerted in vain. 
 
 For myself, I have no idea of a man marrying with the 
 thermometer twenty degrees below zero, when he is liable to be 
 frostbitten on the very way to the altar. The idea of a bride in 
 worsted stockings, and garments of linsey-woolsey, is not plea- 
 sant, and a few months' delay, in such circumstances, till the 
 return of milder weather, is, perhaps, pardonable even in the 
 most ardent lover. Venus, it is true, is fabled to have risen 
 from the sea, but not amid walrusses and icebergs in the Arctic 
 Ocean. 
 
 Luckily for the spinsters of Halifax, my sentiments on this 
 matter were not generally shared by the officers of the garrison, 
 and, ere the return of summer, several tender-hearted captains, 
 and inflammable subalterns, rejoiced in celibacy no longer. 
 
 Twice a-week there were evening parties at Colonel Grim- 
 shawe's, to which, without any regular invitation, the greater 
 part of the officers had the privilege of entre. Of these parties 
 I was a frequent member ; and the honours of the mansion 
 were done by a Miss Mansfield, a lad}' occupying in his esta- 
 blishment a situation certainly of very equivocal propriety. She 
 was a pretty and rather elegant woman, rendered, perhaps, 
 more interesting, from showing, by a hurried nervousness of 
 manner, that she felt deeply the awkwardness of her situation. 
 Every thing connected with the establishment, of which she 
 was the head, seemed elegant and recherche, and bore about it 
 evidence of a more refined taste than had yet become indige- 
 nous in the colon} - . The furniture and draperies of the apart- 
 ments were not only (for America) unusually handsome, but 
 arranged with the utmost exactitude of taste; and it was evident 
 at a glance, that Miss Mansfield was a person, in every respect, 
 far removed from the generality of females reduced, by folly or 
 misfortune, to circumstances unhappily similar. 
 
 By the guests, it was apparently considered not exactly com.me 
 ilfaut to pay her much attention. All seemed to feel that there; 
 was a delicacy in her situation, which any very particular or 
 
 M
 
 178 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 marked attention would have violated. She was uniformly 
 addressed with respect; but the conversation in which she par- 
 took was always of the most trite and common-place description, 
 and devoid of that ease which naturally arises, when the claims 
 of the person addressed to respect and consideration are less 
 questionable than those of Miss Mansfield. 
 
 Colonel Grimshawe was partial to whist, and that game con- 
 stituted the principal source of interest and amusement at these 
 parties. I had never touched a card in my life, and was conse- 
 quently condemned to remain a spectator. Miss Mansfield, too, 
 did not play, and thus did I frequently find myself almost forced 
 into a tete-a-tete, for which I should probably not otherwise 
 have voluntarily sought. In addressing her, I threw off that 
 tone of embarrassing coldness to which she had been accustomed, 
 and spoke with the air of respectful interest which one naturally 
 assumes in conversation with a lady. She evidently felt this, 
 and was grateful ; and for myself, the power of conferring plea- 
 sure on one whose situation I sincerely pitied, was too flattering 
 not to be frequently exercised. 
 
 My conversations with Miss Mansfield began at length to 
 excite the notice, and draw forth the banter, of my companions. 
 I was accused of attempting to cutout the colonel; and some 
 of the (dder and more prudent advised me to desist from playing 
 so hazardous a game. Both the ridicule and advice were disre- 
 garded. I was conscious of no improper motive. I felt that I 
 had too much vanity in my nature to be captivated by a woman, 
 however (banning, who was publicly recognized as the mistress 
 of another man. 
 
 The only person by whom my attentions to Miss Mansfield 
 appeared to pass entirely unnoticed, was Colonel Grimshawe. 
 His manner towards me was in no respect changed, and the 
 welcome lie continued to afford me was cordial as before. 
 Towards the victim of his passion, Ins demeanour had never 
 been marked by any of that delicacy and consideration which 
 might naturally have been Looked for in a person of so much 
 
 tact and knowledge of the world. lie treated her coldly and 
 
 with indifference, and, when any thing occurred to ruffle his 
 temper, with onkindness and even harshness. She evidently 
 
 feared him; and the tears were called up into her eyes, by the 
 
 sarcastic bitterness with which he frequently addressed her. It 
 was impossible not to compassionate a creature, shackled, as she 
 apparently was, l>\ ties bo galling; and it seemed that the \rvy 
 I which attached to her the very atmosphere of shame in 
 which she moved— onlj rendered her the object of deeper pity 
 and commiseration. 
 
 Miss Mansfield's history was unknown. No one knew under
 
 CYRIL TIIORNTOX. CHAPTER XXII. 179 
 
 what circumstances she had lapsed from virtue ; whether, from 
 the mere credulity of a nature too innocent and trusting, she 
 had fallen a victim to the arts of some practised and heartless 
 seducer, or whether, led on hy her own evil passions, she had 
 voluntarily courted degradation. What I read of her character, 
 at least, seemed to indicate the former, and my own feelings 
 inclined me to adopt the more favourable supposition. In the 
 frequently recurring conversations which took place between us, 
 not the most distant allusion was made to her situation. I had 
 no wish to win her heart, and every topic of apocryphal pro- 
 priety was studiously avoided ; nay, had Colonel Grimshawe 
 himself been auditor to every sentence spoken on either side, I 
 am sure he would have heard nothing to raise either anger or 
 suspicion. 
 
 In this situation did matters stand, when the arrival of a 
 packet from England brought notice of my being appointed to 
 a lieutenancy in a West India regiment. I was at first by no 
 means gratified with my good fortune. It was scarcely probable 
 that, for so trifling and unimportant a step, I should voluntarily 
 quit a regiment in which I found myself so pleasantly situated, 
 to exercise the same vocation in a West India corps. Of course, 
 therefore, my object was to effect an exchange, if possible, into 
 the regiment to which I had hitherto belonged, or, failing in 
 that, into some other less objectionable than the one to which I 
 was appointed. 
 
 On receiving the first intelligence of my promotion, I con- 
 sidered it a proper compliment to Colonel Grimshawe to wait 
 on him immediately, and after explaining to him the circum- 
 stances of the case, to request his advice. I lost no time, there- 
 fore, in proceeding to his house, where his servant informed me, 
 that being field-officer of the day, he had gone out about an 
 hour before, on the duty of visiting the guards, but that his 
 return was instantly expected. 
 
 Anxious to have an interview with him as early as possible, 
 I resolved to await his return, and with that view was shown 
 into an apartment. It was not untenanted. Miss Mansfield 
 was seated at a table ; but as her back was partly turned towards 
 the door, it was not till I had advanced and offered the usual 
 salutations, that I perceived she held in her hand a letter, over 
 which she was weeping bitterly. Grief, even in the humblest 
 of human beings, has ever been respectable in my eyes, and in 
 this instance I was unwilling to violate its sanctity. I there- 
 fore apologized for my intrusion, and was about to depart, but 
 she looked up, and requested me to remain. 
 
 " You see before you," she said, with choking utterance, " one 
 who, fallen and degraded as she is, would still venture to hope
 
 ISO CYRIL THORNTON". — CHAPTJEB XXII. 
 
 thai she has a friend, at least a well-wisher, in Mr Thornton. If 
 I am mistaken in this, alas ! I am friendless." 
 
 " A more sincere well-wisher than myself Miss Mansfield 
 dues nut ]«i-',s<; hut she will excuse me for suggesting, that in 
 Colonel Grimshawe" 
 
 '•Oh, talk not," she interrupted, "of Colonel Grimshawe. 
 You know not — you cannot know, the cold and heartless being 
 of whom you speak. What woman could bear — more than 
 woman ever vet bore, from the man she loved, I have borne from 
 him." And as she spoke site looked up, with sparkling eyes, 
 and threw back the dark ringlets that had fallen over her face. 
 " But," she added, and her expression softened as she proceeded, 
 " it is not this of which I would speak. True, it is hard to meet 
 with harshness and ingratitude from one for whom we have 
 given up all; hut I have borne it long and patiently, and would 
 slid bear it, for (though God knows, not from him) 1 have 
 deserved it all." 
 
 I here ventured to interrupt her, for I felt the full awkward- 
 ness of in;, situation, and was unwilling to involve myself, by 
 participating in a confidence, which, it appeared to me, could 
 lead to no beneficial consequences. 
 
 " Miss Mansfield will pardon me," I replied, " for reminding 
 her, that it has only been in the character of Colonel Grim- 
 shawe's guest and friend that I have enjoyed the pleasure of her 
 society; that I am at this moment beneath his roof, and cannot 
 with propriety listen to any communication with which he is 
 unpleasantly connected. II, without infringing on the duty I 
 owe to others, I can in any thing serve you, command me ; hut. 
 it is equally useless and unpleasant to lie made the depositary 
 of secrets, in which 1 have no right to participate, or of grie- 
 vances which I want power to redress. While you remain under 
 the protection of Colonel Grimshawe, my good wishes — my 
 
 sincere good wishes for your happiness, arc, I fear, all it were 
 proper for me to oiler, or (pardon my freedom) for you to 
 accept." 
 
 "Say no! so, Mr Thornton," replied she, casting on me a look 
 at which the heart of the sternest and most ascetic misogynist 
 mighl have melted; "You are generous — your heart is yet 
 unseared bj the world. You will not refuse to stretch forth an 
 
 n to rescues poor sinking creature from the gulf of guilj and 
 
 error, in which, hut for mum- assistance, she is still doomed to 
 
 Btruggle. Hear my story; read hut the contents of this letter" 
 
 Here a gush of tears interrupted her utterance, and I 
 
 idi Lvi ured to soothe her, by professing a deep interest in her 
 
 mi i "tuiie-.. 
 
 She told me under what circumstances her connexion with
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 181 
 
 Colonel Grimshawe had arisen. " She was the child," she said, 
 "the only child, of a respectable tradesman in a garrison town. 
 Her mother had died in her infancy, and she was left the sole 
 prop of her aged father. The usual arts of seduction had been 
 employed for her ruin, and successfully. She quitted her father's 
 roof, and became — what I saw her. Peace," she said, " from 
 the moment of this guilty act, she had never known, and the 
 demon of remorse haunted her by night and day." She placed 
 in my hand the letter which she had that morning received. It 
 was from her father, but not written by his own hand. He too 
 had been smitten, and was become blind and paralytic, a solitary 
 and a heart-broken old man. " He was," he said, " fast sinking 
 into the grave, and this was probably the last letter she would 
 ever receive from him. He spoke mildly and forgivingly of her 
 errors, and conjured her, by the love of God and the blood of 
 her Saviour, to turn from the path of destruction in which she 
 had already advanced so far. Of his own sufferings he made 
 light; it was the knowledge of her situation alone that would 
 embitter his dying hour. Yet in the folly of his old age," he 
 said, " he sometimes indulged hopes, that her hand might yet 
 close his sightless balls — that he might once more clasp his 
 daughter in his withered arms. But his time was short, and 
 he now knew such hopes were vain. He bade her farewell for 
 ever — in his agony he had never cursed her — and he now 
 bequeathed her his blessing and forgiveness. That God would 
 also forgive her, should be his latest prayer." 
 
 It was impossible to read this letter without emotion. The 
 tears streamed rapidly down the cheeks of Miss Mansfield, and 
 my feelings were now thoroughly excited in her behalf. I took 
 her by the hand — 
 
 " If your object be to return to soothe the dying hours of a 
 suffering and afflicted parent, there is no exertion of mine you 
 may not command, in so good a cause. Yet I cannot conceive 
 how any necessity for such exertion, on my part, should arise. 
 Miss Mansfield is surely mistress of her own actions, and is 
 at liberty to quit the protection of Colonel Grimshawe when- 
 ever" 
 
 " Perfectly so," said a voice from behind, " Miss Mansfield 
 is quite at liberty to quit Colonel Grimshawe's protection when- 
 ever she thinks proper, and to enter upon that of Mr Cyril 
 Thornton. I beg I may not be suffered to interrupt a conver- 
 sation so interesting: when, however, the arrangements are 
 concluded, Mr Thornton will perhaps be good enough to honour 
 me with an audience." So saying, the colonel, for he it was, 
 left the room, and the door of the apartment closed. 
 
 Miss Mansfield was dreadfully agitated. It was now inipos-
 
 182 CTKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 sible to extract any intelligible communication of her wishes, nor 
 learn in what manner my assistance could be of use. I endea- 
 voured to soothe her by assurances, that in any emergency she 
 might command my services. My consolations were of course 
 brief, for I could not but feel the indelicacy and impropriety of 
 prolonging- the interview. Compressing, therefore, as much 
 kindness into as lew words as possible, I took my leave, and was 
 immediately ushered into the presence of Colonel Grimshawe. 
 
 lie was seated at a table, and engaged in sealing - letters, of 
 which an orderly sergeant waited to be the bearer. He bowed 
 on my entrance, and, rising- from his chair, remained standing 
 while the process of sigillation proceeded, and until, by the 
 dispatch of the messenger, we were left alone. 
 
 " It is necessary, Mr Thornton," said Colonel Grimshawe, 
 pointing to a chair, and at the same time occupying one him- 
 self, " it is necessary, in the relative position in which we now 
 stand to each other, that we should come at once to a foil under- 
 standing. Of your intentions, indeed, the very unequivocal 
 circumstances attending the interview, which my intrusion, I 
 
 ir, so disagreeably interrupted, and the expressions 1 uninten- 
 tionally overheard, are sufficiently explanatory. Of mine, I 
 think, as a gentleman and man of spirit, you cannot be wholly 
 unaware." 
 
 " Excuse me, Colonel Grimshawe ; on your views or intentions, 
 in this or any other matter, 1 have not presumed to speculate; 
 but I wish at once to state, that 1 am too well aware- of the 
 presumption which appearances in the present ease may raise 
 with regard to the nature of my intentions, not to he anxious 
 immediately to remove your suspicions, by the fullest explanation 
 in my power." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Mr Thornton, you mistake exceedingly, if you 
 suppose me desirous of putting your ingenuity to the rack, to 
 account lor circumstanc< in themselves too simple and palpable 
 to re [uire explanation. 1 should be unwilling to think meanly 
 of Mr Thornton; and the task of glozing facts, and twisting 
 evidence, i> one which I am very sure he would think it far 
 bene ith him to undertake." 
 
 '• I have no thanks to oiler you, sir, for a compliment so paid, 
 even were I quite certain thai in what you have now said, there is 
 not more insinuated than meets the ear. You arc above Bubter- 
 fuge. Colonel Grimshawe ; I would ask, is this so or not P" 
 
 •• To a I. such a question. >. i ;-, is a proof that you know little 
 
 of the person whom you address. 1 profess myself responsible 
 
 lor the plain meaning of my words, not for that to which they 
 
 may he perverted by the ingenuity of another. In holding with 
 
 you the pn -eiit conference, 1 treat you OS mi cij/l,//, a Stltlicicnt
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 183 
 
 proof, I should imagine, that I consider you a gentleman by 
 birth, character, and profession. Are you satisfied on this point ? " 
 I bowed. " Then, by your leave, I shall proceed to another not 
 less important, and in so doing- it is necessary that I should 
 speak plainly. 
 
 " Since you joined the regiment under my command, you 
 have frequently done me the honour of visiting this house. You 
 found at the head of my establishment, a lady whom you must 
 have been conscious was not my wife. With this lady you have 
 thought proper to form a liaison inconsistent with the return, 
 which, as her protector, I had a right to expect. I do not blame 
 you for this; it was natural, perhaps excusable; at all events, it 
 is a common occurrence, and one for which a person of tolerable 
 experience in the world is never unprepared. It is enough that, 
 when you voluntarily formed this connexion, you knew the re- 
 lation in which she stood to me, and did so, with the intention, 
 I presume, of affording me that satisfaction, which, under such 
 circumstances, I was entitled to demand, and to which, you 
 must have been aware, it was more than improbable I would 
 forego my claim. — You appear anxious to interrupt me ; have I 
 stated any thing from which you dissent?" 
 
 "Had the circumstances been such as you state them, I should 
 at once admit the justice of your reasoning. But I deny the 
 assumption on which it proceeds. Towards Miss Mansfield I 
 have neither professed nor felt any such sentiments as those to 
 which you have alluded. I have never entertained a thought of 
 withdrawing her from your protection, nor of turning the ad- 
 vantages 1 enjoyed as your guest, to any improper purpose. If 
 there is any one point of my conduct towards that lady, on which 
 you require explanation, I am now ready to give it you." 
 
 A bitter and sarcastic smile came over the features of Colonel 
 Grimshawe as he listened to me. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh, Mr Thornton, this is not exactly what I ex- 
 pected from you. There are some things, believe me, which 
 may be true, but which are so improbable, that a prudent man 
 will not rashly hazard his credit by asserting them as truth. 
 Permit me as a friend to say, that a different part in this comedy 
 would become you better — would be more congenial with your 
 age, character, family, and profession." 
 
 " On these points, sir, I must take the liberty of judging for 
 myself. I have already twice offered to explain every word or 
 action of mine, connected with Miss Mansfield, to which sus- 
 picion can possibly attach. Were I alone concerned, it is suffi- 
 cient to say, that this offer should not be repeated, and I now 
 only do so for the sake of the lady whose name in this business 
 has been so unfortunately united with mine. If, as I suspect,
 
 1 -> 4 CYRH. THORNTON. CHAFTEB XXII. 
 
 you have entered on this interview with views of hostility pre- 
 viously decided, it is well. If not, the otter of satisfactory ex- 
 planation which 1 now make for the last time, will, tor the sake 
 of justice towards an injured female, induce you at least to pause 
 and to examine." 
 
 ■• This is trifling, sir ; and you have had, 1 imagine, experience 
 enough of my character to know, that lam not a person with whom 
 trifling is likely to succeed. When you have lived longer in the 
 world, you will learn that affairs of this nature are not conducted 
 with the deliberation ofachancerysuit, or an act of the legislature. 
 When a gentleman feels and knows himself to he injured, he does 
 not wait for a committee of enquiry to ascertain the precise 
 extent of his wrongs. No. lie demands instantly that satisfac- 
 tion to which, a> a man of honour, he is entitled, and which — I 
 must also take leave to add — no man of honour will refuse to 
 grant. Am I at length sufficiently intelligible ? " 
 
 "Perfectly so; and Colonel Grimshawe may rely on finding 
 no backwardness on my part in gratifying his wishes." 
 
 '■ Thank you, thank you, Mr Thornton. I. ess than this I did 
 not expect from you; more I could not wish. Had \ >>u fortu- 
 nately belonged to another corps, this tedious, and I fear to you 
 unpleasant conference, might here have found a satisfactory ter- 
 mination. In our circumstances, however, there is still another 
 point to he arranged. That satisfaction will be required by me, 
 and granted by you, is now mutually understood between us, and 
 fortunately this agreement of the principals will considerably 
 lighten the duties of those gentlemen who may he kind enough 
 tn act in the character of friends. I'.ut before this matter can 
 reach the termination to which we are both anxious it should be 
 happily brought, there is still an obstacle, and no trifling one, to 
 be removed. Short as your military experience has been, I think 
 you musl be aw are, Mr Thornton, how entirely Incompatible it is 
 with the discipline of the service to which we have hoth the 
 honour to belong, that the commanding- officer of a regiment 
 shnuld consent to a hostile meeting with any officer under his 
 immediate command. When you did me the wrong, for which 
 you are aboul so handsomely to alone, you knew this, or at least 
 should have known it. I am sure you did nol could not in- 
 tend to place me in a situation where 1 must either hear an 
 
 injury, to which no man of spirit could tamely submit; or, in doing 
 myself right, forfeit every hope of professional distinction, to 
 which years of tolerablj Bevere service entitle me to look for- 
 ward. It is necessary, therefore, before the final .settlement of 
 our account, thai you exchange into another regiment. I have 
 some small interest at the Horse-Guards ; and should you re- 
 quire its assistance to promote your views in this matter, you
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 185 
 
 may rely on its being fully exerted in your behalf. In your 
 rank and situation in the regiment, you can derive little injury 
 from such an arrangement; what we must both regret is the 
 delay which I fear it renders indispensable." 
 
 "Having resolved to give Colonel Grimshawe the satisfaction 
 he demands, I am of course prepared to take every step which 
 may be necessary for the accomplishment of this purpose. He 
 cannot, however," have more pleasure in learning, than I have in 
 informing him, that the delay which he anticipates will not oc- 
 cur. I have this morning received a notification of my appoint- 
 ment to a lieutenancy in a West India regiment, which I trust 
 removes all obstacle to an immediate adjustment of our difference. 
 Colonel Grimshawe will find me ready at any moment." 
 
 Having thus spoken, I handed him the letter, containing docu- 
 mentary evidence of what I had asserted. As he perused it, his 
 countenance brightened. " This," said he, " is indeed fortunate ; 
 and you may rely on it," half smiling as he spoke, " that you shall 
 not "be put to the inconvenience of unnecessary delay by any 
 tardiness of mine. I shall take care that you appear in the or- 
 ders of to-day, as ceasing to belong to the , and in the even- 
 ing you may expect a message through the medium of a friend. 
 Of course, feeling as we both do, that any attempt at mediation 
 would in our circumstances be useless, delicacy to the friends 
 who will accompany us to the field, will prevent its being made. 
 Excuse me for having detained you so long; every thing is now 
 arranged, and believe me I am quite sensible of my good fortune 
 in having had, under these unpleasant circumstances, to deal with 
 a person of honour and gallantry like Mr Thornton." 
 
 I rose to depart, and acknowledged the dubious compliment by 
 a bow, which being duly returned by Colonel Grimshawe, the 
 conference ended. 
 
 When I went forth, my mind was under the influence of a 
 crowd of mingled feelings difficult to describe. I was irritated 
 at the idea of being forced, it might be, to pay the penalty of 
 life for the seduction of a woman, whom I was innocent, either 
 by word or action, of having attempted to seduce. I had been 
 confronted with proofs I knew not how to rebut, and in spite of 
 all my efforts, had fallen a victim to presumptions, of whose 
 falsehood I was conscious. In the interview which had just 
 concluded, I felt I had been contending with a being of superior 
 power, from whose cold and cutting sarcasms, even with truth 
 on my side, I had shrunk discomfited. I had been overawed, 
 overmatched in the war of words ; and I, a naked and defenceless 
 man, had been urging unequal combat with an enemy clad in 
 complete steel, and too skilful not to profit by his advantage. 
 
 And why was this ? Why did I now find myself thus exposed
 
 186 CYRJI. THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 to imminent and deadly peril ? For a woman to whom I had 
 accidentally happened to address a little casual conversation in 
 the ordinary intercourse of society! What was Hecuba to me, 
 or I to Hecuba, that I had incurred such hazard in her cause? 
 
 But mine, 1 have said, were mingled feelings; and in the 
 situation in which I found myself, there was pride mixed up 
 with humiliation. I knew myself to he matched with no un- 
 worthy antagonist. In encountering Colonel Grimshawe in the 
 field, it seemed as if then' had fallen to me a golden opportunity 
 of distinction. Colonel Grimshawe, even among brave men, 
 was noted as a person of the coolest and most determined 
 courage. He was an experienced duellist, and an unerring 
 pistol-shot. My pulses heat high, when the thought came over 
 me that. I was the David destined to smite this Goliath on the 
 forehead. 1 trod the streets more proudly, as the circumstances 
 of my approaching conquest became vividly shadowed forth in 
 my imagination. "Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel 
 just;" and I felt that 1 should go forth to meet him with pure 
 hands, and in the confidence of an unshrinking heart. 
 
 Bat my time was too precious to be wasted in reveries, how- 
 ever agreeable. Circumstances required instant action, and it 
 was necessary in the approaching encounter that I should be 
 provided with a friend. Motives of delicacy prevented my 
 
 applying with this view to any of my companions of the , 
 
 v\ ho were under the immediate command of Colonel Grimshawe. 
 My choice was thus considerably narrowed; and, after some 
 deliberation, I determined to solicit the friendly services of the 
 Baron Reiflenstein, then a captain in a foreign battalion of the 
 60th regiment, which formed part of the garrison of Halifax. 
 The baron had been my fellow-passenger to America, and it 
 had been in my power, by a little trifling assistance, to extricate 
 him from mbarrassments, before quitting Portsmouth, 
 
 which might otherwise have prevented the prosecution of his 
 
 Vo\ 
 
 I accordingly directed my si< ps towards the residence of this 
 personage, ami. on arriving there, had the good fortune to find 
 him at home, lie was seated on a camp bedstead, in a. foraging 
 cap of crimson velvet, adorned by a splendid gold tassel, quietly 
 Brooking his meershaum, as I entered. 
 
 ".\h! Meiriherr Thornton," he exclaimed, springing up to 
 
 Icome me, " I am \er clad to see you. 1 thank you. mein goot 
 Bare, thai yon are bo kind to come and visit me in my littel 
 apartment;" ami the baron proceeded to pour forth protesta- 
 tions of persona] regard, of which, though rather more vehement 
 ami prolix than necessary, I have \ww\- had any reason to doubt 
 im i ,ii}.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 187 
 
 Having listened to these as long as politeness, and much 
 longer than inclination prompted me, I proceeded to explain 
 the immediate motive of my visit. On learning all the circum- 
 stances of the case which I thought it necessary to communicate, 
 the baron, with the utmost promptitude, declared his acceptance 
 of the proposed office; and had my request been that he should 
 act, not as second but principal, I do believe he would not 
 have been deterred from showing his gratitude by the vicarious 
 dangers attending such a substitution. The necessary arrange- 
 ments were soon concluded. It was agreed, that, when the 
 time and circumstances of the meeting had been duly settled 
 by the seconds, the baron was to pass the night in my apart- 
 ment preparatory to an early start, and that in the mean time he 
 should remain at home, prepared to receive the visit of Colonel 
 Grimshawe's friend. 
 
 It was near the hour of mess, and I returned to the barracks. 
 I was crossing the square to the entrance which led to my 
 apartment, when the sergeant of my company approached, and 
 submitted the orders of the day to my perusal. Among these 
 I observed the following : — 
 
 " R. O. — Ensign Thornton having been promoted to a lieu- 
 tenancy in the West India Regiment, his name will from 
 
 this day cease to be borne on the strength of the battalion, and 
 that officer will be exempt from further duty. 
 
 "John Hopkins, Adp Reg* n 
 
 I expected this, and yet it struck through my heart a melan- 
 choly feeling. In the dispatch which had been used on the 
 occasion, I thought it would seem to the world as if some tarnish 
 had attached to my character, when it was seen that the earliest 
 possible moment was seized on to get rid of me. At all events, 
 it was the prelude of a separation. In the very spot on which 
 I stood I felt as an intruder, and of the room to which I was 
 returning, I was tenant only by courtesy. As I gave back the 
 orderly- hook to the sergeant, he raised Ins hand to his cap, and 
 said, " I beg to congratulate you, sir, on your promotion. 
 Wherever you go, I am sure you will carry with you the good 
 wishes of the company for your prosperity." 
 
 I thanked him, and retired to my chamber. 
 
 It seemed to me indispensable that I should appear at mess 
 I was aware that, in the circumstances in which I stood, any 
 perceptible derangement of ordinary habits is sure to be ascribed 
 
 by all one's "d d good-natured friends" to the influence of 
 
 fear. It was above all things necessary that I should avoid any 
 conduct which could even by possibility admit of such an inter- 
 pretation. Precisely, therefore, as the bugles rung forth the
 
 18S CTE1L THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 wonted and welcome tune of " The roast-beef of Old England," 
 J descended to the mess-room. 
 
 As I entered, my companions thronged round me, and ex- 
 pressions of congratulation on my promotion, and regret for my 
 departure, were simultaneously pronounced by many voices. 
 1 received them with an air of gayety, little in accordance with 
 my real feelings. At dinner, every one drank, wine with me, 
 and even those uncongenial spirits with whom I had maintained 
 little intercourse, and no intimacy, now strove, by ;k*1s of kind- 
 D 39 and attention, to show they parted with me on terms of 
 good fellowship, and with regret. 
 
 Notwithstanding the temptation thus afforded me, I abstained 
 from any excess in wine. Indeed, 1 know not any moment of 
 mj life, in which I exercised so thorough a mastery over my own 
 mental emotions, and, by the force of one determined purpose, 
 subdued them so completely, as on this occasion. There was 
 not — 1 think there was not, discernible in my deportment, any 
 symptom of depression. There was not, 1 am sure, any appear- 
 ance of that forced and unnatural vivacity, the effect of Strong 
 stimulants acting on agitated nerves, which reveals, perhaps, 
 still more plainly, the secrets of the prison-house within. 
 
 My health was toasted in a bumper, preceded by a nattering 
 eulogium, and drank with all the honours. 1 rose to return 
 thanks. My feelings, hitherto in subjection, then mounted into 
 rebellion, and would not he quelled. My speech was one of 
 
 impulse. In it 1 recalled the time, not very distant, when 1 had 
 come amongst them a stranger, and they welcomed me as a 
 friend. The days 1 had spent in the society of my brother o(&- 
 cers hid been the happiest of my life. The liat of our separation 
 
 had now gone forth, and I had ceased to be a member of the . 
 
 I was with them, hut of them no longer. Their kindness was 
 imprinted for ever on my memory. The circumstances of our 
 parting, though gratifying, 1 could not but feel to he sad, and 
 tilling a bumper to the brim, 1 drank the health of the friends 
 
 ami companions around me. 
 
 This speech, the first I ever made in my life, was received 
 
 with thunders of applause. I had not delivered it w ithoiit strong 
 
 emotion. M \ feelings pent up in one channel, had found egress in 
 
 another, and flowed on in it, with a vehemence proportionate to 
 
 the power previously exercised for their repression \ and before 
 I concluded, mj eyes had tilled with tears, and my voice became 
 tremulous and inarticulate. 
 
 I had not resumed m\ Beat above a minute, and the storm of 
 
 approbation which had followed my address had barely subsided 
 
 into a calm, when I was approached by a mess-waiter, who 
 
 whispered that a gentleman wished to see me on particular
 
 CYRIL TI10RXTOX. — CHAPTER XXII. 189 
 
 business in another apartment. I was too -well aware of the 
 nature of the summons to lose an instant in obeying - it. As I 
 rose from table, my eyes glanced towards Colonel Grimshawe, 
 from a feeling somewhat allied to curiosity. He was engaged 
 in conversation with the officer next him, and apparently alto- 
 gether unconscious of my motion, and the circumstance which 
 had occasioned it. 
 
 The gentleman whom I found awaiting my presence, belonged 
 to the staff of the Duke of Kent, and delivered the message 
 with which he was charged, in a manner as agreeable as its 
 nature admitted. My answer was brief. It conveyed an unquali- 
 fied acquiescence, on my part, to Colonel Grimshawe' s demand 
 of satisfaction ; and for the arrangement of time and place, I 
 referred the bearer to Baron Reiffenstein, intimating, at the same 
 time, my own wishes, that the matter should be brought to a 
 termination as speedily as possible. This, of course, terminated 
 the interview, and I again resumed my place at the mess-table. 
 
 The melancholy with which, before my exit, I had contributed 
 in some degree to tinge the meeting, had now passed away. 
 Of the jest and merriment, which, with the wine, circled thfl 
 table, I partook, or, at least, seemed to partake ; and the task of 
 simulation, on my part, became gradually more easy, as the 
 increasing excitation of my companions proportionably dimin- 
 ished the acuteness of their observation. The song - , too, went 
 round, and never was that fine one of Captain Morris, (by far 
 the best modern writer of Anacreontics,) called, I think, " Rea- 
 sons for Drinking," better or more affectingly sung than by 
 Stanhope. Till this hour, the following verse, and the deep and 
 melodious intonation of his voice in singing it, have never been 
 forgotten. They slumber in my treasured memories of sweet 
 sounds, often in solitude, awaking in their beauty, and recalling 
 associations, which though sad, have long ceased to be painful. 
 
 There's many a lad I've loved is dead, 
 
 And many a lass grown old ; 
 And when that lesson strikes my head, 
 
 My weary heart grows cold. 
 
 The evening was pretty far advanced, when Colonel Grim- 
 shawe quitted the mess. As he passed to the door, our eyes 
 accidentally met. lie bowed, but so slightly, that it could 
 scarcely be observed by any other than him for whom it was 
 intended; and as he withdrew his eyes, I remarked there was a 
 smile on his lips. Owing to the slight distortion of his mouth, 
 the smile of Colonel Grimshawe was unpleasant. On the (ire- 
 sent occasion, from the working of my fancy, it seemed peculiarly 
 hateful and demoniac, and a curse half rose to my lips as I 
 beheld it.
 
 \?0 CTRII. THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 By his departure, I felt relieved from the necessity of remain- 
 ing longer in a scene little consonant either to my circumstances 
 
 or feeling's. 1 soon, therefore, took occasion to escape, and 
 pressing, from a certain solemnity of feeling- which at that 
 moment came over me, the hand of Stanhope, as if bidding- him 
 a long farewell, 1 said, in a whisper, " May God bless you, my 
 dear friend!" and darted from the mess-room. 
 
 On entering my chamber, I found it filled with a cloud of 
 smoke, so dense as to be quite impervious to the eye, and it was 
 some time before the surrounding' objects became dimly visible 
 in the cloudy atmosphere. Seated by the fire, and smoking his 
 meershaum, with a bottle of claret before him, which 1 had taken 
 care to provide for hi- accommodation, was my friend the baron. 
 From him 1 learned, that he had definitively arranged with the 
 friend of Colonel Grimshawe all the circumstances of the meet- 
 ing. It was to take place on the following morning at daybreak, 
 and the theatre of action which had been selected, was a lake, 
 or tarn, about half a league distant from the town. 
 
 1 immediately issued orders to my servant to have my sleigh 
 at the barrack-gate by six in the morning-, there to await our 
 coming; and being aware of no other call for previous action 
 on my part, became a quiet listener to the bloody anecdotes of 
 German duelling', with which the baron's memory was abun- 
 dantly fraught. If at this distance of time I may trust my 
 memory, he had been run through the body at least a dozen 
 times, yet always came off victorious — a circumstance not to bo 
 wondered at, Considering the blood in his vein-; for, by his own 
 account, his father and grandfather had been a pair of Draw- 
 cansirs, who. in their day, lead slain more enemies than ever did 
 Roland the Paladin, or Amadis de (laid. 
 
 Having Listened patiently for two pipes to these interesting 
 narratives, the subject was fortunately changed, by a desire 
 expressed bv the baron to see my pistols. The request came 
 
 like a thunderbolt. I had no pistols, and, absurd as it may 
 
 appear, the necessity of providing them never had occurred to 
 Hi'-. Luckilj the baron was more provident; and on learning 
 tic state of the case, produced a pair from the pockets of bis 
 
 at-coat, of uncommon dimensions, on the unerring accuracy 
 
 of which, and the services they had rendered him on sundry 
 previous occasions, he found new subjects for eloquence. 
 
 Perceiving that I «;>- rather a tyro in such matters, he pro- 
 ceeded to give me Buch instructions a- his experience suggested ; 
 explained the attitude in which the smallest front was exposed 
 
 to the enemy, and conjured me. above all things, to beware of 
 
 levelling mj pistol too high. "The barrel," he said, "should 
 
 Uowed to incline in a lighl degree downwards. By level-
 
 CYRIT, THORNTON". CHAPTER XXII. 191 
 
 ling an inch too high, a shot, even when otherwise well directed, 
 did no execution ; whereas, by erring on the other side, I had, 
 at all events, a chance of considerably inconveniencing my 
 adversary, by deranging his knee-pan, or lodging a bullet in 
 the calf of his leg." 
 
 Thus did the night wax on ; and I entreated my companion, 
 whose eyes became gradually heavy, to make use of my bed, and 
 seek a few hours' repose. To the former part of my proposal 
 he strenuously objected, nor by any argument could I induce 
 his compliance. It was necessary, he assured me, for the steadi- 
 ness of my hand in the morning, that I should enjoy a comfort- 
 able nap over-night. That for himself, he had brought his 
 bear-skin, and on that, wrapped in his boat-cloak, and with a 
 portmanteau for a pillow, he would sleep as soundly as on a bed 
 of down. I ceased to argue the point, and suffering the baron 
 to make himself comfortable in his own way, a grunting, not 
 unlike that of a plethoric pig, soon informed me that he was as 
 happy as oblivion of all worldly misfortunes could make him. 
 
 This was the first moment of solitude I had enjoyed for many 
 hours, and not more grateful is a spring in the burning desert 
 to the thirsty traveller, than was this interval of freedom to 
 me. I sat gazing on the embers of the fire, and reviewed, I 
 think, calmly, all the circumstances of my situation. I knew 
 it was probable I should fall in the approaching encounter, and 
 bethought me whether any duties in this world still remained 
 for me to perform. Property, in the larger sense of the term, I 
 possessed none, and yet I felt desirous of bequeathing some 
 tokens of remembrance to my sisters, and the friends whom I 
 had loved. My will was soon made ; and of the numerous tes- 
 tamentary donations which it directed, I remember only that I 
 bequeathed my watch to Conyers, and my sword to Stanhope. 
 
 I hesitated at first whether to write to my father and sisters ; 
 but I found at that moment their remembrance clung closely to 
 my heart, and I wished not to quit the world without bidding 
 them farewell. I wrote, therefore, a few lines as follows : — 
 
 " Father, 
 
 " The son whom you loved not is no more. His death will 
 bring no dishonour on your name. Sisters — dear sisters, you 
 have no longer a brother. His last thoughts were with you — 
 his last prayer that Heaven's blessings might fall thick on you. 
 Farewell, eternally farewell." 
 
 Having duly signed, sealed, and superscribed these documents, 
 I determined to follow my friend's advice, and to court sleep for 
 the portion of the night that still remained. The state of extreme
 
 192 CTBIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXIIT. 
 
 tension in which my mind had been kept for many hours, was 
 such as could not be continued without cracking the strings of 
 the instrument, and nature called for some relaxation of the 
 screws. 1 heaped, therefore, some fresh embers on the fire, and 
 disencumbering myself of a few of my external garments, retired 
 to bed. 
 
 As my head pressed my pillow, my thoughts were rapid but 
 indistinct, and passed like clouds in a tempestuous sky, racking 
 the face of the firmament with a velocity scarcely diminished, 
 11 when the wind that impelled them has died away. My 
 mind was in a state somewhat similar to that so powerfully 
 described by the Opium-Eater, as generally occurring after his 
 third or fourth tumbler of " laudanum negus, warm, without 
 sugar." My conceptions by degrees became still more awful and 
 indefinite, and eluding by their very vastness the grasp of my 
 •I intellect, at length faded into vacancy, and 1 was asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 T>c-itli is :i fearful tiling. 
 hub. Ami shami '1 life ;i hateful. 
 
 Measure for Measure 
 
 Oh, IdofeaT tliee, Claudio; and I quake 
 i st thou a fei erlsh life b1 i mid entei tain, 
 
 or sei '-11 winters more res] t, 
 
 'J'i.an ;i perpetual honour. Darest thou die? 
 
 / )idem. 
 
 To bed; 
 
 v. ay tli ■ ' ■'■ er; leave it burning; 
 
 And if thou . ke b} four o' tl look, 
 
 i me. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 Though short, my slumber was refreshing. With the first 
 
 gleam of returning sense I started hastily from the bed, in the 
 
 i'( ir that I had overslept my time. 1 examined my watch by the 
 
 fire-light, and found it still wanted two hours <>f the time of 
 
 meeting. The snoring of my companion showed he was still 
 
 '. and with a reference, perhaps, as much directed to my 
 
 comfort as to Id-. I was unwilling to awake him. I could 
 
 [link of again returning to bed, and seated myself in a chair 
 
 by the fire. 
 
 The excitement of the preceding day had thoroughly abated, 
 
 and my mind was calm and collected. The circumstances of
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIII. 193 
 
 my situation rose before me, not as formerly, in a hurried and 
 confused crowd, and my eye contemplated them in their real form 
 and natural dimensions. I felt like one conscious of standing 
 on the brink of a precipice, down which, by the gra«p of a mighty 
 arm, he may in an instant be hurled headlong. I was awe — not 
 fear-struck ; and if, as I gazed down the fearful and dark abyss 
 that yawned beneath my feet, a shudder came over me, my heart, 
 at least, did not cower, and I stood firm and resolute on the peril- 
 ous brink. 
 
 It is impossible, I think, to contemplate the probability of 
 sudden death, and forget the Being into whose presence it must 
 instantly call us. Yet, in the whirlpool of passion by which my 
 mind had been agitated, I had merged in the anxieties of this 
 world, all thought of the next. I was about to face death, yet 
 had addressed no prayer for mercy and forgiveness to the Being 
 in whose hands alone are the issues of life. But on that morn- 
 ing, in the solitary darkness of my chamber, a better frame of 
 mind arose within me, and collecting all my thoughts for this 
 greatest and most important duty of a human being, I knelt in 
 prayer. 
 
 My devotions continued till interrupted by the baron, who, 
 being now broad awake, insisted on the necessity of immediate 
 preparation. My servant, too, soon entered, and before the 
 business of the toilet was completed, announced that the sleigh 
 was already at the gate. 
 
 The sun had not risen, yet it was light. The snow lay deep 
 on the ground, and the severity of the cold was such as to require, 
 even in travelling so short a distance, that we should be plenti- 
 fully wrapped in fur. Every preparation being made, we entered 
 the vehicle and drove off. As we passed rapidly through the 
 town, not a soul was in the streets, and every thing was still 
 and noiseless, as in a city of the dead. The face of nature lay 
 hid in snow, as if covered by a winding-sheet, and no moving 
 thing, save the smoke that rose right upwards in long unbroken 
 columns to the clouds, was visible. Even the foot-falls of the 
 horse were without sound, and the tinkling of the small bells 
 which depended from the harness, alone broke the depth of the 
 surrounding silence. 
 
 We soon reached the spot of our destination, and were first 
 on the ground. Our only welcome was the shrieking of some 
 half-starved water-fowl, that rose startled from the bulrushes 
 on our approach. Directing the servant to retire with the sleigh 
 to a convenient distance, and divesting ourselves of the furs, 
 by which the freedom of motion would have been disagreeably 
 impeded, we resolved to counteract the efFects of the cold by a 
 smart walk on the ice, till the arrival of my antagonist. 
 
 N
 
 194 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 He gave us little cause to complain of delay. The sun, which 
 rose the colour of copper, had showed but a small portion of his 
 disk above the tops of the distant forest, when Colonel Grimshawe 
 and his friend, attended by the fat and facetious surgeon of the 
 regiment, were seen rapidly approaching. They soon came up, 
 and having descended from the carriage, which immediately 
 withdrew, bows were mutually exchanged. 
 
 No verbal communication passed between Colonel Grimshawe 
 and myself. I observed him with deep, and, I confess, almost 
 fearful interest. There was nothing unusual in his expression, 
 but, as lie saluted me, the same detestable smile was on his counte- 
 nance, which I had observed on the preceding evening. In his 
 manner there was nothing of bravado. There was no air of 
 resolute determination put on for the occasion of display; but 
 the ease and graceful facility of his motions, betrayed to an 
 observant eve, that he had abated no jot of his usual confidence 
 ami self-possession. 
 
 While the seconds were engaged in measuring the distance 
 on the ice, and arranging the other necessary preliminaries, we 
 continued to walk apart. I will not attempt to deny that the 
 few minutes which thus elapsed were armed with awful terrors. 
 In what train of thought my mind was engaged during that 
 period of inaction, I cannot remember. It should have been 
 devoted to prayer— I hope it was so. Hut I know well, that when 
 the seconds approached, and requested us to take our ground, 
 my heart ceased to flutter, and I felt no longer that universal 
 quivering of the muscles, with which, but an instant before, my 
 frame was shaken. 
 
 We were to fire by signal. The weapons were placed in our 
 hands, and the seconds hastily retired. The stentorian voice of 
 
 the baron pronounced the word " Fire !" and we obeyed. Neither 
 fell. I looked on my adversary with eager interest, to observe 
 
 if inv -hot had taken ell'ect. It had evidently not done so. Colonel 
 
 Grimshawe stood in an easy and negligent attitude; and observing 
 my eyes were turned towards him, he addressed me laughingly 
 
 —"We have shown ourselves sad bunglers, Mr Thornton; but 
 1 hop.' we shall improve by practice." 
 
 I replied only by a how ; and the seconds having advanced 
 
 and supplied us with a fresh case of pistols, the signal was given, 
 and we again fired. 
 
 I instantly fell myself to be wounded, but did not fall. The 
 
 bullet had entered my thigh, a little below the hip-joint, and I 
 
 r< d hack a pace or two; more, perhaps from the novelty 
 
 of the lensation, than from any absolute necessity for such a 
 
 ion. The wound occasioned but little etl'usion of blood, 
 
 and in a moment, recovering my self-po session, I advanced
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIII. ] 95 
 
 and stood again upon my ground. My friend, the Baron, was 
 immediately by my side, making kind and anxious enquiries 
 into the nature of my wound ; and the jolly Doctor, who had 
 remained at a short distance, on a spot conveniently situated for 
 not seeing what was passing, next came up, armed with a tour- 
 niquet, which, as a measure of precaution, he recommended 
 instantly to be applied. 
 
 I did not, however, think proper to subject myself to the imme- 
 diate exercise of his skill, but requesting him for the present to 
 retire, I informed the seconds that I was ready to go on, and 
 requested that fresh pistols might be furnished. Colonel Grim- 
 shawe immediately stated that he was already satisfied, and felt 
 no desire that the affair should be carried further. " Gentle- 
 men," I answered, " it gives me pleasure to learn that Colonel 
 Grimshawe is satisfied ; but / am not satisfied. In an interview 
 with which he lately honoured me, Colonel Grimshawe thought 
 proper to question the truth of some explanatory statements 
 which I felt called on to make, relative to the circumstances 
 which gave occasion to the present meeting. I insist that, with 
 regard to this matter, we come to an issue on the spot. I insist 
 that Colonel Grimshawe shall retract the imputation he was 
 pleased to cast, not only on the truth of my statements, but on 
 my motives in making them, or that the present meeting shall 
 not terminate here." 
 
 Colonel Grimshawe addressed the seconds — " Gentlemen, I 
 join Mr Thornton in requesting that we may be immediately 
 furnished with arms, since it appears our differences are not yet 
 entirely adjusted." 
 
 On this appeal the seconds held consultation together, and 
 were evidently inclined to demur to the desire expressed by the 
 combatants of protracting their hostility. A few words, how- 
 ever, which passed in a whisper between Colonel Grimshawe 
 and his friend, had apparently the effect of changing their oppo- 
 sition, and pistols were again placed in our hands. 
 
 The signal was once more given, and I instantly fired. Had 
 I followed the Baron's advice, and levelled my pistol an inch 
 lower, Colonel Grimshawe would have probably finished his 
 mortal career on the spot. The bullet struck his hat, and 
 knocked it off. When he felt himself bareheaded, he smiled, 
 and nodding to me familiarly, exclaimed, " A good shot !" then 
 raising his pistol deliberately, he fired in the air. He then threw 
 it from him, and advanced towards me. I raised my hat as he 
 approached. 
 
 " Mr Thornton," said he, extending his hand, "you have de- 
 prived me of the means of returning your salute. Whatever, in 
 tiie heat and irritation of our late conversation, may have occur-
 
 19G CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 red unpleasant to your feelings, I am most happy, in the pre- 
 sence of these gentlemen, our mutual friends, to retract. There 
 is no one of whose honour I entertain a higher opinion. I trust 
 your wound will turn out neither dangerous nor severe. Let 
 me entreat you will no longer delay to receive surgical assist- 
 ance." 
 
 After this amende honorable, the more gratifying from the 
 character of the person who made it, I could no longer refuse the 
 proffered hand of Colonel Grimshawe ; and the seconds having 
 declared the affair terminated in a manner honourahle to both 
 parties, I submitted my wound to such examination and treat- 
 ment as the doctor judged immediately necessary. The sleighs 
 were then sent for, and having mounted — though, from the 
 increasing stiffness of my limb, not without difficulty — the par- 
 ties, no longer adverse, returned separately to the town. 
 
 My wound occasioned much suffering and tedious confinement. 
 But it was borne patiently, and accompanied by no depression 
 of spirits. When I remembered the severity of the ordeal through 
 which 1 bad passed, I felt a sensation of pride and self-respect, 
 to which I had before been unaccustomed. My character pos- 
 1 none of that apathy to danger, miscalled constitutional 
 courage. No man breathing loved life better, or feared to lose 
 it more. Death could not he more terrible than it was in my 
 eyes, yet I had met it with a courageous front. My weapon of 
 conquest bad been love of honour, not insensibility to danger. 
 In my own eyes, I seemed a perfect Bayard, a chevalier sans peur 
 et -suns reproche. These, at least, were harmless fantasies, and 
 they were happy ones. Why should they be sneered at by the 
 philosopher, or censured by the moralist ? 
 
 1 bad to undergo a painful operation for extracting the ball. 
 My worthy friend Holford had too much sympathy for the pain 
 be inflicted — too Little of the butcher about him, to perform the 
 operation with dexterity. 1 begged him to resign the knife to 
 bis assistant, and he did so. From that hour I loved him. He 
 became endeared to me by the very pain bis awkwardness had 
 indicted ; and though I esteemed him less us a surgeon, I loved 
 him better as a. man. 
 
 1 fell deeply the kindness I experienced during my confinement 
 
 from my old brother officers of the . Stanhope and Popham, 
 
 i i particular, spent daily many hours by my couch. In fact, my 
 aber formed a Borl of Lounging-place for all the loquacious 
 and good-natured fellows of the regiment, who came running 
 thither with every morsel of news and tittle-tattle, which it was 
 possible for the imagination of idle men to devise or set afloat. 
 sometimes, indeed, I was not without suspicion, that pleasant 
 libels, and tales of facetious scandal, were frequently fabricated
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIII. 197 
 
 by my visiters for my express enjoyment and behoof. It might 
 be so, but no one questioned their authenticity, and they won 
 their laugh and lived their hour. 
 
 Colonel Grimshawe sent regularly to enquire for me, and fre- 
 quently called. His manner and his deportment towards me 
 had undergone no change. He was the same delightful person 
 that in private society I had ever found him. It is meting him, 
 indeed, but simple justice to state, that his nature was not given 
 to cherish petty malice. Those whom he disliked, he neither 
 sought to circumvent nor to entrap. His resentments were never 
 treasured in darkness, to explode beneath the feet of some uncon- 
 scious and sleeping victim. They were displayed in the broad 
 sunlight— the lowering of the sky gave sufficient indication of 
 the coming storm, and I always felt that there was something 
 about him at once attractive and repulsive. He was not — he 
 never could be, to me a friend ; yet to have been compelled to 
 regard him as an enemy, would have been matter of deep and 
 enduring regret. 
 
 During the confinement consequent on my wound, I heard 
 but few and vague particulars regarding Miss Mansfield. She 
 was a person to whom I should have felt gratified in being abk> 
 to render any service ; for her story, and the deep flow of natural 
 emotion which accompanied its narration, had powerfully inte- 
 rested the better feelings of my nature in her behalf. She was 
 indeed a wanderer from the paths of virtue ; and though, by the 
 unbending rules of society, such a person may be held an out- 
 cast on earth, we know that there is more joy in heaven over 
 one repentant sinner, than over ninety and nine of those whose 
 unswerving, and perhaps untempted virtue, has held on its way 
 victorious and rejoicing. Man knew her error ; but God, who 
 can read the heart, alone knew the strength of the preceding 
 temptation, the depth and sincerity of that penitence with which 
 it was afterwards deplored. 
 
 I learned, that on hearing the issue of the duel, she had been 
 thrown into an agitation almost amounting to insanity, and that 
 with feelings of deep self-reproach she accused herself as its 
 cause. In a few days, intelligence was brought me that she had 
 sailed for England. Delicacy prevented my enquiring any par- 
 ticulars concerning her from Colonel Grimshawe, and that officer 
 appeared on all occasions studiously to avoid allusions to her 
 name. The whist parties at his house proceeded as usual, and 
 the blank left by Miss Mansfield, if casually observed, was soon 
 forgotten. 
 
 It was a fortunate circumstance, that an officer of my own 
 
 rank in the , was desirous, from peculiar circumstances, of 
 
 exchanging into another regiment. To me, this seemed to afford
 
 198 CJ 1UL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 a golden opportunity. I panted for nothing more ardently than 
 to become a denizen of my former corps, and be again restored 
 to those messmates and companions with whom 1 had already 
 spent many happy days. Yet I feared I should find in Colonel 
 Grimshawe an insuperable bar to the gratification of my wishes. 
 It could not, I imagined, be pleasant, to one wielding as he did 
 the despotic plenitude of military authority — that his eye should 
 daily encounter one, whom he had suspected at least, of having 
 done him grievous wrong, and who was publicly known to have 
 confronted him in the field. 
 
 In this, however, I was mistaken. Colonel Grimshawe had 
 too much confidence in himself and was too conscious of his 
 own power of commanding deference and submission, to be 
 swayed by such motives. He had learned from some of my 
 brother officers the desire I entertained of returning to the regi- 
 ment, and voluntarily took occasion to inform me, that so far from 
 opposing such a step on my part, be would feel the greatest plea- 
 sure in promoting my views. 
 
 Every obstacle being thus removed, I lost no time in conclud- 
 ing the arrangement. The necessary documents, strongly 
 backed by Colonel Grimshawe, were forwarded to England ; 
 and before, by the re-establishment of my health, I was again 
 lit fur duty, my appointment had appeared in the Gazette, and 
 1 w as once more restored to the , in the character of lieu- 
 tenant. 
 
 After my reappointment, the regiment did not long remain 
 in America, Towards the end of spring we were ordered to 
 
 Gibraltar. The regiment arrived to relieve us, and we 
 
 embarked in the transports which had brought them to America. 
 In a few days we sailed. Twilight was on the waters, when, 
 having emerged with a fair breeze from the bay, we found our- 
 selvea on tin' open bosom of the Atlantic. Willi a feeling 
 
 Bomewhat allied to regret, 1 watched the land till it disappeared 
 in the darkness. In the morning it was no longer visible. 
 
 Our convoy consisted of the Hyperion and Cyrene, and the 
 fleet, which had been joined by many merchant vessels, amounted 
 in all to about thirty Bail. We did nol take the direct course to 
 tiic' ultimate point of our destination. A detachment of the 
 regiment was stationed in the Bermuda islands, and it was of 
 course accessary that we should call there to receive them. 
 That this interruption to our voyage might be as short as possi- 
 ble, orders had previously been sent, directing them to be in 
 readiness for instant embarkation, and it was nol the intention 
 of the Commodore to have anchored. But one of the hurri- 
 canes tu which that portion of the Atlantic is peculiarly liable, 
 came on, and the transport in which 1 sailed, and several other
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIII. 199 
 
 ships of the fleet, were so severely damaged, as to require con- 
 siderable repairs before they could with safety proceed on their 
 voyage. All of us suffered severely from the storm. I am not 
 sailor enough to describe either its grandeur or its terrors. The 
 ship staggered like a drunken man, and I saw the foretopsail, 
 the only canvass we carried, rent in shivers from the mast, and 
 floating far away upon the wind. This, at least to a landsman, 
 was unpleasant ; but this was not all. A sea that apparently 
 might have overset a mountain, struck the stern of the vessel, 
 and carried away her helm. I shall never forget that moment. 
 Her timbers groaned from the violence of the concussion, she 
 reeled under the shock, and for a time was buffeted about, a 
 mere passive and inert mass upon the waters. Whether our 
 situation was really so perilous as it appeared, I know not. 
 But there were loud shrieks and wailing heard from the women 
 and children, and the fear of death fell with a withering chill 
 on the heart of the stoutest ; — 
 
 The boldest held his breath for a time. 
 
 The peril passed, however, and once more there were grateful 
 hearts and happy looks in the ship. The disappearance of the 
 danger made us almost smile at its consequences ; and though 
 not only our persons, but our bedding and baggage, were 
 drenched with water, these misfortunes were submitted to with- 
 out repining. 
 
 In such a plight did the sun go down on us ; and when he 
 rose, judge of our delight to find ourselves safely anchored in a 
 smooth and quiet cove of the Bermudas. Never was the eye of 
 the mariner greeted by a sight more beautiful. The little bay 
 in which we were anchored, lay embedded in a cluster of islands 
 covered with cedar-wood. White cottages rose here and there 
 on the sides of the hills, and on the lower ground were seen at 
 intervals, glimmering through the foliage of the trees. Close 
 to shore was the town of St George, which though, like most 
 towns, it loses much of its charm on a nearer approach, formed 
 an interesting feature in the landscape, when seen from the 
 anchorage. 
 
 The luxury of going ashore just after escaping from a tempest, 
 is great, and scarcely too dearly earned, even by the peril of 
 going to the bottom. At least I thought so at Bermuda. 
 Novelty and curiosity contributed to heighten our enjoyment. 
 The boats were instantly ordered to be lowered, and separating 
 into different parties, as inclination prompted, we set out to 
 explore the beauties of the surrounding scenery. 
 
 We asked no information, and took no guide, but wandered 
 onwards through the woods, skirting in our progress many calm
 
 200 CTRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 and lonely inleta of the sea, and resting, when tired, beneath 
 the shade of the lemon-trees, in some sequestered dell. 
 
 Peace seemed to brood over these happy islands. Nothing 1 
 can be imagined more brightly yet more serenely beautiful. 
 An European eye knows nothing of such verdure as it here 
 encounters, nothing of the splendour of shade and sunshine 
 which here blend together in the landscape. In the scenery of 
 the Bermuda Islands, there is nothing at all approaching to the 
 grand or magnificent : no lofty mountains, no frowning and 
 precipitous rocks, no sound of cataract, nor sight of mighty 
 river (lowing onwards in its majesty. It seems as if nature had 
 here delighted to cast aside her terrors, and appear only in her 
 smiles. 
 
 We spent the day in rambling through the woods, which are 
 intersected by footpaths. The heat was intense, but shaded by 
 the far-extending branches of the cedar-trees, and fanned occa- 
 sionally by a cool breeze from the sea, we did not feel it oppres- 
 sive. At evening we returned to the ship, and in the close and 
 sultry suffocation of the cabin, fancy reverted, in dreams, to 
 those scenes of pleasant beauty amid which we had so recently 
 wandered. 
 
 It was known that the repairs necessary for the ships would 
 occupy some time. We had nothing to do on board, and Stan- 
 hope, Popham, and myself, employed a fatigue party to erect 
 a hut in a spot of uncommon beauty. It was composed of 
 branches of trees, and impervious to sun and rain. Here we lived 
 during out sojourn at Bermuda, nor did we return on board till 
 the blue Peter was seen flying from the masthead of the Com- 
 modore, and the signal-gun for weighing anchor was fired. 
 
 My memory invests the period thus passed with a peculiar 
 charm, lis daj we spent our time in sailing about the islands, 
 or exploring new beauties through the neighbouring woods. 
 Often, too, when the heat rendered motion unpleasant, did we 
 lie i \i' nded on the fragrant greensward, and 
 
 r tin' shade "f melancholy boughs 
 Lose and n lect the creeping hours of time; 
 
 while Stanhope, with a taste and elegance I have never heard 
 equalled, rend aloud portions of Scotl or Shakspeare, the great 
 master-spirits of our national literature. 
 
 Among ill' e selections, I need scarcely say that the play of 
 "As you Like it" was one. The scene around us— our own 
 situation as voluntary tenants of the woods, gave extrinsic 
 piquancy to it< enchantment, and arrayed it in a charm never 
 destined to lade from the heart or fancy. A new page in the 
 beautiful volume of nature had been opened to our view; no
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 201 
 
 worldly cares oppressed our spirits, and gay and thoughtless as 
 ■we were, even we, 
 
 In this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 
 Found tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 
 Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 With easy course 
 The vessels glide, unless their speed be stopp'd 
 By dead calms, that oft lie on these smooth seas, 
 While every zephyr sleeps ; then the shrouds drop, 
 The downy feather on the cordage hung, 
 Moves not ; the flat sea shines like yellow gold, 
 Fused in the fire ; or like the marble floor 
 Of some old temple wide ; but where so wide, 
 In old or later time, its marble floor 
 Did ever temple boast as this, which here 
 Spreads its bright level many a league around ? 
 
 Dyer's Fleece. 
 
 We left Bermuda under different auspices than had marked 
 our arrival. There was a breeze, but so gentle as to cause no 
 ripple on the sea, which, bright and calm, reflected back the 
 blaze of the meridian sun like a vast mirror. The motion of 
 the ships, as they glided forth from their isle-girt haven, was 
 almost imperceptible ; and they held on their way in silence, 
 only broken at intervals by the musical cry of the sailors, or the 
 flapping of the sails, as the wind occasionally lost something of 
 its power. Nowhere is ocean so lucid and transparent as at 
 Bermuda ; and the glorious beauty by which, above all, nature 
 was encircled, had penetrated even to its depths. Far down 
 were distinctly visible vast rocks of coral, wreathed into innu- 
 merable lovely and fantastic shapes — now rising into lofty 
 mountains, now descending into vales, more beautiful than the 
 fabled Tempe — or spreading into forests never visited by ver- 
 dure. There were cities, too, in the depths, and towers, and 
 temples, and spires, and pinnacles, and pyramids which shall 
 endure when those of Egypt have been crumbled into dust. 
 
 On deck, the heat of the sun was almost overpowering. Yet 
 I could not quit gazing on the scene of entrancing beauty for 
 several hours. Towards evening the breeze freshened, and a 
 haze came on, by which all distant objects were obscured. To 
 me, thenceforward, the Bermuda Isles have been, and must 
 ever be, a dream, a memory.
 
 202 CYK1L THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Our voyage, though a tranquil, was a tedious one. For 
 weeks we lay in a dead calm, scarcely stirred but by the currents 
 of the ocean, which carried us still further from our destined 
 port. Sometimes, indeed, towards evening and at midnight, a 
 slight breathing of wind was perceptible, which, tired as we 
 were with the monotony of the life thus involuntarily imposed 
 on us, we watched with the alternating anxieties of hope and 
 fear, till towards morning it again died away, and the ship lay 
 hovering over her own beautiful image, almost motionless in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 Nothing can be conceived more tedious and insipid than our 
 life on board. The heat was so oppressive during the day, as 
 to render it almost impossible to remain on deck, even with the 
 protection of an awning ; and the cabin — no baker's oven could 
 be more close and sultry. The atmosphere seemed to have lost 
 all power of propulsion, and 
 
 Day after day, day after day. 
 
 w e stuck, qoi breath nor motion, 
 
 As idly as a painted ship 
 Upon a painted ocean. 
 
 In vain did we resort to all the usual and approved expedi- 
 ents for killing time on shipboard. We fished for sharks and 
 dolphin-, and tried to stimulate their appetite by every unheard 
 of variety of bait; but our lines lay idly in the water, and 
 neither .-hark nor dolphin condescended to indulge us even with 
 a nibble. Whist, backgammon, and piquet did much to support 
 us in these untoward circumstances; but even their infinite 
 variety was at Length Staled by repetition, and they were voted 
 
 dull and insipid. Doctor Johnson, 1 think, compares a ship to 
 
 a prison : had ours afforded a treadmill, I do believe we should 
 have become voluntary labourers from pure ennui. 
 
 The Influence of the time extended even to the sailors. In 
 such a situation the duties of the ship were nothing, and they 
 mighl be -ecu idly seated in groups on the deck, smoking, or 
 " spinning tough yarns," to astonish the admiring soldiers. Some 
 ascended to the main-top for the purpose of enjoying a quiet 
 sleep, unbroken bj the pranks or noise of their companions; 
 
 v. hile other-, more inu-ieal. were leaning lazily against the 
 tafferel, with arm- akimbo, Listening erectis auribus to Bongs 
 commemorative of Admiral Benbow and the exploits of the 
 Arethusa 
 
 Sucfa was our situation for upwards of a month after quitting 
 
 Bermuda, and a consequence of this unusual protraction of our 
 voyage was a deficiencj of water in many of the ships of the 
 
 fleet, which threatened SenOUS eon-etpieitees to the health of 
 
 those on board. The Commodore, therefore, judged it necessary
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 203 
 
 that we should put into some intermediate port for the supply 
 of our necessities, and issued fresh orders to the fleet, indicating 
 the island of Pal ma as the place of rendezvous, in case of 
 separation. 
 
 A breeze at length sprung up, and though not very favour- 
 able, it at least put a stop to that state of sluggish inaction by 
 which we had so long and so unpleasantly been spell-bound. 
 There was pleasure in the mere motion of the vessel ; and though 
 we sailed close-hauled to the wind, and made little actual pro- 
 gress, no music could be more grateful to our ears than the 
 splashing of the waves as the ship cut through them with her 
 prow. 
 
 Never shall I forget the delight with which, on a beautiful 
 evening, when smoking our cigars on deck, we saw the signal 
 of "Land visible a-head," displayed by the Commodore. A cry 
 of pleasure burst from every lip, and crowding up into the 
 shrouds, we endeavoured to ascertain, by the evidence of our 
 own senses, the truth of the intelligence. But it was in vain. 
 All around the verge of the horizon, the azure of the sky was 
 bright and unbroken, and night closed in before our eyes were 
 gratified with the view of our destined port. In our state of 
 excitement, it was impossible to sleep ; and on the following 
 morning, before the first gleam of approaching daylight had 
 dappled the east, we had all assembled on the deck. The sun 
 rose brightly on that morning, but we beheld him not. Not a ray 
 fell upon the waters for leagues around ; not a beam even kissed 
 the pendant that streamed above the high topgallant-mast of 
 the Commodore. An island rose before us, from which a moun- 
 tain, like a vast pyramid, was seen to stretch high up into the 
 air; and while its unclouded summit glowed resplendent in the 
 sunshine, we still sailed on, immersed in the mighty shadow 
 which it cast far out into the ocean. 
 
 The island to which we were approaching was Teneriffe. 
 The wind was unfavourable for Palma, and the Commodore, 
 without signifying his intention, had determined on making the 
 former the place of our temporary sojourn. 
 
 The appearance of Teneriffe, when seen from the sea, is not 
 prepossessing. To the eye it seems to consist of a congregation 
 of rocky and barren hills, many of them of very considerable 
 eminence, unadorned by any brightness of verdure. Our 
 approach to it was slow. The wind fell away as the sun neared 
 his meridian, and it was evening before we came to anchor in 
 the harbour of Santa Cruz. 
 
 On the following morning, the British Consul came on board 
 the Commodore, and was received with a salute. By his agency, 
 measures were instantly adopted for supplying our deficiency of
 
 204 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 water, and procuring such refreshments for the troops as were 
 afforded by the island. 
 
 At Santa Cruz, my companions and myself once more enjoyed 
 the luxury of treading on terra firma. The town is of con- 
 siderable extent, and with less appearance of poverty than 
 usually meets the eye in towns of equal population in England. 
 To us, indeed, it possessed a deep though extrinsic interest, in 
 being the spot where Nelson experienced the only failure which 
 marked his glorious career. It was not with vacant eye that 
 we gazed on the scene of this memorable conflict. The natives 
 pointed out to us the exact spot where, leading his gallant fol- 
 lowers, he had effected a landing in face of a powerful battery, 
 and captured it with the cutlass and bayonet. The attack then 
 extended to the town, and we saw where, from the windows and 
 terraced roofs of the houses, a deadly and destructive fire had 
 been poured on the assailants, and where he, under whose 
 auspices the "meteor flag" of England was yet destined vic- 
 toriously to brave both the battle and the breeze, was carried 
 off maimed, yet, even in defeat, glorious. 
 
 In the Cathedral Church, the colours which had been cap- 
 tured from our countrymen on that occasion, were hung up as 
 trophies of victory. They were shown to us with an excusable 
 pride. The Spanish flag was floating proudly over them, and 
 we turned hastily away from a sight, which we found it impos- 
 sible to muster resolution of the spirit to gaze on calmly. 
 
 As we wandered through the town, the fair Senoras peered 
 forth on us with dark bright eyes from casements and lattices, 
 and occasionally let fall a shower of myrtle or orange flowers on 
 our beads as we passed. The weather was too hot for prome- 
 nading, and few of the higher order of females were visible in 
 the street. Hut evening brought them to the Alameda in all 
 their bravery, intent on making brief and unprofitable contpiest 
 of the hearts of the intruders. 
 
 Till now I bad never enjoyed the opportunity of observing the 
 manners of a foreign people, nor obtained palpable experience 
 of those moral differences, which variance of religion, education, 
 and climate, cannot fail to stamp on the character both of indi- 
 viduals and communities. This my first Bpecimen was certainly 
 unfortunate. 1 hail then seen litiie of the world— 1 have now 
 
 seen more, and a considerable -1 may al st say, the principal 
 
 part of my life has been passed abroad ; but I do not remember 
 any when- to have witnessed a dissolution of manners so gross 
 and offensive, as in the island of Teneriffe. I wish not, however, 
 to be understood as applying a censure so broad and unqualified 
 
 to the bigher Classes of society in the island. In them 1 was 
 naturally struck, indeed, by a freedom of address, which my ex-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 205 
 
 perienee of foreign manners has since proved to be consistent 
 with the most perfect propriety of conduct and purity of thought. 
 But in a society where the inferior orders are so entirely de- 
 praved, it is impossible, I think, to presume that the gangrene 
 has not spread further. The different classes of a community 
 are " bound each to each by natural sympathy," and where there 
 is rottenness at the root of the tree, it would be folly to expect 
 that the sap and vigour of the higher branches can be unim- 
 paired by the decay. I am indeed quite ready to admit that 
 there is nothing more disgustingly intolerant than a young 
 Englishman sallying forth into the world, full of his own igno- 
 rance and John Bullism— judging of mankind by his own petty 
 and narrow notions of fitness and propriety — a mighty observer 
 of effects and disregarder of causes, and traversing continent and 
 ocean, at once blinded and shackled by the bigotry and preju- 
 dices of his own limited and imbecile intellect. Were it the ob- 
 ject of these volumes to furnish facts for the philosopher, or 
 knowledge to the student, I might, indeed, hesitate before I 
 ventured to pronounce a censure so sweeping and decided, on 
 the character of a people, from an intercourse so transient. 
 But I pretend to give, not facts but semblances — not an account 
 of things as they really existed, but as they appeared when re- 
 fracted and modified by the peculiarities of my own reasoning 
 and perceptive powers. 
 
 At Teneriffe the supply of water was limited, and our stay, on 
 that account, was necessarily prolonged. In the neighbourhood 
 of Santa Cruz the scenery is barren and uninteresting, and the 
 town presented little variety. Our time, from morn till noon, 
 from noon till dewy eve, hung heavy on our hands, and, without 
 a strong incentive, the heat was too great for exercise on shore. 
 In the evenings, indeed, we generally promenaded on the Ala- 
 meda, and lavished our most languishing looks and sweetest 
 smiles on the pale and dark-eyed beauties of the island. Then 
 came the Tertulia, a nightly assembly, open to every one with a 
 propensity for either gambling or dancing. There we generally 
 remained till midnight, and then returned to the ship. But this 
 was stupid enough ; and finding there was no prospect of the 
 fleet sailing in less than a week, a party was arranged, consisting 
 of our worthy doctor, Stanhope, Popham, and myself, to ascend, 
 or, at least, endeavour to ascend, the Peak. New vigour and 
 animation was at once infused into us by this project. The 
 giant cone of the Peak, which, after the first day, I had regarded 
 with little interest, now excited feelings of anxious expectation, 
 whenever I beheld it towering like a mighty king of earth and 
 ocean far up into the sky. 
 
 Though our excursion was easily decided on, there were consi-
 
 20G CYKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 derablcdifficultiestobeovercomein the preparatory arrangements. 
 We made enquiries for guide*, but there were none to be found; 
 for even those born within a league of the mountain lived from 
 infancy to old age without having ever been induced by the 
 promptings of curiosity to ascend from their native valley into 
 the region of barren grandeur above them. The distance to the 
 Peak was considerable, and as we could not afford to waste any 
 unnecessary time on our excursion, we were anxious to procure 
 animals for our conveyance. This, however, was by no means 
 easy. Neither horse nor mule was to be had for love or money, 
 and it was with extreme difficulty that we at length succeeded 
 in procuring a pair of camels (which are here not unusually 
 employed instead of oxen,) and an ass (or, as it is called in 
 Spanish, a bourico,) for our baggage, which, after dismissing 
 the former, we intended should accompany us in our ascent as 
 far as should be found practicable. We had the good fortune, 
 too, after being disappointed in all our enquiries, to meet with a 
 person who, we were assured, knew all the passes of the mountain, 
 and who, for a handsome reward, agreed to be our conductor. 
 
 These indispensable preliminaries being at length arranged, 
 the following morning at daybreak was fixed for our departure ; 
 and carrying with us a stock of provisions, which, on a moderate 
 calculation, might have lasted for a week, the first gleam of 
 dawn found us seated, with high spirits, in the ship's boat, and 
 rowing towards the shore. There we found our guide and the 
 animals destined for our conveyance waiting our arrival. A 
 long interval, however, intervened before we were fairly enroute. 
 The party consisted of four, of which two were allotted to each 
 camel, and the provender and baggage were placed on the 
 bourico. 
 
 In the idea of travelling on a camel there was something of 
 barbaric grandeur and Orientalism that gave a piquancy half 
 ludicrous and half imposing to the journey; and I gazed on the 
 two "ships of the desert," on board of which we were to embark, 
 with somewhat more of excitement than the fear of ridicule al- 
 lowed me to betray to my companions. Perhaps 1 may be 
 laughed at even now, when I confess that I never yet could look 
 on the face of a camel without feeling a tear rise up into my eye. 
 There IS something about it so subdued and melancholy — so sad 
 and so submissive— it looks so like a creature for which life has 
 no enjoyment, thai when the driver, with a curse and a blow of 
 hi* cudgel, made those in question kneel down for us to mount, 
 I did almost Involuntarily return his curse, and felt, inclined to 
 
 do B0 with the blow. 
 
 To mount, however, wflfl not a matter of a moment. There 
 
 was a packsaddle, but so hard as to afford to the equestrian (that
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 207 
 
 is not the word, but our language affords nothing nearer) hut an 
 uncomfortable and inconvenient seat. The doctor and Popham 
 were the first to take up their position. The former disliking the 
 packsaddle, adjusted his boat-cloak for a cushion, and seated him- 
 self on the posterior hump of the animal, with his feet resting on 
 the back, immediately behind Popham, whose little figure, from 
 the inconveniently wide divergence of his legs, looked not unlike 
 that of a diminutive Bacchus astride upon a tun. In vain did the 
 driver recommend the doctor to take his seat selon les regies, and 
 warn him of the insecurity of the position he had assumed ; the 
 doctor was obstinate, and lent a deaf ear to the voice of his pru- 
 dent monitor. The consequence to be expected followed. The 
 camel, in rising to his feet, gave a pretty violent jerk, for which 
 he was unprepared, and the follower of Galen paid the penalty of 
 his obduracy by being pitched from his position and laid sprawl- 
 ing in the dust. 
 
 The disaster of our worthy surgeon occasioned a considerable 
 derangement of our plans, for by no persuasion could he be in- 
 duced to make a second experiment in camelmanship, and it was 
 found necessary to remove the baggage from the bourico, and 
 allot to that animal the heavier, though more dignified task, of 
 carrying the practitioner of medicine. At length, after the de- 
 lay of more than an hour, our difficulties were finally overcome, 
 and in the fashion already described we journeyed on slowly to- 
 wards the Peak. 
 
 For my own part, I felt so uncomfortable in the novel mode of 
 conveyance by which we travelled, as to have very little attention 
 to bestow on the character and features of the country through 
 which we passed. I remember, however, that it was generally 
 hilly, bleak, and barren, interspersed here and there with valleys, 
 in which were the only specimens of verdure that met the eye. 
 The road, for almost the whole distance, was one continued 
 ascent, unless when crossing the valleys by which the hills over 
 which we passed were divided into almost parallel ridges. To- 
 wards evening the features of the scenery were materially 
 changed. The ridges of hills across which our route lay became 
 loftier and more steep, and instead of being bare and stony, like 
 those we had traversed in the early part of our march, were 
 covered to their summit with pinewood. We ascended several 
 of these before we halted for the night ; but our progress was 
 arrested by the appearance of one evidently too precipitous for 
 the ascent of the camels, and we therefore determined to pro- 
 ceed no further till the following morning. 
 
 I do not remember ever being more perfectly exhausted than 
 by that day's journey. The motion of a camel, when long con- 
 tinued, is painful and fatiguing to a degree which must be felt
 
 •208 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 to be adequately understood. His walk, for I can speak from 
 experience of no other pace, is entirely different from that of a 
 horse. In moving, he throws forward both legs on a side, by 
 which action he communicates a jerk to his rider sufficiently 
 unpleasant to prevent his for a moment imagining himself on a 
 bed of roses. 
 
 We halted for the night in a grove of pine-trees, and the pre- 
 paration of our encampment cost little trouble. Our guide soon 
 collected enough of the fallen branches which the wind had 
 broken from the pine-trees to supply us with fuel ; and in half 
 un hour we were seated, or rather extended, round a comfortable 
 fire. Tired as we all were, there was no flagging of our spirits, 
 and it was with strong hope of success in attaining the object 
 of our excursion, that after partaking of refreshment, and for- 
 tifying ourselves against the damps of the night air, by smoking 
 a cigar, we sank, wrapped in our boat-cloaks, into a profound 
 sleep. 
 
 \\'e started on the following morning by four o'clock. The 
 camels had been dismissed on the evening before ; but the ass, 
 with the panniers of provision, was still destined to be the com- 
 panion of our ascent. The first part of our day's journey lay 
 through such forests of pine as we had encountered on the even- 
 ing of the preceding day; but after a few hours we entered on 
 a region hare and desolate, and differing entirely in character 
 from any portion of the country we had yet traversed. The 
 earth was dry and calcined, bearing no marks of vegetation ; and 
 huge fragments of rock, which had evidently fallen from the 
 higher parts of the mountain, lay scattered up and down.. Here 
 the sun, which had already attained its meridian, beat on us 
 with overpowering fervour, and the sand on which we trode was 
 Bo hoi as In lie almost insupportable when touched by the hand. 
 In everal places, however, we encountered springs, which bub- 
 hied up from beneath clear as crystal, and which were cool and 
 pleasanl to the taste. Indeed, I know not whether, but for the 
 refreshmenl they afforded, the strength of any of the party 
 could have enabled him to surmount the difficulties of this 
 
 dreary region. 
 
 Daj had been many hours on the wane before any change in 
 the scene presented it-elf. tllOUgh I imagine on the whole we 
 had not advanced above a league; but every yard of our pro- 
 
 is laborious. The earth was so finely pulverized as to 
 give way beneath our feet, and from tins reason, by an ordinary 
 step, we Beldom gained mure (ban a few inches of actual advance. 
 
 The reflection of the sun, too, IV the heated sand, was painful 
 
 to a degree of which 1 have before or since found no example; 
 and the Leather of our shoes, which had become as hard and
 
 CYRIL THORNTON.— CHArTER XXIV. 209 
 
 inflexible as iron, galled our feet exceedingly, and added another 
 impediment to our progress. The large stones by which this 
 arid and dismal region was interspersed, became gradually more 
 numerous as we ascended, till at length the sand entirely dis- 
 appeared, and we crossed a considerable tract of dark-coloured 
 loose stones, covered with a sulphuric encrustation, which were 
 evidently debi-is from the huge gigantic masses that rose black 
 and frowning above. 
 
 At the foot of these rocks we again halted for the night. The 
 Doctor and Popham were both thoroughly knocked up with the 
 pain and fatigue of their day's journey, and on the following 
 morning declared their inability to proceed further. Neither 
 Stanhope nor myself were in a much better condition ; but 
 having advanced thus far, and endured thus much of fatigue 
 and suffering, we were unwilling to return, re infecta, to meet 
 the jokes and banter of our companions on shipboard. 
 
 We slept under a ledge of rock, which sheltered us from the 
 wind that blew with biting keenness from the north-east. The 
 coldness of the night, like the heat of the day, was extreme. 
 The fever which the latter had engendered during our burn- 
 ing ascent soon subsided, and was succeeded by a state of debility 
 and langour scarcely less distressing. Our pulses did not beat 
 but flutter ; and even this was so feeble as to be scarcely per- 
 ceptible to the touch. We suffered much, too, from giddiness 
 in the head, and an irritability of stomach, which made us 
 regard with extreme distaste the food necessary for the resto- 
 ration of our strength. At the great elevation to which we had 
 already attained, the rarity of the atmosphere was so great, that 
 at every inhalation it seemed to cut into the lungs like a sharp 
 instrument. 
 
 By a judicious exhibition, however, of brandy and cigars, the 
 pressure of these evils was somewhat lightened ; and having 
 made ourselves as comfortable for the night as circumstances 
 permitted, Stanhope and myself prepared on the following 
 morning to set forward on our journey. 
 
 It was settled that the guide should accompany us in what 
 still remained of the ascent, and that the bourico and the pan- 
 niers should remain till our return. By no argument could 
 Popham or the Doctor be induced to become partners of our 
 endeavour to reach a yet higher region than that to which, with 
 so much difficulty, we had already attained. Taking with them, 
 therefore, a stock of provisions sufficient for the supply of all 
 probable wants, they set out on their return to the ship. As 
 they commenced their descent, fatigued and dispirited, Stanhope 
 and myself, ascending a rock that jutted out somewhat more 
 prominently than those around it, gave them three cheers as a
 
 210 CTKIL THORNTON. CHArTER XXIV. 
 
 parting - salute, and then turning our faces towards the lofty cone 
 which we had still to surmount, commenced the difficult and 
 arduous task of climbing towards its summit. 
 
 The first and most serious obstacle that intercepted our 
 advance was the dark and precipitous rocks already mentioned, 
 at the foot of which we had passed the night. There was much 
 toil and danger in the ascent of these vast and almost perpen- 
 dicular barriers, and we had to search above an hour before we 
 could even discover a place in which the attempt could be made 
 with any prospect of success. Formidable as was the difficulty 
 which they presented, it was overcome ; and in safety, though 
 certainly not without peril, we reached the flat surface in which 
 they terminate. Here a change in the character of the scene 
 was again observable. Patches of vegetation were visible; and 
 at intervals a low shrub, which in leaf and character bore a 
 strong resemblance to the whortleberry, was occasionally seen. 
 1 remarked, also, a few specimens of a plant of somewhat larger 
 growth, which I took to be a species of juniper. 
 
 As we advanced, vegetation gradually died away, and we 
 again found ourselves on a tract of sand, resembling that which 
 we had crossed on the preceding da}', but considerably whiter in 
 colour. Through this, dark masses of rock occasionally pro- 
 truded themselves in fantastic shapes, as if forced upwards by 
 some volcanic action of the mountain. The heat of the sand in 
 this greater elevation was much less than that from which we 
 before SUffeTed so severely, (tut the insecurity of footing was not. 
 diminished, and the difficulties of our progress were enhanced 
 by the increased lightness and pungency of the atmosphere. 
 
 We were animated to renewed exertions, however, by obser- 
 ving that we now approached the cone or topmost peak of the 
 mountain, which did not, in its apparent elevation, threaten any 
 \i ry serious difficulties in the part of our task which yet 
 remained unperformed. After an hour, therefore, devoted to 
 resl and refreshment, we recommenced our Labours, and ascended 
 the side of the cone with greater facility than we had found in 
 surmounting any portion of our previous journey. Our footing 
 was linn and steady, for there was in that elevated region but 
 
 Little earth, except where, by some projection of the rock, it was 
 prevented from being swept downwards by the action of the 
 
 elelll' I 
 
 >..■■ advanced, Large fissures in the mountain occasionally 
 nted themselves, from which issued a hot and sulphureous 
 smoke, which, when attempted to lie inhaled, produced an over- 
 powering Bensatioa of giddiness and suffocation. Ii was not till 
 t ■ bad advanced within balf-a-mile of the summit, thai we met 
 with any traces id' snow, and then only in occasional dec])
 
 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 211 
 
 hollows of the rocks on the northern face of the cone, which 
 betrayed, I imagined, fewer marks of volcanic action than were 
 discernible on the other sides. 
 
 It was precisely at seventeen minutes to four o'clock, (I find 
 the hour carefully noted in my memorandum-book,) that we 
 reached the summit of this celebrated mountain ; and looking 
 back with something of pride and self-respect, to the difficulties 
 we had surmounted, we waved our hats triumphantly in the air, 
 and congratulated ourselves on being probably at that moment 
 the most exalted personages on the Globe. The wind, which 
 had been violent, and from which we bad suffered considerably 
 on our ascent, had by degrees died away ; and before we reached 
 the apex of the cone, the air was so calm, that a feather might 
 have lain unmoved upon its airiest pinnacle. On all sides the 
 sky, from verge to centre, was unclouded, and the wide pro- 
 spect beneath, found its only limit in the feebleness of human 
 vision. 
 
 For a while we were all eye. As an eagle from his eyrie, did 
 we gaze upon that earth, of which we scarcely at that moment 
 felt ourselves to be denizens. Its hopes, its fears, and its ambi- 
 tions, what were they to us, when, like twin " giants of the 
 western star," we looked proudly downward from our " throne 
 of clouds o'er half the world ! " 
 
 The view from the summit of the Peak was certainly fine, 
 though I believe our own enthusiasm lent it much of its charms. 
 Immediately beneath Teneriffe— its barren and its wooded hills 
 — its green and fertile valleys — its towns — Laguna, Oratava, and 
 Santa Cruz, lay stretched out before us like a map. Then the 
 wide expanse of ocean that extended on all sides — the islands of 
 Palma, Canaria, and Gomera, studding its bosom like gems — the 
 fleet that lay at anchor in the bay — the ship in which, through 
 storm and calm, we had been safely wafted thus far through the 
 world of waters — on all these things did we gaze long and silently, 
 and with pleasure, perhaps heightened by the remembrance of 
 the dangers and difficulties by which it had been earned. 
 
 Our pleasurable sensations were indeed materially diminished, 
 by a continual steam of hot and mephitic vapour which rose from 
 the mountain, and occasioned, besides being generally disagree- 
 able, great irritation in our organs of smell and vision. This 
 exhalation seemed to pervade the atmosphere of every part of the 
 summit ; but whether this is generally the case, or whether it 
 was merely owing to the perfect stillness of the air during our 
 visit, we of course had no means of ascertaining. 
 
 The object, however, that principally occupied our attention, 
 during our sojourn on the Peak, was a huge crater, or, as it is 
 designated by the natives, Caldera, whose diameter at the surface
 
 212 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 we calculated to be about two hundred yards. This vast volcanic 
 caldron is in form circular, and descends to a great depth in 
 the mountain, the sides sloping inwards like those of an inverted 
 cone, and covered with a coating of loose stones, with which there 
 is perceptibly a large admixture of sulphur. During our stay 
 we observed no emission of smoke from the crater, but the air 
 and vapour which rose from it was so hot and sulphureous as to 
 occasion a strong feeling of suffocation when inhaled into the 
 lungs, and the stones, even at the edge, were burning to the 
 touch. 
 
 Under all these circumstances, however, we attempted to 
 gratify our curiosity by a descent ; but the difficulty of secure 
 footing, the danger of being precipitated downwards involun- 
 tarily by the sliding of the stones, and the instinctive conviction 
 that life could not be supported under any increased impurity of 
 the atmosphere, prevented our persevering in an experiment so 
 full of hazard. Altogether, I think, we remained on the summit 
 of tin' Peak about an hour, and having minutely examined all 
 that to our unphilosophical eyes appeared worthy of examination, 
 we made preparation for our return to a lower region. 
 
 In our descent we followed a route somewhat different from 
 that by which we had ascended, and in an hour or two safely 
 reached the spot, where in the morning we had left the bonrico 
 and the baggage. In this portion of our undertaking there were 
 but few obstacles, and these comparatively trifling, to impede 
 our progress. On coming to the tracts of sand which we had 
 found so much difficulty in ascending, we had only to seat our- 
 selves at the top to be speedily conveyed without effort to the 
 bottom — a mode of travelling at once easy and primitive. 
 
 We rested for the night on the same spot where we had slept 
 the preceding one, and again suffered severely from the extreme 
 coldness of the night air. Betimes, we were again on our jour- 
 ney, and before the increasing heat had become oppressive, we 
 reached a cottage, where, being supplied by its hospitable owner 
 with abundance of goat's milk, we, with the aid of our own 
 panniers, conl rived to make a pretty comfortable breakfast. The 
 
 fatigue we bad Undergone during the last three days was exces- 
 
 sive, and at the conclusion of • meal, jaded, and almost worn 
 
 OUt, we cast Ourselves OH the ground, and slept till evening, when 
 
 we recommenced our travel. The camels were gone; but had 
 that mode of conveyance been within my option, I should infi- 
 nitely have preferred walking. All nighl we were on the road, 
 
 And about eleven o'eloek on the following morning, we had the 
 
 satisfaction once more of safely rejoining our companions in the 
 ship. 
 
 Not with our return, however, did our Bufferings cease. Our
 
 CTKIL THORNTON. CHATTER XXV. 213 
 
 faces were literally flayed, and our feet were so much blistered 
 and inflamed, as to render us quite unable to walk for several 
 days. Of Teneriffe I saw no more, for the fleet sailed before I 
 was sufficiently recovered to go ashore. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 I am a soldier, and my craft demands 
 That whereso duty calls within earth's compass> 
 Or the unmeasured scope of fathomless ocean, 
 I do forthwith obey. 
 
 Hydatpes. 
 
 When we quitted our anchorage at Teneriffe, the wind, though 
 it could scarcely be called fair, was such as to enable us, when 
 close-hauled, to lie our course. For the first seven days of our 
 voyage we saw no land. On the eighth we were close under 
 the northern coast of Africa, running pleasantly along, at about 
 the distance of a gun-shot from the shore. On the following 
 morning we were in the Straits, with wind and current in our 
 favour — Mount Atlas full in view, and the rock of Gibraltar 
 looming in the extreme distance. It was about noon, that, 
 having entered the beautiful but insecure bay which forms 
 the only harbour of that fortress, the sound of the dropping 
 anchor gave notice, that all the perils of our voyage were at 
 length past. 
 
 Nothing, I think, can be more magnificently beautiful than 
 Gibraltar, when seen from the sea. The rock itself, dark, grain!, 
 and imposing, marking its fine outline on the upper sky — the 
 huge craggy precipices, to which even the mountain-goat would 
 fear to climb — the spots of sunny greenery, brighter by contrast 
 with the barren rocks by which they are encircled — the houses 
 embowered amid almond-trees and acacias, scattered over the 
 mountain-side, and peeping forth in tranquil beauty from the 
 summits of frowning cliffs, on the scene of wild grandeur out- 
 spread above, beneath, and around them — these surely were 
 features of surpassing beauty. But there were yet others. The 
 high and massive walls, that rise from the sea, bristling with 
 cannon, and beating back the roaring waves that break in harm- 
 less thunder on their base — the town, that stretches out along 
 the narrow level and the lower slopes of the hill — not beautiful 
 certainly, but with something about it of picturesque when 
 viewed from a distance — the chambers hewn in the stupendous
 
 214 CYRIL THORNTON — CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 perpendicular rock, that commands the landward approach, as 
 it' the very mountain would launch forth its thunders, and pour 
 down destruction on its assailants — add to all this the associa- 
 tions of siege and battle with which its history — nay, its very 
 name, is indissolubly linked — remember that it is the prize for 
 which kings have striven, and thousands — tens of thousands, bled 
 on land and ocean, and you will gaze on Gibraltar, as I did, with 
 admiration, blended, perhaps, with thoughts of higher cast and 
 deeper birth. 
 
 We were soon visited by the Pratique Master, who judged 
 quarantine to be unnecessary, and Colonel Grimshawe went 
 immediately ashore to report our arrival to the governor. On 
 the following morning we landed, and were put in possession of 
 very small and inconvenient barracks in tho town. Our quarters 
 were bad ; the apartments dark, dingy, and detestable, and sur- 
 rounded on all sides by the unhealthy atmosphere of a crowded 
 and uncleanly population. 
 
 I know of no town in which so great a multitude of living- 
 beings are congregated within such narrow limits, as in Gibral- 
 tar. In the discordant elements of which it was composed, I 
 found new matter of interest and observation. There, Turks, 
 .lews, and Christians, men of all climates and all religions, were 
 mingled in one heterogeneous mass — led by one motive — bound 
 but by one link, and animated by the pursuit of one object. In 
 a society thus collected, there was not, and there could scarcely 
 be expected, any general amalgamation of manners. There was 
 not, and could not be, any common point of social union, beyond 
 that arising from casual and temporary proximity, among people 
 differing so widely in every thing of thought and action, prin- 
 ciple and observance. 
 
 Each nation, in fact, formed a separate society within itself. 
 Englishmen consorted with Englishmen, and talked politics over 
 Port and .Madeira : the Greek, with his richly embroidered 
 jacket and purple cap, and loosely flowing capote, daily met 
 (neck, without encountering " the tug of war:" the Moor, from 
 the neighbouring coast of Barbary, delighted to waste his leisure 
 hours in smoking and drinking Sherbet in a coterie of kindred 
 barbarians : and the .lews, who constituted not the least nume- 
 rous, ami certainly the wealthiest, part of the population, per- 
 mitted neither Christian nor Mahomedan to become partners of 
 their BOCia] communion. To all of these, there was hut one rai- 
 ls in.; point— the Exchange. There men, of every shade of faith 
 and colour, united in one common worship, and bent the knee 
 to Mammon. 
 
 In such a population as I have described, there was of course 
 much to interest one whose curiosity like mine was unsated, and
 
 CYRLL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXV. 215 
 
 to whom that foreign world on which he had so recently entered 
 Avas yet new. Gibraltar seemed a sort of Parliament in which 
 every nation had its representative ; and precluded as I then 
 was, both by my profession and the political state of Europe, 
 from enjoying the advantages of foreign travel, I rejoiced in the 
 means thus afforded of becoming acquainted with the manners 
 and observances of many countries, which I knew it to be more 
 than improbable that I should ever visit. 
 
 Gibraltar is a good school for a young soldier. There I was 
 initiated into all the disagreeable arcana of the garrison duty of 
 an extensive and important fortress. Nothing could exceed the 
 strictness with which even the minutest statutory regulation was 
 enforced, nor the severity with which any breach of duty, how- 
 ever slight, was sure to be visited. At the period of our arrival 
 the garrison was below its usual complement, and consisted 
 only of three regiments. From this cause, the duty was more 
 than usually severe. Every day, at least half the officers of the 
 regiment were either on garrison or regimental duty, and the 
 daily absence of so many of its members impaired, if it did not 
 destroy, the usual spirit and hilarity of the mess. 
 
 Before our arrival at Gibraltar, I had never mounted guard ; 
 but as my health was good, and I never missed a tour of duty, 
 before we left that garrison, few officers of my standing had 
 mounted so many. And weary work they were. To be cut off 
 for a day — a livelong day, from all society, with no engrossing 
 subject to interest or occupy the thoughts — to become a sort of 
 involuntary Robinson Crusoe for one-half of every week, was, 
 to any one of my age and naturally high spirits, a penance of no 
 ordinary magnitude. I remember now the dull and heavy spirit 
 of disgust with which I used to read my name when it appeared 
 in orders for guard. The very names of these guards are to this 
 hour imprinted on my memory, linked as of yore with all their 
 weary associations of monotonous dulness. There was the Mole 
 and the Ragged Staff, and the Land-Port, and the Water- Port, 
 and the Queen's Lines, and Bayside, and Europa Point, and 
 Europa Advance, and others which I hold at this moment at my 
 pen's point, though I restrain my fingers. I declare, there is 
 not a chair, or a table, or wooden tressel, in any one of the num- 
 ber, no scrap of writing on the wall or the window-panes, no 
 break in the plaster, or fissure in the earthen floor — in these 
 guard-rooms, that I could not recall at this moment, in its own 
 individual form, lineament, and pressure. 
 
 Gibraltar, however, possessed one advantage, of which few 
 other garrisons can boast. There was an excellent library for 
 the use of the officers, to the full benefit of which they were 
 entitled by a trifling subscription. It contained, even at that
 
 218 CYUII. THORNTON CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 period, many thousand volumes, and, in truth, constituted a very 
 complete collection of British literature. Of the advantages it 
 afforded I did not fail to proht ; and in the state of isolation 
 from society in which I was placed hy each rapid revolution of 
 the adjutant's roster, my enforced solitude came like the toad, 
 ugly and venomous ; yet not, perhaps, without a jewel in its 
 bead. 
 
 It is impossible for me to recur to the period of my sojourn in 
 Gibraltar, and yet to say nothing of the governor, General 
 O'Hara. His appearance, indeed, was of that striking cast, 
 which, when once seen, is not easily forgotten. General O'Hara 
 was the most perfect specimen I ever saw of the soldier and 
 courtier of the last age, and in his youth had fought with Granby 
 and Ligonicr. One could have sworn to it by his air and look 
 — nay, by the very cut of his coat — the double row of sausage- 
 curls that projected on either flank of his toupee — or the fashion 
 of the huge military boots, which rivalled in size, but far out- 
 shone in lustre, those of a Dutch fisherman or French postilion. 
 Never had he changed for a more modern covering the Keven- 
 huller hat which had been the fashion of his youth. There it 
 was, in shape precisely that of an equilateral triangle, placed with 
 mathematical precision on the head, somewhat elevated behind, 
 and sloping in an unvarying angle downwards to the eyes, sur- 
 mounted by a long stiff feather rising from a large rosette of 
 black riband on the dexter side. This was the last of the 
 Kevenhullers ; it died, and was buried with the Governor, for no 
 | i cimen lias since been discovered, and the Kevenhuller hat, 
 like the Mammoth and the Mastodon, has become extinct for 
 i' cr. 
 
 Notwithstanding the strictness of the discipline which he 
 scrupulously enforced in the garrison which he commanded, no 
 officer could he more universally popular than General O'Hara. 
 In person he had been — and, though somewhat bent by years, 
 even then Was remarkably handsome. 1 lis life had been divided 
 
 between the camp and the court, and be had been distinguished 
 
 in both. lie was ;i bachelor, and had always been noted as a 
 
 ■ ,i\ man : too gay a man, perhaps, to have ever thought of nar- 
 rowing his liberty by the imposition of the trammels of wedlock. 
 General O'Hara bad always moved in the very highest circles 
 of Bocieh at home; and, notwithstanding an office of consider- 
 able emolument which, I believe, he held in the Royal Household, 
 had dissipated his private fortune, ami become deeply involved 
 
 in his circumstances. It was this cause alone which had induced 
 him, late in life, to suhmij to the banishment — peculiarly dis- 
 agreeable to a man of his habits — attached to the acceptance of 
 
 the chief command at Gibraltar.
 
 CYRUO THORNTON. CHAPTER XXV. 217 
 
 The General was a bon vivant, an unrivalled boon companion, 
 one to whom society was as necessary as the air he breathed. 
 He never dined alone, and his hospitality was extended to every 
 rank of the officers in the garrison. In his own house, and, 
 above all, at his own table, he delighted to cast off all distinction 
 of rank, and to associate, on terms of perfect equality, with 
 even the humblest of his guests. The honours of the table 
 were done by his staff, and the General was in nothing distin- 
 guished from those around him, except by being undoubtedly 
 the gayest and most agreeable person in the company. 
 
 It was impossible that one, who had spent a long life in the 
 highest and most distinguished circles of society in England, 
 should be unfurnished with an abundant store of interesting and 
 amusing anecdote ; and, in truth, anecdote telling was at once 
 his forte and his foible. His forte, because he did it well — his 
 foible, for, sooth to say, he was sometimes given to carry it into 
 something of excess. He would entertain his guests by the hour, 
 with the scandalous tittle-tattle which had been circulated at 
 court or the club-houses some thirty years before, and did more 
 than hint at his own bonnes fortunes among the celebrated beau- 
 ties of the British court, and the Bona-Robas of France, Italy, 
 and Spain. He sang too — and beautifully. I have seldom 
 heard a finer voice, or one more skilfully managed. 
 
 Such was General O'Hara, or, as he was more commonly 
 designated, the " Old Cock of the Rock ; " and no man certainly 
 could be more respected for his rigid yet lenient (for these epi- 
 thets are far from incompatible) discharge of his military duties, 
 or more beloved for his engaging qualities as a social companion. 
 For myself, during my sojourn in Gibraltar, I was much in- 
 debted to his kindness. The General had been intimately 
 acquainted with my grandfather, who had passed his life in the 
 unprofitable pursuit of court favour. My father he had likewise 
 known in the blossom of his early prosperity, which, alas ! was 
 never destined to ripen into fruit. He spoke of both kindly, 
 gave me a general invitation to his table, and was lavish of 
 those petty attentions which cost little to the giver, but which, 
 coming from a person of his station and dignity, are always felt 
 to be flattering by one so far his inferior in age and rank. 
 
 Having said thus much of General O'Hara, I would yet say 
 something more, and tell the reader that, before we quitted Gib- 
 raltar, he died. There was no hypocrisy in the heavy looks of 
 the soldiers, as they followed his" remains to their last earthly 
 tenement. He was, of course, buried with all the military 
 honours due to his high rank. I had never before seen the 
 funeral of a general officer. There was his horse — the well- 
 known charger on which we had all so often seen him mounted
 
 218 CYKIL THORNTON'. CIIArTER XXV. 
 
 — bearing the boots and spurs of his departed master; on the 
 coffin, likewise, lay other mournful insignia — the sword, the sash, 
 and — not the least prominent memorial in the group — the 
 Kevenhuller bat and its tall unbending feather. There I gazed 
 on it for the last time. 
 
 The ceremony was altogether very impressive. The troops 
 marched slowly with arms reversed; the report of minute guns 
 was heard fnmi the bastion, and the colours were displayed 
 half-mast high by all the ships in the bay. When the body had 
 been consigned to the vault, and the service was concluded, loud 
 and successive peals of artillery were heard to reverberate from 
 rock to ocean— the anthem best fitted to grace the obsequies of 
 a gallant soldier. 
 
 It is not — or at least was not — the fashion in Gibraltar, for 
 the military to maintain much intercourse with the mercantile 
 part of the population. From the character of the place as an 
 important military fortress, it was necessary that the latter 
 should he in a degree subject to military regulation, and submit 
 to certain restrictions on their freedom, both of action and 
 motion, which could not fail to prove occasionally galling and 
 unpleasant. It therefore frequently happened, that an officer, 
 in the discharge of his duty, was brought into very disagreeable 
 collision with the inhabitants of the town. No civilian, for 
 instance, alter dark, was allowed to approach any sentinel, or 
 military post, without a lantern, and any person infringing this 
 order was liable to be seized and conveyed a prisoner to the 
 nearest guard-house. The alternative in question frequently 
 happened : and the roughness of treatment which the inhabi- 
 tant-. Bometimes experienced from the soldiers, created a degree 
 of enmity, which even the subsequent civility of the officer, in 
 case which was not always — he was in the humour to be civil, 
 did not uniformly prove successful in appeasing. 
 
 I remember being on guard, when a whole party of ladies and 
 gentlemen were apprehended on their return from a ball, and 
 brought prisoners before me. Loud and indignant were they in 
 their invectives against the rude and tyrannical regulations, by 
 which they had heen subjected to so unpleasant a procedure, 
 and most nappy was I to regain the solitude of my guard-room, 
 tiding home the vociferous and irate party under charge of 
 a corporal, to prevent their encountering any further obstruction 
 on their route. 
 
 Such causes will naturally account for the little intercourse, 
 
 and the no little dislike, which existed between the military and 
 
 the English Oppidans of the place. With foreigners the case 
 
 different. They came without the same proud feelings of 
 
 liberty which animated our countrymen, and they knew from
 
 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XXV. 219 
 
 experience, that the strictness of observance required in Gib- 
 raltar was little, if at all, more severe than that enforced in every 
 garrison town. Our intercourse with them, therefore, was im- 
 peded by fewer obstacles, and I still enjoyed the advantage of 
 gleaning, from intelligent foreigners, such information as they 
 could afford. 
 
 As I write, a name long forgotten has started to my lips, and 
 fain would flow from my pen. Hamet Sherkin ! Honest Hamet ! 
 The clouds of oblivion in which thy name and memory have so 
 long been shrouded, fade again from around thee, and I once more 
 behold thee in thy pristine and well-known lineaments. There, 
 right opposite, is thy pleasant, bearded, and mahogany-coloured 
 visage, gazing on me from beneath thy turban of white muslin, 
 and surmounting thy tall brawny figure, clad in a tastefully 
 embroidered jacket of purple, waistcoat of bright scarlet velvet, 
 and thy lower man buried in white calico trowsers of superhuman 
 dimensions, which suddenly collapse, and terminate at the knee. 
 Lower still are thy legs — and such legs ! Most sinewy and her- 
 culean supporters were they of thy robust frame, modelled in fine 
 proportion, and shining forth, undegraded by a stocking, in their 
 native complexion, something between copper colour and nan- 
 keen. Such do I see thee even now. Whether thou still livest, 
 or the grave has closed over thee, I know not ; but as the last 
 act of kind and friendly remembrance, I would embody thy 
 name and lineaments in these memoirs. Thou indeed wilt never 
 read them, and their memory may be as shortlived as thine 
 own. It matters not; even in this fragile record shalt thou 
 stand enrolled among my friends. 
 
 Hamet Sherkin was a Moor, born somewhere in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Algiers. He was a merchant, had traded to Bagdad 
 and Aleppo, and, with his fleet of " desert ships," had voyaged 
 to " Ormus and Tydore." By his speculations he had early in 
 life amassed a large fortune, with which he returned to his native 
 land. His wealth excited the cupidity of the emperor, who, on 
 pretence of some political offence, had issued summary orders 
 for his decapitation. Hamet had fortunately obtained some pre- 
 vious intelligence of these beneficent intentions of his gracious 
 master ; and though by flight he lost one-half of his worldly 
 substance, yet wisely judging that no economy could be judi- 
 cious which involved the loss of his head, he at once adopted the 
 alternative, however unpleasant, and succeeded in escaping on 
 board of an English man-of-war then cruising in the offing. 
 Thus banished from his native land, Hamet had become a sort 
 of citizen of the world, travelling and trafficking from shore to 
 shore, sojourning in all lands, affiliating in none. 
 
 The Moors are the only dealers in Gibraltar from whom you
 
 •220 CYRLL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 can depend on getting genuine Havannah cigars. It was in our 
 respective capacities of vender and purchaser of cigars that the 
 acquaintance of Hamet and myself had its commencement. It 
 struck mc there was something fair, open, and even generous in 
 his mode of dealing, very different from the fraudulent extortion 
 which his countrymen generally display in their transactions 
 with foreigners. There was, too, an expression of good-nature 
 and intelligence on his countenance, which strongly prejudiced 
 me in his favour. In all my small dealings thenceforth I 
 resorted to Ilamet. Sherkin, and whatever I happened to want 
 which he did not himself possess, he procured for me on more 
 favourable terms than I could otherwise have obtained it. 
 
 Hamet told mc his history. He was not wholly unversed in 
 European knowledge, and he united to it a natural intelligence 
 of no common order. He described to me the most remarkable 
 scenes and occurrences of his travels — Bagdad, Mecca, and 
 Damascus — his sufferings in the Great Desert — the attacks 
 made upon his caravan by the wild Arabs, and a thousand hair- 
 breadth escapes by Hood and field, to which those of the Moor 
 of Venice were as nothing. Ilamet, though a .Mussulman, was 
 something of a wet one; for, though he avoided the scandal of 
 drinking wine in public, he had no objections occasionally to 
 discuss a bottle in company with JVazarcnos. I believe he 
 entertained a sincere regard for me; and when, before our 
 departure from the Rock, I took leave of him, there was some- 
 thing like a tear in bis eye as he invoked the blessing of Allah 
 and the Prophet on my head. 
 
 There was one scene in which Ilamet played a conspicuous 
 part, and from which a coolness of some duration between Colonel 
 Grimshawe and myself took its origin. 
 
 The day had been fixed for an entertainment of more than 
 common splendour at the mess. The governor — the general 
 next in command — the admiral — the naval commissioner — a 
 young nobleman on his travels, and several other personages of 
 more than ordinary calibre and consequence, were to grace our 
 festivities with their presence. Of course, it was tacitly expected 
 and understood, that the guests invited by the individual officers, 
 to meet, so distinguished a party, should be of some rank and 
 prominence in society. Whether, under such circumstances, it 
 proceeded from want of tact, or from mere wanton negligence 
 of rule ..n ui\ part, at this distance of time it would boot little 
 
 to decide; hut it is at least true in fact, that an invitation to 
 dinner on that day was sent to my friend Ilamet Sherkin. To 
 this an answer from Ilamet was duly received, in which he 
 Rwore bj the beard of .Mahomet thai he would not fail to gratify 
 me bj his presence at the appointed time.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. 
 
 -CHAPTER XXV. 221 
 
 The day came, and with it the expected congregation of official 
 dignity, for whose suitable reception splendid preparation had 
 been made. With it, too, came Hamet Sherkin, in clean turban 
 and splendidly embroidered jacket, according to the fashion of 
 the best circles in Barbary, but with bare legs and yellow mo- 
 rocco slippers, which, being slipshod, displayed rather more of 
 a broad horny heel than a nice and critical eye might have found 
 pleasure in surveying. On the entrance of my barbaric friend, 
 I observed the eye of Colonel Grimshawe to lower in offended 
 dignity ; and when I proceeded to present Hamet as my guest 
 on the occasion, he declined the proffered introduction by turn- 
 ing rapidly on his heel. However I might be affected by the 
 awkwardness of such a reception, Hamet neither displayed nor 
 felt the smallest portion of mauvaise honte, and joined in the 
 good-humoured laugh that went round the assembly on his 
 appearance, with the most enviable unconsciousness of its being 
 excited by himself. What reason, indeed, was there, why honest 
 Hamet, rich in true nobility of spirit, should have felt humbled 
 or abashed in such a party? He knew — or at least might have 
 known — that in power and grasp of intellect he was inferior to 
 none of those around him ; while he felt, and could not but feel, 
 the consciousness, that by a single blow of his sinewy and 
 powerful arm, he could have levelled any one of the assembly, 
 from the general to the lowest ensign, prostrate in the dust. 
 
 At length dinner was announced, and the guests paced forth 
 into the hall in due order and solemnity, and with the most pre- 
 cise regard to claims of precedence. The seat allotted to Hamet 
 was, of course, next to that of his entertainer, and none but 
 Theodore Hook can fully understand my discomfiture, when I 
 beheld him, instead of conforming to the sedentary habits of the 
 Europeans, seat himself on his chair cross-legged, like a tailor. 
 This unlooked-for circumstance occasioned considerable derange- 
 ment of the gravity and decorum of the entertainment. The 
 younger part of the company laughed outright, while it was 
 impossible even for their seniors to repress a smile. 
 
 Unluckily, the eccentricities of Hamet did not rest here. The 
 European fashion of knives and forks had not yet spread into 
 Barbary; and, notwithstanding my anxious recommendation of 
 these utensils to the notice of my guest, I could by no means 
 prevail on him to avail himself of the facilities which these 
 unwonted implements might have afforded. 
 
 Nothing, indeed, could be more primitive than his mode of 
 eating. His fingers made rapid and frequent voyages from his 
 plate to his gullet, and whole platefuls of hash or harico dis- 
 appeared with a velocity which it might have puzzled the most 
 expect "1 urcifer" to excel. The leg of a chicken, drawn through
 
 222 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 a double row of grinders, which evidently stood in no need of the 
 skill of the Chevalier Ruspini, became instantaneously denuded 
 of all esculent matter, and was returned a mere skeleton to his 
 plate. Sooth to say, however, the appetite of Harriet being more 
 than usually miscellaneous, his hands, after half an hour's con- 
 tinued dabbling among sweets and solids, became objects neither 
 very gracious to the eye or the fancy ; and it was not till the 
 appearance of finger-glasses with the dessert, that he enjoyed an 
 opportunity of even an imperfect ablution. 
 
 The total disregard of established routine which Hamet had 
 displayed throughout the entertainment, set gravity and form at 
 defiance. Never was there, to all external appearance, a merrier 
 party assembled round a table, and Hamet was the cynosure of 
 every eye. His name, too, was heard simultaneously reverbe- 
 rated by many voices. " Mr Sherkin, a glass of wine?" — 
 " Thornton, the pleasure of wine with you and your friend 
 Sherkin ?" — " Hamet Sberkin, do me the honour?" — " Thorn- 
 ton, wine with your Oriental friend ?" — " Happy to take a glass 
 of champagne with the worthy African on your right," rung 
 loudly and confusedly through the apartment, and all other 
 sounds were drowned in the hilarious uproar. The prevailing 
 epidemic spread even to the servants, who, though they were too 
 prudent to incur the certainty of a broken head, by indulging in 
 u laugh, yet might be seen discharging their ministerial duties, 
 with countenances relaxed into a grin, which neither the awful 
 presence of the governor, nor even the more awful terrors of 
 Colonel Grimshawe's eye. were adequate to repress. 
 
 With the removal of the dinner the encroachments on the 
 ramme of the entertainment did not cease, and the regular 
 succession of loyal toasts was interrupted by one of the younger 
 officers, who. after an appropriate prefatory speech, proposed the 
 health of Hamet in a bumper, with all the honours. Never was 
 any toasl more loudly applauded ; in short, Hamet Sherkin 
 was the lion of the night, and governors, and admirals, dock- 
 yard commissioners, and other puissant official dignitaries, were, 
 in the eye and thoughts of all, but secondary personages. 
 
 The governor was far from feeling offended at this infringe- 
 ment of decorum, of which 1 had hen the unthinking, if not 
 the innocenl cause. He enjoyed the party not the less that every 
 one around him appeared happy and at their ease. But it was 
 not so with Colonel Grimshawe. On the following day he 
 nbled the officers, and in a speech which dealt not leniently 
 with my offence, iii having caused the unwelcome intrusion of 
 an improper person on so great an occasion, he proposed, thai 
 eforward, on all great regimental entertainments, no indi- 
 vidual should be invited, whose name and pretensions had not
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVI. 223 
 
 previously been approved of by a committee. Tbis proposal, 
 however, the younger part of the corps considered as narrowing 
 in an unreasonable degree their liberty and privileges, and when 
 put to the vote, it was negatived by a considerable majority. 
 For myself, I regretted to think that I had been the cause of 
 spreading even temporary dissension in a regiment always dis- 
 tinguished for the harmony and good fellowship of its members. 
 The evil, however, did not last ; but there remained a coolness 
 between Colonel Grimshawe and myself, which long prevented 
 any friendly intercourse between us. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ■ Let us walk 
 
 With heads uncover'd, and with prostrate souls, 
 
 I'nto the humbled city of despair. 
 
 Amid the roar of ocean solitude, 
 
 God hath been with us, and his saving hand 
 
 Will be our anchor, in this dreadful calm, 
 
 This waveless silence, of the sea of death. 
 
 The City of the Plague. 
 
 Oh, it is monstrous, monstrous ! 
 Methought the billows spoke and told me of it, 
 The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, 
 That deep and dreadful organ pipe, pronounced 
 The name of Prosper. 
 
 Tempest. 
 
 A summer and a winter passed away, and we were still tenants 
 of the Rock. During this interval, nothing had occurred to 
 break the ordinary and monotonous routine of a garrison town. 
 But Gibraltar, dull as we thought it, was not without its amuse- 
 ments. We boated, cricketed, and rode horse-races ; during the 
 carnival there were masquerades, and once a-week a ball was 
 given at the Government House, to which all the oflicers had the 
 privilege of entre. 
 
 To excursions on the water I was particularly partial, and 
 though an unskilful, I was an ardent sailor. Often by daybreak 
 were we abroad in our little yacht, cutting through the green 
 waters of the bay, or stemming the current of the Straits, or 
 stretching onward into the Mediterranean, till the grey twilight 
 was gone, and the curtain of darkness was again spread upon the 
 deep. Sometimes we crossed to Ceuta or Tangiers, at others lay 
 along the Spanish coast to Tariffa, and once on a more extended 
 excursion we visited Malaga, and amid the gayeties of that city,
 
 224 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 spent several pleasant days. In this manner did we endeavour, not 
 always unsuccessfully, to tip with feathers the leaden wings of time. 
 
 Another year had begun, and rolled on from spring to sum- 
 mer, unmarked in each advancing step of its progression. The 
 summer, though unusually hot, was healthy; that, too, passed, 
 and the autumn came sultry and oppressive, and with heavy 
 rains. Thick fogs hovered over the sea, and sometimes extend- 
 ing even into the upper air, veiled the summit of the Rock in 
 darkness. The rain-drops as they fell were hot and unrefreshing, 
 and the sun, as he slowly sank behind the IJarbary mountains, 
 was white as silver. 
 
 Such were the months of August and September in that 
 memorable year: October came, and apparently with better 
 auspices. The weather was cool and pleasant; there was keen- 
 ness in the morning air, and the breeze that came at eventide 
 from the sea, seemed loaded with restorative freshness to frames 
 like ours, already languid and relaxed. The active sports and 
 exercises, which the debilitating influence of the climate had for 
 a time suspended, were once more resumed, and an increase both 
 of physical and mental energy was perceptible in all. 
 
 It was at this period, and under these apparently favourable 
 circumstances, that the most fatal scourge of humanity, the yel- 
 low fever, made ils appearance in the town, ll came unknown 
 ami in silence, nor was it till many of the inhabitants had fallen 
 it- victims, that the medical officers of the garrison became aware 
 of its approach. Every measure of safety or precaution was 
 instantly resorted to, but. in vain. Its progress would not be 
 arrested, and the unshackled pestilence spread through the 
 narrow Streets and crowded houses, like a destroying angel, 
 cnii'piering and to conquer. 
 
 It is impossible to conceive a spot better fitted for the dis- 
 semination of infectious disease than Gibraltar. Had the town 
 been doubled in extent, it could scarcely have afforded sufficient 
 
 accommodation to the numbers which were even then crowded 
 -within it- narrow limits. The rent demanded for the smallest 
 house in Gibraltar equalled that of a splendid mansion in Lon- 
 don. The consequence of course was, thai a domicile which 
 
 could afford comfortable accommodation for one family, became 
 the residence of many; nor was it an uncommon circumstance 
 that fifty, or even an hundred individuals, were congregated 
 beneath a single roof. The great proportion of these were 
 foreigners ; and when we consider how little attention was neces- 
 sarily paid to cleanliness in such dwellings, the unhealthy atmo- 
 sphere in which their inmate- were condemned to live and breathe, 
 
 hall not feel surprised thai all human endeavours to arrest 
 I p jress of the pestilence were in vain.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVI. 225 
 
 I had been in such houses. In an apartment scarcely the 
 size of an ordinary English bedroom, I had beheld the accom- 
 modation of twenty human beings, where, stretched upon a mat 
 or caq)et, they every night, even in the hottest season, retired to 
 rest. In such hives of men, when fever once appeared, it of 
 course spread like wild-fire ; there the arm of death was raised 
 to strike — Who could prevent its falling ? 
 
 Weeks passed, and the fever-demon continued to stalk onward 
 in his course, nor would stay his step even for a moment. The 
 disease spread on all hands ; the Lazarettos were filled, and the 
 number of deaths increased till it exceeded an hundred a-day. 
 
 Our regiment were stationed in the town, but no time was 
 lost in removing us from the focus of infection, and we went 
 into camp on a very elevated part of the hill, which gave promise 
 of exemption from the disease raging below, in the healthy fresh- 
 ness of its atmosphere. 
 
 Had it been possible, indeed, to cut off all communication 
 with the town, it is probable this promise might have been ful- 
 filled. But the military duty of the place required the presence 
 of soldiers, and it was necessary that every day a certain pro- 
 portion should descend into what might almost, without poetical 
 figure, be called " the Valley of the Shadow of Death." 
 
 Under such circumstances, it was scarcely to be expected that 
 we should pass through the arrowy shower safe and unstricken ; 
 several of the soldiers caught the infection, and there was fever 
 in the camp. The disease, whose ravages till then we had 
 regarded with a sort of disinterested compassion, now came home 
 to the business and bosoms of us all, and brought with it a sense 
 of helplessness and depression, even now painful to remember. 
 Men, who have since proved themselves incapable of shrinking 
 from death in the field, shook with the terrors of this new and 
 terrible assailant, and would gladly have fled from a contest 
 which cost the vanquished life, but brought no honour to the 
 victor. 
 
 I have always had an almost morbid dread of fever. In its 
 slow and silent approach — in the sudden and dreadful gripe with 
 which it seizes on the very life-springs — in the entire prostration 
 of strength with which it is accompanied — in the fearful tempest 
 of delirium with which the spirit is at once cast down and over- 
 whelmed — in the horrid nightmare of the soul, the visionary yet 
 dreadful phantoms that hover round the pillow of the sufferer — 
 in all these things, I have ever found matter of deep and uncon- 
 querable fear. There is no other phasis of disease which brings 
 with it, to my imagination, an accumulation of terrors so deep 
 and awful. It is not the pain, for that I could contemplate 
 calmly, and I trust endure patiently. It is not the death to which 
 
 p
 
 226 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 it loads, that could thus fright my soul from her propriety. But 
 at once to lose all the powers and attributes of an intellectual 
 beings — not to meet death calmly and collectedly, but, in the 
 wreck of all the faculties, to be swept, as it were, by a hurricane 
 into the grave — this it is, at which I still shudder — this it was, 
 that I found it impossible to contemplate with a resigned and 
 resolute spirit. 
 
 There are melancholy associations connected with this portion 
 of my narrative, from which 1 would gladly escape. I am un- 
 willing, too, to attempt a description of scenes, to which, though 
 indelibly imprinted on my memory, I could do little justice in 
 words, and which have already given full scope to the powers 
 and genius of writers, with whom I would not willingly be 
 weighed in the balance : yet to pass them wholly by is impos- 
 sible. 
 
 Deep gloom hung on us all. Melancholy was the daily meet- 
 ing at the mess : for we had only to recount the still advancing 
 progress of the pestilence, or the name of some companion who 
 siuce yesterday had fallen its victim. Hut worse than all was it 
 when called by duty to descend into the town ; — to see the streets 
 desolate and deserted — to hear, as we passed the closed dwell- 
 ings, the loud and terrible shrieks of some delirious sufferer 
 within ; and then the horn that gave signal of the approach of 
 the dead-cart, as it slowly rolled onwards in its dismal circuit ! 
 Never lias its wild dissonance passed from my ear — never, I be- 
 lieve, shall it utterly pass away and be forgotten. 
 
 .Many of the Europeans, on the first appearance of the fever, 
 had quitted the town, and taken up their residence at Algesiras 
 or St Roque, or gone on board of the ships in the bay. This, 
 however, could not continue. The Spaniards formed a cordon 
 a few miles distant from the fortress, in order to prevent com- 
 munication with the interior, and all avenue of escape from the 
 danger was at once closed. The disease soon spread its havoc 
 among the shipping, and the deep daily yawned over a new 
 accession of its victims. There was death alike upon the land 
 and the waters. In the camp, too, he was busy : and in the 
 course of about three weeks, we had lost five officers and above 
 an hundred men. Among the former were Major Warburton 
 and Captain Spottiswoode, to whose company 1 was attached. 
 Popham, too, was attacked, but recovered. I was not coward 
 enougb t<> lie prevented by my fears from attending his sick-bed; 
 
 and the little friendship could do to allay his sufferings, was 
 done. | mention this, I confess, with something of pride, for 
 the conflict within was a severe one, and the Struggle long. 
 
 Tin- pestilence, which hail hitherto despised the feeble efforts 
 of man to obstruct its progress, was at length arrested by the
 
 C1EIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVI. 227 
 
 hand of God. With no external or visible cause to produce a 
 change in its character or consequences, when it was already 
 raging in its fury, and even hope was wavering in the stoutest 
 heart, a sudden relaxation of its power became apparent. From 
 that hour its gripe was loosened ; day after day its victims were 
 diminished in number, and in a few weeks all traces of its for- 
 mer ravages were to be found only in the grave. Then, as if a 
 vast and overwhelming pressure had been removed, there was a 
 sudden revulsion of our spirits, a rebounding of the heart so 
 powerful and extraordinary, as to seem almost allied to madness. 
 The lips on which no smile had been seen for months, now gave 
 utterance to sounds of wild merriment, and downcast and heavy 
 eyes were lighted up with more than their original gladness. 
 Each individual felt as if he himself had been preserved from 
 death by a miraculous interposition of Providence. Never at 
 mess had I seen the wine-cup filled so high, nor heard the wild 
 revelry of light and jovial hearts echoed so loudly and so long. 
 
 Let us hope this was not all. Let us believe, that in silence 
 and retirement there were knees bent in the humility of prayer, 
 and that the sound of thanksgiving rose from many voices to 
 that God, by whose almighty arm they had been upheld and sup- 
 ported. 
 
 After this, we did not long remain in Gibraltar. An order 
 came for our return to England, and our hearts beat high in the 
 near prospect of once more revisiting our native land. The 
 transports destined for our reception soon arrived, and we em- 
 barked. The Rock had become associated with too many melan- 
 choly recollections, to cause any feeling of regret as we bade it 
 farewell. The evening gun was fired as the fleet weighed anchor, 
 and the commencement of our voyage was prosperous. 
 
 We passed the Straits with a fair breeze, and ran down our 
 distance in high style, till we reached the Chops of the Channel. 
 There we encountered a gale, and thick darkness coming on, 
 the ship in which I sailed was separated from the fleet, and driven 
 in upon the French coast near Ushant. In the course of the 
 following dav, however, the wind abated, and the vessel once 
 more lay on her course. Our appearance so near the enemy s 
 coast seemed to excite the suspicions of the British cruisers on 
 that station ; and we were several times boarded to ascertain 
 our real quality and object in having so far deviated from the 
 usual track. 
 
 In the morning we had observed a suspicious-looking sail at 
 a considerable distance on the weather-bow. During the day 
 we had lost sight of her, but as evening closed, she was once 
 more observed bearing down on us. We hung out our colours, 
 but she displayed no flag, and, from the nature of her proceed-
 
 228 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ings, the captain reported to Major Penleaze, who commanded 
 on board, that he had no doubt oi' her being a French privateer. 
 
 Instant preparations were made for her reception. The sol- 
 diers, who amounted to about three hundred, were directed to 
 load, and being each provided with a cutlass, to be used in case 
 of boarding, were arranged in their proper stations, and ordered 
 to lie flat on deck, but on no account to lire till the signal was 
 given by the commanding-officer. 
 
 Every proper step of precaution was adopted in his depart- 
 ment by the captain of the ship. The tompions were taken 
 from the guns, which were loaded, and placed under the manage- 
 ment of such of the sailors as could be spared from the duty of 
 navigating the vessel. Each of the officers was assigned a post, 
 and entrusted with a certain sphere of command ; and every 
 necessary arrangement having been concluded, we waited, not 
 without anxiety, for the commencement of hostilities. 
 
 The object of our precautions now neared us considerably, 
 and, by the aid of the night-glass, we discovered her to be a 
 large schooner. She passed us closely, sailing in a parallel 
 course to our own, but on an opposite direction. When nearly 
 abreast of us, she suddenly changed her direction, and crossing 
 our stern, poured in a broadside, and continued on her course. 
 Such of the guns of the ship as could be brought to bear on her 
 were tired, to revenge, if possible, this act of aggression, but, I 
 believe, with little effect. The schooner, which had greatly the 
 advantage in point of sailing, once more shot ahead of us, and 
 then returning, crossed our bows, and poured in a raking broad- 
 side as before. Entertaining, perhaps, an exaggerated opinion 
 of our weakness, from the impunity of her first attack, she now 
 drew up alongside, and the battle commenced in good earnest. 
 Our soldiers still remained prostrate on the deck, and the action 
 was confined to the great guns on both sides, though, 1 believe, 
 without much execution on ours. In fact, from the great dis- 
 parity in the size of the vessels, our guns were ton high, and 
 were thus only able to do some trifling damage to the rigging 
 of the enemy. 
 
 At length it became evident they were determined to board. 
 Grappling-irons were thrown out, and attempts were made 
 to lash the vessels together. This was no sooner done than 
 the order to fire was given, and instantly the men started 
 Up, and three hundred muskets were discharged down on the 
 deck of the enemy, with dreadful effect. Their fire instantly 
 slackened, and they were evidently in confusion. It is probable 
 they had mistaken US for some rich homeward hound West 
 [ndiaman, and were by no means prepared for such a reception 
 as they had encountered.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVI. 229 
 
 The fire from our deck now continued without intermission, 
 till Stanhope, seizing a cutlass, brandished it in the air, and 
 calling out, " Follow me, let us board them, my lads ! " sprang 
 to the side of the ship, and followed by about a score of his own 
 company, plunged down on the enemy's deck. Memorable to 
 me, indeed, was that moment. Even amid the bustle and con- 
 fusion of battle, I gazed on him with surprise. There was a 
 flush on his cheek and a fire in his eye which I had never 
 before witnessed — which, alas ! I was never destined to witness 
 again. 
 
 When the boarders quitted the ship, of course the firing 
 ceased, and there was a hush on board of breathless expectation. 
 It was too dark to see what passed on the deck of the schooner, 
 but I leant over the side, and listened with intense eagerness. 
 The clash of cutlasses was distinctly heard, mingled with shouts 
 and groans. I heard, or thought I heard, the voice of Stanhope 
 calling for assistance. My hand griped my cutlass instinctively 
 at the sound, and springing up, I called aloud for the boarders 
 to follow to the rescue of our companions. There was a cheer 
 given, and springing down the side of the ship, I was in a 
 moment engaged in the melee on the enemy's deck. The rein- 
 forcement I brought was decisive of the issue. The Frenchmen 
 fled below decks, and we were left in possession of the schooner. 
 She was the Espiegle of Brest, commanded by Monsieur Hy- 
 polite Podevin, carrying two long twenty-four pounders, and 
 six smaller guns, with ninety-four men. 
 
 We had manfully fought and taken the prize, but what to 
 make of her, now that our efforts had been crowned with suc- 
 cess, was a point of some difficulty. We had no mariners to 
 spare from the navigation of our own vessel, and had it not 
 been for the opportune assistance we received on the following 
 morning, from the Peterel sloop of war, it is probable we 
 should have been obliged to relinquish all the advantages of 
 our capture. 
 
 Where was Stanhope ? I called aloud on him — I searched 
 the schooner — I scrutinized the countenances of the wounded 
 and the dead, but his I could not see. None knew what had 
 become of him ; from the moment he had sprung from our deck 
 towards that of the enemy, he had been seen no more. Alas ! 
 this very ignorance afforded but too conclusive evidence of his 
 fate. The vessels, by a sudden lurch, had increased the distance 
 between them, and he had fallen into the sea, probably to be 
 crushed to death by the returning concussion, or, what was 
 scarcely less dreadful, after long and fearful struggling, to 
 perish unassisted in the waters. 
 
 By my entreaty the ship lay too, the boats were manned, aD(l
 
 230 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 by the light of the moon, which had just risen, we searched 
 around the scene of action for his body. In this manner several 
 hours were passed, but in vain. No traces of him, except bis 
 hat, which was found floating at some distance, could be dis- 
 covered. Hope at length died within me, the search was re- 
 linquished, and in a state of dreadful suffering* and depression, 
 I resigned my bosom friend to his fate, and returned to the ship. 
 There was no song of triumph on board ; no joyful congratu- 
 lations were interchanged on our victor}'. We remembered the 
 price at which it had been purchased, and were silent. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Now .-ill the youth of England are on fire, 
 And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; 
 Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought 
 Reigns solely in the breast of every man. 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 Have ye seen the tusky boar, 
 Or the bull with sullen roar, 
 On surrounding foes advance? 
 So Caradoc bore his lance. 
 
 Gray. 
 
 Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! 
 Were the last words of Marmion. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 The two years immediately succeeding the events I have 
 just narrated, I shall pass lightly over. The life of a soldier in 
 country quarters affords but few materials for the biographer, 
 and these not of the most interesting description. Suffice it, 
 therefore, for the reader to know, that shortly after our arrival 
 
 from America, the were ordered to Ireland, and that 
 
 during our residence in that country I was promoted to a 
 company. 
 
 1 have ever loved Ireland — I love it now — I shall love it till 
 death. All Irishmen are dear to me; but in the wild men of 
 Connaught do 1 delight the most. There is something about 
 them at once piquant and interesting. Kind, warm-hearted, 
 and ferocious; generous, hospitable, and bloody; the most ami- 
 able of incendiaries, the wittiest and most delightful cut-throats 
 in the world. I have long ceased to read the details of Irish 
 murder, for I found it impossible to do so with a proper degree 
 of moral indignation. In that country, arson and assassination
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVII. 231 
 
 are irradiated with a halo, to which in less favoured lands they 
 are strangers. Outrage generally assumes the air of good 
 fellowship. The jest and the pistol are pointed together, the 
 trigger is drawn at exactly the proper moment, and the victim 
 dies good-humouredly, in the midst of a guffaw. I declare, I 
 never yet read of a tithe-proctor, or an exciseman losing his ears 
 by a summary act of Whiteboy justice, without mentally becom- 
 ing particeps cr/minis, and longing to throw in a kick. 
 
 But a more melancholy note would become the subject better. 
 Why is it, we may ask, that Ireland, bearing all the elements 
 of a great and glorious people, has become a proverb and a by- 
 word among the nations — whose very name suggests only the 
 image of bigotry, persecuting and persecuted, of oppression and 
 misrule ? When shall the brand of her curse be obliterated 
 from her forehead ; and when shall she become, what God and 
 nature intended, a happy and united people? 
 
 During my stay in England I did not visit Thornhill, but I 
 learned all that had passed there, from the letters of my sisters. 
 A great and disagreeable change, they told me, had taken place 
 in Miss Cumberbatch. The mild and unassuming deportment 
 she had adopted on her first admission into the family, was now 
 changed for one of patronage and authority. My sisters had 
 complained to my father, but without obtaining redress. Miss 
 Cumberbatch was too firmly established in her situation to be 
 removed by any effort of theirs. The mild and gentle character 
 of Jane was indeed better fitted for passive endurance than ac- 
 tive resistance to oppression ; and Lucy was yet too young to 
 oppose such usurpation with effect. Miss Cumberbatch had 
 artfully wound herself into the good graces of my father, and 
 bore, not meekly, the sceptre of her power. 
 
 Such had been the nature of my intelligence from Thornhill, 
 when I received a letter, the superscription of which my eye instant- 
 ly recognized to be in the hand of my father. I opened it, and 
 found it to be indeed from him, and the messenger of strange 
 tidings. It began by stating, that as I was now of age, it be- 
 came proper that I should receive the patrimony to which I was 
 entitled. That he had given directions for the necessary docu- 
 ments to be transmitted to me, by which I should be enabled to 
 ascertain the amount of the sum to which 1 possessed claim, 
 which per account (errors excepted) amounted to L.9373, 8s. 
 4d. This amount of stock, on my signing the proper discharge, 
 should be transferred to my name. 
 
 My father's letter then went on to state, that he considered 
 it the more necessary that an immediate settlement of my claims 
 should take place, as he was again about to lead to the altar a 
 lady, of whose amiable qualities and high accomplishments he
 
 232 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 had already full knowledge and experience. That in doing so, 
 he had sacrificed his inclinations to his duty, and thought only 
 of securing the happiness of his daughters, by providing them 
 with a mother, from whose tender care and under whose affec- 
 tionate guidance they could not fail to experience the greatest 
 advantages. 
 
 There was a certain wordiness in this letter so unlike the usual 
 terseness and brevity of my fathers style, as to show pretty 
 clearly that in writing it he did not feel very much at his ease. 
 For myself, notwithstanding all I had previously learned from 
 my sisters of the state of matters at Thornhill, I read it with the 
 greatest surprise. The possibility of such an event as my 
 father's marrying again, had never for a moment occurred to me. 
 It was with feelings of disgust — almost of horror, that I received 
 the intelligence. In my eyes it seemed little less than profanation, 
 that the place of my beloved and sainted mother should be filled 
 by another. But filled by Miss Cumberbatch ! a person whom 
 the world knew only in the character of a menial ; a smooth, 
 smug, smirking governess — companion, or what you like, who 
 made tea, embroidered purses, and ran up stairs for her mistress's 
 pocket-handkerchief! Was it possible at once to regard the 
 annunciation of such an event, with patience and resignation ? 
 At the very thought every feeling of my heart was ready to start 
 up into tumultuous rebellion. 
 
 To my father's letter I returned no answer. To congratulate 
 him on such a marriage — to say any thing which could he con- 
 strued into approbation of it on my part, would have been felt 
 as a degradation to which my nature would not submit. But in 
 my letters to my sisters I gave vent to all the vehemence of un- 
 controlled passion. I called on them to resist every act of oppression 
 or encroachment on the part of their stepmother, and entreated 
 them, if necessary, to quit their father's roof, and throw them- 
 selves on my protection. My protection ! Of what folly are 
 we capable when in a state of high excitement? What protec- 
 tion, situated as I was, did it lie within the scope of my means to 
 have afforded ? But passion never reasons. 
 
 In my calmer momenta I wrote to Lady Willdughby, between 
 whom and my mother a friendship had subsisted which death 
 only had broken, entreating her to extend her care and protec- 
 tion to my sisters in the present altered circumstances of the 
 family. To her I spoke openly, both of my own feelings with 
 regard to this new and hateful connexion, and of the conse- 
 quences which 1 feared it might involve to the happiness of 
 Jane and Lucy. To this letter I received a kind and affectionate 
 reply, and thenceforward my mind felt in some degree lightened 
 of its burden of apprehension.
 
 CYRIX THORNTON CHAPTER XXVII. 233 
 
 The effect which the intimation of my father's intentions pro- 
 duced on my sisters, was such as might have been expected from 
 their different characters. Jane wept and Lucy laughed. Jane, 
 mild and gentle, bent like an osier to the blast. Lucy was of 
 more gnarled and unwedgable material — a plant which the 
 storm might rift or break, but could not bow. My fears were for 
 the former. She inherited her mother's patient endurance of 
 suffering, her warm and affectionate heart, but not her mothers 
 energy of character and decision. In her, sorrow was mute and 
 unrepining, and the gnawing of the worm could only be dis- 
 covered by the withering of the flower. 
 
 I am not aware that the period spent in Ireland was marked 
 by any other event than those I have already narrated, of suffi- 
 cient interest to merit record in these memoirs. In that country 
 military duty is always unpleasant. To be called on to spill 
 human blood in repelling outrage, not always unprovoked, must 
 ever be revolting. My duty was often deeply painful to perform, 
 and is still so to remember. All indeed that my mind now re- 
 calls or dwells upon with pleasure, is the hospitality which I 
 uniformly experienced in that country most celebrated for hos- 
 pitality. For my amusements, one sentence may suffice. I 
 hunted and drank whisky-pnnch with the gentlemen, danced 
 and flirted with the ladies ; and, notwithstanding the charms of 
 the fair daughters of Erin, when I quitted Ireland, as I am now 
 about to relate, I did so 
 
 In warlike meditation, fancy free. 
 
 During the revolutionary war, and that which had succeeded 
 to the peace of Amiens, the army had enjoyed few opportunities 
 of distinction. In Egypt alone had they found a fitting field, 
 and there were the only laurels gathered which, since the days 
 of Minden and Quebec, had been added to their ancient wreaths. 
 But brighter days were now about to dawn. The Spanish war 
 broke out, and the heart of every freeman was at once enlisted 
 in their cause. Never was enthusiasm more deep and general 
 than that which animated the British nation at the period in 
 question. Never was the unanimous voice of a mighty people 
 poured forth with greater majesty and effect. It called on the 
 government to assist, with heart and hand, a nation bravely strug- 
 gling to cast off the chain of the oppressor. The government 
 did not withstand — no government could have withstood — a call 
 thus energetically made. In such an excited state of the pub- 
 lic mind, if their rulers had dared to oppose themselves to the 
 wishes of the nation, they would have been driven from their 
 situations with scorn and ignominy. The path which ministers 
 had to pursue was pointed out to them by the public voice. They
 
 234 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 had do choice ; their policy was dictated by the resistless ac- 
 clamation of millions. It mattered nothing in such a case what 
 party was in power, or on what peculiar principles their general 
 measures were regulated. The ordinary barriers and distinc- 
 tions of party were in a moment broken down, and Whig or 
 Tory must have acted alike, in yielding instant obedience to a 
 voice thus sublimely and irresistibly poured forth. 
 
 In June 1808, an armament was accordingly collected, whose 
 destination was known to be the Peninsula. It assembled at 
 Cork, and was placed under the immediate command of Sir 
 Arthur Wellesley. I shall never forget the delight of the regi- 
 ment when the order for joining this expedition arrived. We 
 were at mess. A packet was brought to Colonel Grimshawe, 
 who, having hastily cast his eye over its contents, rose and stated 
 that he had pleasing intelligence to communicate. He had just 
 received an order for the regiment to proceed on foreign service, 
 and join the expedition now assembling at Cork. This intelli- 
 gence was received with three cheers — the health of Sir Arthur 
 Wellesley, and success to the expedition, was drunk with all the 
 honours — and with temples throbbing with wine, and hearts 
 panting for glory, did most of us that night retire to rest. 
 
 The order found us at Kinsale, and we had not a great dis- 
 tance to march. In a short time we were on our route, and on 
 arriving were instantly embarked. A large fleet of transports 
 and troop-ships were assembled in the Cove of Cork, in which 
 the greater part of the force destined for the expedition were 
 embarked before our arrival. A few days completed every thing, 
 and we waited only for a fair wind to proceed on our destination. 
 That too came, and, on the 12th of July, we sailed under a 
 considerable convoy of men-of-war. 
 
 The immediate object of the expedition and the point of its 
 destination were unknown. We only knew generally that it 
 was intended to co-operate with the patriots of the Peninsula; 
 of the linn- <>r where we were in utter ignorance. The orders 
 issued to the fleet were, simply to obey the signals from the 
 Admiral with regard to sailing; and, in case of unavoidable 
 separation, to direct their course for Cape Finisterre. It was 
 
 known, that shortly alter sailing Sir Arthur Wellesley had 
 quitted the Heel ; and to men immured on board of ship, such 
 an occurrence, of course, afforded matter of abundant specula- 
 tion ami conjecture. 
 
 We proceeded on our voyage with light breezes, and in a few 
 days arrived at the point of rendezvous. The general opinion 
 now was, that we were destined to proceed to Cadi/., in order 
 to co-operate with the Spaniards in their attack upon Dupont. 
 It is probable, indeed, that such might have been our destina-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVTI. 235 
 
 tion, had not any assistance in that quarter been rendered 
 unnecessary, by the surrender of Dupont and liis army. The 
 conjectures, however, of the military quidnuncs were completely 
 set at nought, when, after laying-to for several days oft' Cape 
 Finisterre, the signal was made to direct our course to the 
 northward. It was now evident that Portugal was about to 
 become the scene of our operations, and the force of Junot the 
 more immediate object of our hostility. On the 28th, we were 
 off Oporto, and on the day following the fleet anchored in Mon- 
 dego Bay, where it was determined, if possible, to effect a 
 landing. 
 
 The coast was not favourable for such an operation ; and a 
 strong wind from the north-west occasioned the surf to beat 
 with such violence on the shore, as to render the attempt abor- 
 tive. On the 1st of August, however, the weather became more 
 moderate, and on that day the disembarkation of the troops 
 commenced. It proceeded slowly. Through the negligence of 
 the authorities at home, of which it is impossible to say that 
 this was a solitary instance, a sufficient number of boats had not 
 been provided, and several days elapsed before the landing of 
 the troops was completed. In the face of an enemy, such was the 
 poverty of our resources, we could not even have attempted to 
 disembark. 
 
 Never was any thing more uncomfortable than our first night 
 on shore. Tents we had none. There were no animals for the 
 transportation of the baggage, and it was therefore left on board. 
 There were not even camp-kettles to dress the rations of the 
 soldiers, and we rested all night without cover on the ground, 
 exposed to heavy rain and severe cold. The officers collected 
 round a large fire, and merrily did the song go round, and the 
 goblet pass, on that the first night of our campaign. There was 
 no grumbling or complaining; and I believe we felt a pride in 
 the very hardships and inconveniences, which, by the duties of 
 the service, we were called on to suffer. 
 
 Before the commencement of our march from the Mondego, 
 General Spencer, with a reinforcement of about five thousand 
 men, had arrived from Cadiz, which he had quitted immediately 
 on learning the surrender of Dupont. The disembarkation of 
 this force, of course, occasioned some delay in our proceedings; 
 but on the 10th, preparations being completed, we set forward 
 in search of the enemy. As we advanced, the natives every 
 where received us with enthusiasm, and we were greeted with a 
 viva from every voice. On the 14th, we arrived at Alcobaca, 
 from which the French had only retreated the preceding day. 
 On the 15th, the first blood was shed. The brigade of General 
 Spencer attacked the enemy at Caldas, and drove them from the
 
 236 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 village, though not without considerable loss. On the evening 
 of the lb'th, the army halted for the night in the neighbour- 
 hood of the heights of Roleia. It was known by reconnoisances, 
 that these heights were occupied by the enemy, and, from the 
 character of their demonstrations, it was evident that they 
 intended, in that naturally strong position, to await our attack. 
 
 On these heights did we gaze that evening with intense 
 interest. They rose before our eyes calm and bright in the 
 splendour of the setting sun. On their summit, the main body 
 of the French army was not visible; but here and there small 
 bodies of horsemen, engaged, perhaps, in reconnoitring our posi- 
 tion, were seen moving like mounted giants in the upper air. 
 This was the first time we had caught a glimpse of our enemy, 
 and we remained watching his motions till obscured by dark- 
 ness from our view. 
 
 By the orders of that evening, the brigade of General Night- 
 ingale was directed to lead the attack, at daybreak on the 
 following morning, and as our regiment formed the right of the 
 brigade, of course the post of honour would be ours. 
 
 During the whole of our march from the Mondego, we had 
 been clamorous for an opportunity of fleshing our swords — yet 
 maiden weapons, in war. When the French retreated on our 
 approach, from their position at Alcobaca, the event was lament- 
 ed as a misfortune ; our prayer was to meet them on a fair held, 
 and the cry of battle was on every lip. Our wishes were now 
 about to be granted ; within half a league were the enemy — 
 within the compass of a few hours, we should meet them in 
 deadly conflict. Yet there was no sound of exultation. A 
 change had come over the spirit of the bravest. The voices 
 hitherto loudest in clamouring for battle, spoke only in whispers, 
 or were silent. There was a hush in the camp; but it would be 
 injustice to believe it was the hush of fear. I knew those 
 around me to be men who were prepared, at all hazards, to press 
 forward on the path of distinction. Their silence proceeded 
 from awe, not fear; that awe, which, even when the courage is 
 most resolute, creeps over the human heart when expectation is 
 converted into certainty, and we are confronted with danger and 
 death. In such a moment, we think less of the future than the 
 past -\ crowd of fearful memories, of ties now probably about 
 to be tor cvci- broken, of sins deep and unrepented, of hopes 
 withered ami withering, throng at once on the brain, and oppress 
 the heart. Thoughts, which speech cannot utter, swell within 
 
 US — we seek solitude, and are silent. 
 
 No one overslept himself oa the eventful morning. Instead 
 of tlie usual call, we were warned by three small taps on the 
 drum, sounded along the line, that the hour appointed was come.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVII. 237 
 
 The signal was instantly obeyed, and assisted by my servant in 
 girding on my sword and sash, I issued forth to the parade- 
 ground of my company. Twilight had not yet dappled the east, 
 and it was dark as Erebus. The air was sharp and chilly, as 
 the nights generally are in that climate, and fires had not been 
 allowed in the bivouack, since the light they afforded might have 
 given the enemy intelligence of our motions. A considerable 
 time elapsed before the brigade was assembled and prepared to 
 march. Through the darkness, the voice of Colonel Grim- 
 shawe, and the tread of his horse's hoofs, rang on the ear, while 
 both were yet invisible to the eye. 
 
 Before the regiment moved onward to take its station in the 
 brigade, the word was passed for the officers in command of 
 companies to assemble in the front. On reaching the spot indi- 
 cated, Colonel Grimshawe energetically addressed us — 
 
 " I have assembled you, gentlemen, at the present moment, 
 because I am anxious to address a few words to you before we 
 march to attack the enemy. I congratulate you, that the oppor- 
 tunity we have long wished for is at length arrived. I tell you 
 plainly, that the service for which we are destined is one of diffi- 
 culty and danger, for I know well that I address men of spirit 
 and courage. The path of honour and distinction is now open 
 to us all ; by God's grace we will follow it, wherever it may 
 lead. I have no doubt the regiment will behave gallantly ; but 
 much will depend on the officers commanding companies. On 
 your part no exertion must be spared ; you must check by your 
 vigilance and energy the smallest appearance of disorder in the 
 ranks. Suffer no man, on any excuse, to quit his place ; and 
 should any soldier be so lost to shame as to disgrace himself and 
 his regiment by betraying cowardice, you will not hesitate to 
 run him through the body on the spot. This is enough. You 
 know your duty, and, I doubt not, will perform it gallantly. 
 God bless you, gentlemen ! Return to your places." 
 
 Years — many years — have passed, but not a syllable of this 
 address has faded from my memory. Nothing could be more 
 impressive than the tone in which it was spoken. It was still 
 dark, and we could but dimly discern the features of the speaker ; 
 yet I knew them, and know now, the expression of his counte- 
 nance as perfectly as if the concentrated light of fifty suns had 
 encircled it with a halo. The eye — the smile — the brows firmly 
 compressed, as he directed instant death to be inflicted on the 
 coward — the bend of courtesy — the air of command ; these I 
 saw not, and yet I beheld them all. 
 
 Day was just breaking in the sky when we were formed in 
 brigade. By the first rays of morning, General Nightingale was 
 seen slowly riding along the flank of the column, accompanied
 
 238 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVlt. 
 
 by his staff", and stopping as he reached the head of each batta- 
 lion, to hold a short conference with its commanding-officer. 
 lie at length placed himself at the head of the brigade, by the 
 side of Colonel Grimshawe — the word "Forward" was given, 
 ami the column was instantly in motion. 
 
 As we advanced, I had leisure to take a nearer view of the 
 heights of Roleia, about to become the theatre of action. They 
 were steep and difficult of access, of very considerable height, 
 and covered here and there with patches of thick brushwood. 
 They presented no apparent demonstration of the presence of 
 an enemy. A single horseman had been seen for a moment on 
 the summit of the ridge, but he had disappeared, and every 
 thing was calm and undisturbed as when the shepherd tended 
 his flock in peace and quietness amid the green pastures on the 
 hill side. 
 
 When we reached the foot of the hill up which our path lay 
 we halted for a brief space, and Sir Arthur Wellesley, attended 
 by the adjutant and quartermasters-general and his personal 
 staff", came up nearly at the full speed of his horse from a neigh- 
 bouring height, from which he had been making observations 
 on the position of the enemy. After conversing for a minute or 
 two with General Nightingale at some distance on the flank of 
 the column, an aide-de-camp came up to Colonel Grimshawe, 
 and informed him that his presence, and that of the other officers 
 commanding regiments, was immediately desired by the com- 
 mander of the forces. The object of this conference was evidently 
 to issue orders with regard to the plan of attack ; for, as he spoke, 
 he frequently pointed to the heights we were about to storm, and 
 the ravine up which we afterwards advanced. When this was 
 done, and the column stood with shouldered arms, once more 
 prepared to march, Sir Arthur Wellesley approached, and stand- 
 ing in his stirrups, addressed a few words to the soldiers. To 
 our regiment he spoke as follows: — 
 
 " I know you well, . There is not a better nor a braver 
 
 sel of fellows in his majesty's service. I have appointed you to 
 lead the attack, and I have no doubt you will prove yourselves 
 worthy of the honour, (Jo on, mygallant lads — Remember you 
 are about to figbl for your king anil country!" 
 
 This was spoken with much rapidity of utterance and vivacity 
 of manner; and Colonel Grimshawe waving his hat at the head 
 of the battalion, the command to advance pealed loudly through 
 the welkin, and we commenced climbing the ascent. The path 
 was so steep and rugged that the other mounted officers of the 
 regiment found it necessary to quit their horses and ascend on 
 
 foot; but Colonel Grimshawe, having greater confidence in his 
 own powers of horsemanship, did not imitate their example.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVII. 239 
 
 We had already advanced about two-thirds of the way without 
 annoyance or obstruction from the enemy, beyond that occa- 
 sioned by an ill-directed fire from their artillery, when we were 
 suddenly saluted with a shower of grape from a battery, which 
 had been hitherto so successfully masked as to elude observation. 
 The loss it occasioned was great, and Hopkins, the adjutant, was 
 killed in front of the battalion. A shot struck him on the head, 
 and dashed his brains in our faces The soldiers who, but a 
 moment before, had trembled at his frown, now trampled on his 
 body. Such is war ! 
 
 Colonel Grimshawe rode out to the flank of the column to 
 urge the men to increased speed, in order to reach, if possible, 
 the summit of the hill, before time could be afforded for a second 
 discharge from the battery. At that moment, a sharp fire of 
 musketry opened on us from the brushwood on either flank, and 
 from the top of the hill, on which the French lines were now 
 partially visible. Both men and officers were falling thickly ; 
 and some of our soldiers fired into the brushwood in which their 
 assailants lay concealed. 
 
 " Let there be no firing now ! " exclaimed Colonel Grimshawe: 
 " They shall have firing enough when we crown the hill. Charge 
 on briskly — follow me ! " And putting his horse to his speed, he 
 almost instantly resumed his place at the head of the battalion. 
 He rode about twenty yards in front — sometimes wholly enve- 
 loped, at others only partially visible, in the clouds of smoke 
 occasioned by the enemy's fire. The last words he spoke were 
 addressed to myself. 
 
 " Captain Thornton, charge on at double quick with the 
 grenadiers ; the other companies will follow." 
 
 He had scarcely uttered them when I saw him fall headlong 
 from his horse. As we passed, he lay prostrate on the ground 
 in the agonies of death. It was indeed a sight terrible to see. 
 There was grass and earth in his mouth, which he champed 
 with his teeth. His features were frightfully distorted, and his 
 body and limbs were agitated by a convulsive tremor. In the 
 impulse of the moment I quitted my station in the ranks and 
 ran up to him. I raised him gently in my arms ; but when I 
 then gazed on his face, I knew, from his fixed and glassy eyes, 
 that the last struggle was over. Never was the blood of a braver 
 man shed on a battle-field. I laid him reverently with his back 
 to the field, and sprung forward to my place. 
 
 In a few moments another discharge from the battery carried 
 destruction through our ranks, and the fire of musketry became 
 still hotter as we approached the summit of the heights. The 
 men now fell into considerable disorder. They were disheartened 
 at suffering so severely from attacks which they had not the
 
 240 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 power to repel. Every exertion of the officers was necessary to 
 check the progress of the panic. The command of the regiment 
 had devolved on Major Penleaze, hut the station of that officer 
 till now was in the rear, and he had not yet advanced to the 
 head of the battalion. It was evident that to remain in our 
 present situation was to encounter certain death, and that our 
 only chance of success could arise from charging the enemy, and 
 driving them from the heights at the point of the bayonet. We 
 had no leader ; in this respect, indeed, the loss of Colonel Grim- 
 shawe was irreparable. There was already some confusion in 
 the ranks, and I felt almost instinctively — for in the hurry of 
 such a moment I could not reason — that instant steps were 
 necessary to reassure the sinking confidence of the soldiers. 
 Calling, therefore, loudly on the grenadiers to follow, I placed 
 myself in the front, and advanced rapidly towards the enemy. 
 
 On reaching the top of the hill I remember being immediately 
 surrounded, and receiving the thrust of a bayonet on my side, 
 which luckily did not penetrate deeper than the bone. Situated 
 as I found myself, it is propable I should have been dispatched, 
 but for the good-natured interference of a French Sons- Lieute- 
 nant, of gigantic stature, who exclaiming, " C'est un brave gctrqon, 
 ne le tuez pas .'" seized my sword, and instantaneously twitched 
 it from my grasp. " Rendez-vous" cried he, addressing me at 
 the same moment ; and on my signifying my assent as distinctly 
 as the confusion of my ideas would permit, I was hurried off, 
 in charge of a non-commissioned officer and several soldiers, to 
 the rear. 
 
 After marching about, a league, my conductors — who, by the 
 way, were by no means too civil or polite — lodged me in a 
 chamber of a deserted house, over the door and windows of 
 which they kept guard. My solitude was not long unrelieved. 
 Four of my brother-officers soon arrived to share it. and there 
 U comfort even in community of misfortune. Of the issue of 
 the action they could say nothing, having been captured precisely 
 under circumstances similar to my own. We had, indeed, the 
 mortification to observe, that about an hundred of our men were 
 i prisoners. They marched along sullenly and doggedly, 
 and bore a certain ruefulness of visage peculiarly characteristic 
 of my countrymen in such circumstances. To the appellation 
 of" Bites Anglaises" which was plentifully bestowed on us all, 
 without distinction of rank, they answered with a surly impre- 
 cation, which I do not think proper to record, but which seemed 
 only lo produce the effeel of increasing the insulting merriment 
 of their captors. 
 
 We had not long been tenants of our prison when an officer 
 
 of the Etat- Major came up, and gave directions for our instantly
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 241 
 
 proceeding on our march. In obeying, we at least enjoyed the 
 satisfaction of perceiving that the French army were in full 
 retreat ; and our joy at the cause of this movement, more 
 than counterbalanced the inconvenience to which it subjected 
 us. We proceeded without halting about five leagues, and 
 bivouacked in the centre of a cordon, which rendered escape 
 impossible. 
 
 On the following morning we were sent for by General Laborde. 
 He received us politely, and after enquiring our rank offered us 
 the liberty of parole. This, after some consultation together, we 
 agreed to accept; and General Laborde politely assured us, that 
 he placed so implicit a reliance on our honour, that he would 
 instantly withdraw the guard by which we had hitherto been 
 attended, and allow us to proceed to Lisbon alone. He then 
 invited us to partake of the refreshment of coffee, during which 
 he conversed agreeably, and expressed his surprise that the Eng- 
 lish general, instead of attacking his position at Roleia in front, 
 did not rather prefer to turn his flank, and thus force him to a 
 retreat. He spoke, too, of the general state of affairs in the 
 Peninsula, and considered the conquest of Spain as already 
 achieved. 
 
 Altogether, General Laborde struck me as being a person of 
 uncommon talent and intelligence. His manner was less viva- 
 cious than that of Frenchmen commonly is, and he assumed 
 none of that air of factitious importance by which the parvenus 
 generals of Napoleon were usually marked. The repast being 
 concluded, we took our leave, gratified at once by the character 
 and issue of our interview. 
 
 A state of surveillance is always disagreeable, and we rejoiced 
 at being freed from it. Our journey was performed on foot, and 
 in three days we were in Lisbon. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Gow. Here he comes, and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him. 
 
 Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous valorous gentleman, that is certain ; and 
 of great expedition and knowledge in the ancient wars, upon my particular 
 knowledge of his directions : hy Jesn, he will maintain his argument as well 
 as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the 
 Romans. 
 
 Henri/ V. 
 
 Our time passed gaily in Lisbon. We were, in fact, prisoners, 
 without experiencing any of the evils of captivity. Our baggage
 
 242 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 was forwarded under a flag of truce ; and, with the pleasures of 
 a gay capital at command, we did not think it necessary to play 
 // Penseroso. 
 
 My curiosity was interested in observing, at such a moment, 
 the temper of the people. At first, all was silence and submis- 
 sion to the tyrannical usurpation of the intruders, and the 
 majority of the higher orders carried the tricolor cockade in 
 their hats. But this gradually changed. The victory of 
 Vimeira at length brought speech to the tongue-tied patriots; 
 the assistance of the whole army of martyrs was invoked to aid 
 in the cause of Portuguese freedom, by the clerical saints-mili- 
 tant, and confidential curses on their unprincipled invaders were 
 muttered audibly in the streets and coffeehouses. But at the 
 first intelligence of the Convention of Cintra, the storm, which 
 had been gradually gathering in the horizon, burst forth in its 
 fury. The creatures formerly most abject in submission, were 
 now the loudest and most clamorous for vengeance ; and those 
 who wanted courage to draw a sword or trigger by daylight, 
 took advantage of the prevailing impunity, and assassinated in 
 the dark. 
 
 Never was a great and glorious cause more disgraced by its 
 assertors — more deeply contaminated by cowardice and ferocity. 
 It was perilous for a Frenchman to be seen alone in the streets. 
 On the first favourable opportunity he was butchered. For 
 myself, I had been well treated by the French; I had formed 
 acquaintance with many of their officers, and it was perhaps 
 excusable — may 1 not say natural — that I should, in such cir- 
 cumstances, feel interested in their favour. Woe betides the 
 cause, however just, in which the conduct of its partisans causes 
 the better principles of our nature to revolt from fellowship or 
 participation. I know my feelings on this subject are not those 
 of \1i- Southey; and I know also it is, or at least was, the 
 fashion to laud these deeds of cowardly barbarity as acts of just 
 retribution. Let them pass, if possible, as such. Let it be 
 recognized as an established canon, that violations of national 
 law on one side justify murder and assassination on the other. 
 Hut let it, he remembered that these acts of vengeance were 
 perpetrated by the Portuguese, not in a struggle for liberty, but 
 when the conflict was at leasi temporarily decided ; when their 
 enemies were about to be removed from their territory by a con- 
 tention, which, however disgraceful it might be to our arms, 
 was at least beneficial to Portugal, in affording her time for 
 preparation and defence. They were acts of mere gratuitous 
 barbarity, Leading to no result but that of degrading and con- 
 taminating a cause in itself as pure and generous as any for 
 which patriot blood was ever shed on field or scaffold.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 243 
 
 Before quitting Lisbon I had the good fortune to meet the 
 Herculean Sons- Lieutenant, to whom I had been indebted for my 
 safety when I was taken prisoner. He was an honourable and 
 worthy fellow, and I was glad of an opportunity to express my 
 sense of the obligation under which he had laid me. He often 
 joined our English mess, and no one ever did more honourto 
 good cheer. On such occasions, he united all the qualities, dis- 
 tinctive both of his own countrymen and others. He eat like a 
 Frenchman and drank like an Englishman, making a mere trifle 
 of two bottles of Collares, a wine superior to any Burgundy I 
 ever tasted, but which, unfortunately for English gourmets, is 
 too delicate to admit of exportation. He drank an additional 
 bottle on the day of his embarkation, and we saw him safely on 
 board — to meet no more. » 
 
 By the Convention of Cintra, we were again restored to 
 liberty. On rejoining the regiment, I found that Major Pen- 
 leaze had succeeded to the lieutenant-colonelcy which the death 
 of Colonel Grimshawe had left vacant. But the loss we had 
 sustained in that officer it was impossible for Colonel Penleaze to 
 supply. No one, however, understood his duty better, even in 
 its minutest details. Dundas was at his fingers' ends ; and I be- 
 lieve he could repeat without book the Mutiny Act and Articles 
 of War from beginning to end. To his predecessor he formed 
 a contrast in many respects. He had none of that energy and 
 decision of character so necessary in one placed in a situation of 
 command. Colonel Penleaze was not what is called in military 
 phrase a fire-cater, and did not even make a secret of his aver- 
 sion to all gratuitous danger. There were underhand whispers, 
 too, abroad in the regiment about his backwardness in heading 
 the column on the death of Colonel Grimshawe ; and although 
 in his conduct on that occasion there was nothing so palpable as 
 to amount to cowardice, there was at least enough to acquire for 
 him the general character of being a shy cock. 
 
 What, perhaps, tended more than any other cause to render 
 him more unpopular with his brother officers, was a certain sel- 
 fishness of character and exclusive attention to his own comfort. 
 He was never known voluntarily to encounter inconvenience or 
 privation for the benefit of others. No sooner had the regiment 
 halted after a long and severe march, than Colonel Penleaze pro- 
 ceeded to select his own billet, and left the rest of the regiment to 
 shift for themselves. In punishment he was severe and unrelent- 
 ing, even beyond the example of his predecessor, and the soldiers 
 did not fail to institute comparisons, in which he was not treated 
 with much favour. 
 
 The reader may perhaps imagine that I was no great favourite 
 with my new commander. Nor will he err in so doing. I be-
 
 •244 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 lieve he never either forgot or forgave my American frolic of dress- 
 ing Neptune as his representative, and there had been no subse- 
 quent approaches to intimacy between us. Even had the case been 
 otherwise, however, a circumstance which occurred shortly after 
 my return to my regiment, would have been sufficient to have 
 fanned into a flame the sleeping embers of his aversion. 
 
 In our hours of gayety and trifling, Popham and myself had 
 amused ourselves by inditing a ballad on the battle of Roleia, in 
 which the exploits, real or supposed, of the different officers of 
 the regiment were duly emblazoned and set forth. The stanza 
 relating to Colonel Penleaze, though containing no direct im- 
 putation, was perhaps, under the circumstances, ill-natured. I 
 only remember two lines of it ; they ran as follows : — 
 
 O71 his high-mettled steed, yet not quite at his ease, 
 in rear of the regiment rode Major Penleaze. 
 
 The whole thing, indeed, was merely meant as a convivial jeu 
 (Tesprit, and by no means intended to circulate beyond the range 
 of our intimate associates. But the attempt of Canute to check 
 the advance.-, of the sea, was not more hopeless than the attempt 
 to limit the circulation of a jest. It spread, and I received au- 
 thentic intelligence that it reached Colonel Penleaze. The con- 
 sequence was, not an open declaration of hostilities on the part 
 of my commander, but a petty underhand warfare of annoyance. 
 I do not know that in this contest I came always oft' worst. In 
 point of comfort 1 certainly suffered a good deal, and my only 
 weapons Mere a squib or a sarcasm. But 1 flatter myself I 
 wielded those with tolerable effect, and did not fail sometimes to 
 make my antagonist wince under their application. 
 
 Under such circumstances, it may be supposed that Colonel 
 Penleaze would neglect no favourable opportunity of ridding 
 himself of the presence of one so disagreeable. This soon offered. 
 Sir John Cradock, who had succeeded Sir 1 lew Dalrymple in the 
 command of the British army in Portugal after the ( !onv» ntion of 
 
 ('intra, was in his turn superseded by Sir Arthur Wellesloy, who, 
 
 by a fortunate vacillation of the ministry, was again intrusted with 
 the direction of the military energies of the country. When Sir 
 Arthur assumed the command, he found the army occupying a 
 line of positions extending from Santarem to ( loimbra, and form- 
 ing a sort of cordon for the protection of the capital. The enemy, 
 
 w hose ardour had not Mink under the Convention of ( 'intra, had 
 i advanced under the command of Soult, and overpowering 
 tin- resistance of the native troops, became masters of Oporto. 
 In order to regain possession of this important city, preparations 
 were made tor the rapid advance of the British army to the 
 northward. A general depot of the army was formed at Belem,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 245 
 
 near Lisbon, and the was required to furnish an officer for 
 
 this duty. 
 
 By the rules of the service, the officer first for detachment 
 should have been selected, and, as I did not stand in this predi- 
 cament, it may be supposed that I felt considerable indignation 
 and surprise on finding my name in orders as the person destined 
 to remain on this unpleasant and inglorious service. 
 
 I lost no time in waiting on Colonel Penleaze, and remon- 
 strating very strongly on this piece of flagrant injustice. The 
 Colonel was alone when I was ushered into his presence. He 
 received me politely, but not I thought without some symptoms 
 of embarrassment. I began the interview by stating, that he 
 was of course aware of the subject on which I was about to 
 speak. That my name had appeared in orders for detachment, 
 when I was not first on the roster for such duty. That imagin- 
 ing this had proceeded from mistake, I had spoken to the adju- 
 tant, who informed me that my name had been inserted by the 
 express order of the commanding-officer; and I requested to 
 know if I was to regard this as a true statement of the case. 
 
 He hesitated a little in his answer, and stated that the duty in 
 question could not be classed in the ordinary routine of detach- 
 ments. That it required an officer of talent — one who was 
 qualified to conduct a considerable correspondence. That on 
 this ground only — one certainly not unpleasant to my feelings 
 — he had fixed on me as the officer best qualified for the duty. 
 
 This answer of course was any thing but satisfactory. I was 
 aware, I replied, that on Colonel Penleaze I had no claim for 
 any thing but rigid justice, but my right to that I never would 
 resign. That if he persisted in the order, I should take the 
 liberty of forwarding a representation on the subject to the 
 General commanding the brigade, since I considered it necessary 
 to my own character to show to the world, that in the present 
 circumstances of the army, the duty in question was forced upon 
 me — not voluntarily sought or accepted. When I stated my 
 resolution, he relaxed a little, and expressed his regret that the 
 arrangements were now concluded, and could not be altered ; 
 but promised, that on the arrival of an officer shortly expected 
 from England, I should be immediately relieved from my com- 
 mand. 
 
 The contest of a subordinate officer with his superior is at all 
 times unequal, and the issue of the scratch may commonly be 
 pretty accurately predicted. In my own case, notwithstanding 
 my remonstrance to the General, I had the mortification to find 
 that all my exertions were ineffectual. When the army com- 
 menced its advance, I remained with the depot, brooding indig- 
 nantly on my wrongs, and finding comfort only in the hope that
 
 246 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 the day might yet come when an ample reckoning should finally 
 balance the accounts of Colonel Penleaze and myself. 
 
 In the honours acquired by the army in the brilliant passage 
 of the Douro, and consequent expulsion of the enemy from 
 Oporto, I had no share. During the period occupied by these 
 operations, and the advance of the allied forces into Spain, I 
 remained an inglorious prisoner at Belem. Never did prisoner 
 pant more ardently for his release. I counted the days, nay, the 
 very hours, till the arrival of my successor ; watched every veer- 
 ing of the wind, and made nautical calculations of the prohahle 
 period at which the fleet might be expected to reach the Tagus. 
 At length he came. He was a married man, who brought his 
 family abroad to share his fortunes, and was apparently not dis- 
 pleased with the pacific character of the appointment which 
 awaited him. It enahled him to live in comparative comfort 
 with his family in Lisbon, instead of being called on to partici- 
 pate in all the dangers and privations of a campaign. 
 
 The arrival of my successor, indeed, was fraught with a double 
 pleasure. My old friend Conyers came a passenger in the same 
 ship, on his way to join the army for the first time. He had 
 grown into one of the handsomest men I ever saw ; and in the 
 gay caparison and trappings of a dragoon, he was a youth whose 
 tale of love, even to the chariest maiden, it had been " perilous to 
 hear." 
 
 Years had passed since we parted, yet 
 
 Time had nothing blurr'd those lines of favour 
 Which then he wore. 
 
 Those years, indeed, had brought with them manliness of look, 
 but had deprived him of no portion of that youthful vivacity 
 which in former days had shed a charm on his society. The 
 service which he had seen during the interval of our separation, 
 was <if a somewhat different character to that in which I had been 
 trained. His duty had brought him into frequent contact with 
 the court, and kept him constantly within the sphere and the 
 attraction of the great and gay world. 
 
 Still, in my eye, he was nothing changed. There was the 
 same joyous smile on his lips — the same laughing brilliancy in 
 his dark ey< — the same openness of heart, and careless generosity 
 of character, which had marked him in those days when the 
 spiril of young lite was stirring in our blood. Need I say, that 
 encountering as we did, thus unexpectedly in a foreign land, our 
 meeting \\.-is a happy one? It was indeed so. A rush of half- 
 forgotten thoughts came over me as my eye first rested on his 
 countenance, and a world of sleeping memories were stirred even 
 by the cadences of his voice into activity and life.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 247 
 
 Conyers, too, was going to the army ; and, with the boiling 
 blood of a soldier to whom war had hitherto rather been a dream 
 than a reality, he was eager to set forth on his route. In this 
 respect it was impossible that two instruments could vibrate in 
 more perfect unison. The few days we spent in Lisbon were 
 only those necessary for preparation. To both of us, I think, 
 they were happy ones ; to me, the only happy ones I had enjoyed 
 since my separation from my regiment. 
 
 When we set out on our journey, the party was increased by 
 the addition of a veteran captain of a Highland regiment, bound 
 on a similar mission to our own. Captain Campbell, or Came- 
 ron, (I am really not very certain in which appellation our 
 Caledonian fellow-traveller delighted,) was a character in his 
 way, and amusing in spite — perhaps in consequence — of his 
 eccentricities. In point of age, he was certainly above fifty, and 
 piqued himself on the possession of great military experience, 
 from having, in the early part of the late war, partaken in the 
 glory of capturing several of the French West India Islands, 
 under Grey and Jervis. He possessed little of his countrymen's 
 acuteness ; and to a tolerably long, if not profitable experience 
 of the world, he united a simplicity and want of discretion, some- 
 what uncommon in a North Briton. Of the military knowledge 
 of Conyers and myself he made exceeding light, and he was dis- 
 tinguished by a certain opinionativeness, and obstinacy of cha- 
 racter, which made him peculiarly unapt to be swayed or 
 influenced by the dictates of any other judgment than his own. 
 To Conyers, the society of such a person was an absolute mine 
 of enjoyment, and it was impossible not to be amused at the skil- 
 ful and ingenious manner in which he contrived to evoke into 
 broad light the eccentricities of our companion. 
 
 We crossed Portugal, and entered Spain without encounter- 
 ing any of those parties of brigands by which both countries 
 were infested, and nothing occurred to disturb the harmony of 
 the party till we reached Plasencia, where it had been our inten- 
 tion to halt for the night, in the expectation that another day's 
 march would bring us up with the army. 
 
 At Plasencia, however, Captain Cameron unluckily received 
 intelligence, that a considerable body of the enemy had been seen 
 about three leagues to the northward, and, with his usual promp- 
 titude and decision of character, determined on making a recon- 
 naissance to ascertain the truth of the report. It was in vain 
 that I endeavoured to convince him of the folly of such a pro- 
 ceeding, or represented the danger to which it would inevitably 
 expose him. " What the deevil, man," answered he, " do you 
 think I would join the regiment with a cock and a bull story 
 about the enemy, without ascertaining if it be true?"
 
 248 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 In short, persuasion had no effect ; and Conyers, whose fancy 
 was tickled by the absurdity of the project, wickedly took part 
 against me, and offered to accompany him on his wild-goose 
 expedition. Seeing my companions both determined, I allowed 
 my better judgment to be overruled, and agreed to join the party. 
 
 The plan of our operations being settled, little time was lost 
 in carrying them into effect. After dinner we mounted our 
 horses, already tired by a pretty long march, and set out to 
 reconnoitre the enemy. Nothing more thoroughly ridiculous 
 than our party can well be conceived. The Caledonian, who, 
 as senior officer, assumed the chief command, was in person 
 somewhat gaunt and raw-boned, and, without exception, the 
 worst horseman I ever saw in my life. He bestrode a jade as 
 sorry as that of Don Quixote, and was attended by an escort of 
 four lame dragoons, who happened to be in Plasencia on their 
 way to the rear, and whom he had unwillingly pressed into this 
 hazardous service. My horse, which was one of the country, 
 was certainly a few degrees better, but by no means an animal 
 on whose speed, in a case of extreme urgency, I was inclined to 
 place any unnecessary reliance. Conyers was the best mounted 
 of the party, and rode an English charger, which though con- 
 siderably reduced, both by the scarcity and quality of the forage 
 to which he had recently been restricted, gave him an immense 
 advantage over both his companions. 
 
 We rode about two leagues without interruption, or gaining 
 sight of any thing that could possibly be mistaken for an enemy. 
 Never shall I forget the figure of our leader, as he rode at the 
 head of the party, brandishing a huge spy-glass, and the air of 
 complacent generalship with which it was occasionally directed 
 to every point of the horizon. 
 
 At length a party of cavalry was descried at some distance, 
 near a point where the road entered a wood of considerable 
 extent and thickness. They halted for a moment as if to exa- 
 mine our numbers and appearance, and speedily retired into the 
 wood, by which they remained concealed from further observa- 
 tion. For myself I had no doubt they were a party of French 
 cavalry, and exerted all my eloquence and energy to persuade 
 our commander to prosecute his observations no further. But 
 in vain. Captain Cameron insisted the cavalry we had observed 
 were Spaniards, and assured us that, by the aid of his glass, he 
 bad distinguished the national cockade in their bats. In this 
 opinion be was unfortunately, again strongly fortified by Con - 
 yers, who, anxious for a still further prosecution of the joke, 
 brought forward many arguments in corroboration of the cap- 
 tain's opinion. 
 
 It was with no effect that I laid before him the whole extent
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 249 
 
 of the responsibility he would incur, in case any of the party 
 should be captured by the enemy in the execution of so absurd 
 a project. I could gain no convert to my opinion, and at length 
 gave up all further attempt at argument, in a case where it was 
 abundantly evident all argument would be wasted. Accordingly, 
 we still continued to advance, and passed the spot on which the 
 horsemen had been discovered, to the great triumph of our leader, 
 without encountering any hostile obstruction. 
 
 But his pagans were destined to be of short duration. We had 
 scarcely reached the middle of the wood, when the tramp of 
 horses' hoofs was heard advancing from the rear, and on looking 
 round, we perceived that a party of French cavalry were charging 
 in pursuit of us with their utmost speed. In these circumstances 
 there was not the least occasion for the cry of " Sauve qui petit." 
 Every one of us, lame dragoons and all, scampered off, -without 
 paying the smallest regard to the motions of his neighbour. As 
 I drove the spurs into my jaded steed, which, with great diffi- 
 culty, I could now urge into a gallop, I could not refrain from 
 cursing the Scotch captain for an ass, and my own folly in sub- 
 mitting myself to his guidance. 
 
 The object of all the party, of course, was to gain the extre- 
 mity of the wood, as, by separating in different directions in the 
 open country, there was at least a chance that some of us might 
 escape. But in this we were disappointed. The entrance of 
 the wood was guarded by a detachment of cavalry, who waited 
 our approach ; and we thus found ourselves caught as it were in 
 a trap, between two parties of the enemy. The cries of Rendez- 
 vous, rendez-vous, accompanied by a few shots, and an abundant 
 volley of French execrations, now rang loudly in my ears, and 
 looking round, I perceived that our commander was already in 
 the grasp of the Philistines. 
 
 For a moment I was irresolute. The trees on both sides were 
 too thick to admit the passage of a horse, and I was in the act 
 of throwing myself from mine, in order to escape, if possible, on 
 foot, when a shot struck him in a vital part, and he fell beneath 
 me. Before I had time to spring again to my feet, I felt myself 
 grappled by several dragoons, by whom I was surrounded. Of 
 course, resistance or escape were now equally hopeless, and 
 exclaiming " Prisonnier" I delivered my sword to my assailants, 
 and surrendered at discretion. 
 
 The whole party I found, with the exception of Conyers, had 
 been equally unfortunate. lie had escaped. I remember he 
 passed me at the moment I threw myself from my horse, exclaim- 
 ing, as he dashed onwards at full speed, " Bad work, Thornton! 
 I'll charge through them, by Jove !" And he did so, as I after- 
 wards learned, at the expense of a sabre cut.
 
 2o0 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 The officer into whose hands we had fallen, was a captain of 
 the twenty- third Chevaux Legers, and he treated us with civility. 
 His regiment formed part of the army of Soult, by whom he 
 had been sent forward to reconnoitre the country, and ascertain 
 how far the way was clear for a junction with Victor. As we 
 rode to the rear he entered into conversation with Cameron and 
 myself, probably with the view of extracting some intelligence 
 with regard to the army. But we had none to give; and by 
 telling — what is not very usual in such cases — the simple truth, 
 that we were direct from Lisbon, and on our way to the army, 
 which we had not yet joined, we became exempted from further 
 importunity. 
 
 The party halted for the night, in a Quinta about two leagues 
 off. Our condition here was miserable enough. Both my 
 Scotch companion and myself had been robbed of our money, 
 watches, and every thing valuable; and it may be supposed, 
 under such circumstances, we were not very pleasant company 
 to each other. Under any circumstances, however, I could 
 sympathize but little in the loss he appeared principally to 
 deplore, viz. that of a horn snuff-box, with a huge cairngorm on 
 the lid, which he stated to have been a lineal heirloom in the 
 family from the days of his great-grandfather. 
 
 I never passed a more uncomfortable night. My military 
 prospects appeared utterly blighted, and I could look forward 
 to nothing better than a long and dismal captivity at Verdun. 
 Had this misfortune occurred in the regular discharge of my 
 duty, I felt I could have borne it better ; but there was nothing 
 in the absurd circumstances of our capture, to afford me any 
 consolation. It was impossible, I thought, to narrate them, 
 without exciting contempt for my own folly, and feeling shame 
 for that extreme easiness and pliability of character, which fre- 
 quently occasioned so wide a variance between my judgment 
 and my actions. My companion, too, was spiritless and chop- 
 fallen. The discredit, which he felt the circumstances of our 
 unfortunate expedition had thrown on his military talents, added 
 to the prospect of an indefinite captivity, and the loss of his 
 great-grandfather's snuff-box, had thrown him into a state of 
 depression at. once ludicrous and pitiable. 
 
 In the course of the day following, an order came for our 
 junction with another party of prisoners, and immediate march 
 to Madrid. The party to which we were united, consisted chiefly 
 of Spaniards, with a few of our countrymen, who had been 
 recently taken prisoners on out-piequct. 
 
 Nothing more disagreeable than this march can well be con- 
 ceived. We were about thirty in all, of whom my countrymen 
 formed about a third. The party was under the command of a
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 251 
 
 French sergeant, who delighted in the exercise of his authority, 
 and showed no inclination to contribute in any way to our com- 
 fort. There was a striking difference, however, in his treatment 
 of the Spanish and English prisoners committed to his charge. 
 The former were bound together without distinction of rank, 
 and were treated with a degree of brutality most painful to 
 witness. Our marches were long and oppressive; and when 
 any of the poor creatures were unable to proceed, either from 
 fatigue or want of necessary refreshment, they were shot sur le 
 champ, without the smallest compunction. 
 
 There was certainly more ceremony used in the treatment of 
 the English ; and in case of any of them betraying too strong 
 an inclination to fall into the rear, no more energetic measures 
 of propulsion were resorted to, than an occasional prick of the 
 bayonet, or blow from the but-end of a musket. Our rations 
 during the march, which lasted for ten days, were scanty, and 
 very irregularly issued ; and most happy were we when the 
 rising towers of Madrid intimated that one portion of our suffer- 
 ings was about to terminate. 
 
 On our arrival at the capital, a separation of the officers and 
 soldiers took place, and we were lodged in a large convent, 
 already tenanted by about fifty of my countrymen, many of them 
 severely wounded, who had fallen into the hands of the enemy, 
 in consequence of the retreat of the army after the victory of 
 Talavera. Among the party to whom we were introduced, were 
 twelve assistant-surgeons, who had been left behind by Lord 
 Wellington, in consequence of a promise from Marshal Victor, 
 that whenever their assistance was no longer necessary to the 
 wounded, they should be suffered to return, without being con- 
 sidered in the character of prisoners of war — a promise 
 afterwards violated, with that Punica fides for which Napoleon 
 and his generals have throughout been remarkable. In truth, 
 no difference was made between their treatment and that of the 
 prisoners of war, on whom they exercised their vocation. 
 
 Our party in the convent was a large, if not a pleasant one; 
 and there is always something in community of suffering, which 
 serves as a link between those who have nothing else in com- 
 mon. Men, whose society, in other circumstances, I should 
 certainly have considered as conveying something of a tarnish, 
 I now associated with on a footing of temporary intimacy, just 
 as one chats familiarly with his fellow-passengers in a stage- 
 coach, knowing, and caring to know, nothing further about them, 
 than that they are embarked in the same vehicle, and travelling 
 the same road. 
 
 In the situation in which Madrid then was, the very seat and 
 focus of the French power in the Peninsula, of course there was
 
 252 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 little demonstration of political sentiment, adverse to the ruling 
 power. Nothing could apparently he more subdued than the 
 temper and spirit of the people; and I would be understood 
 only as speaking of the higher orders, when I bear testimony 
 that no legitimate sovereign of the present day was ever appa- 
 rently the object of more submissive loyalty and abject adulation, 
 than the easy, good-natured, and much ridiculed King Joseph. 
 
 I saw him when at [Madrid. lie generally drove out daily in 
 his carriage, escorted by a guard of Spanish cavalry. In 
 person, he appeared a middle-aged man, slightly inclined to 
 corpulency, with a head somewhat bald, and an expression of 
 countenance at once mild and intelligent. Notwithstanding 
 the vivas of the populace, and the external demonstrations of 
 respect, with which on those occasions he seldom failed to meet, 
 Joseph had not the air of one very much at his ease. There 
 was about him nothing of that look of confident authority, by 
 which (I take for granted) more legitimate potentates are dis- 
 tinguished. The role of a king, even with regard to air and 
 manners, requires perhaps a longer apprenticeship than he had 
 yet served to the craft; for when the loyalty of his subjects 
 became more than commonly obtrusive and vociferous, there 
 was nothing, I thought, autocratical, or even regal in the civil 
 and well-bred air with which lie acknowledged the salutation. 
 
 In the contour of his face there was discernible a strong 
 family likeness to Napoleon. But it was a similitude in 
 dissimilitude, for nothing could be more different from the 
 quickness of eye, and ever-varying expression, by which the 
 countenance of Napoleon was distinguished, than the unchan- 
 ging and philosophical calmness which marked that of Joseph. 
 
 It were bootless to recall the many annoyances and privations 
 to which the English prisoners were subject during their stay 
 at .Madrid, because their happiness or enjoyment was in a degree 
 altogether inconsiderable influenced by these. No possible 
 ati'frreiration of personal comforts could have reconciled persons, 
 in our circumstances, to their situation ; and the want of such 
 appliances, in any probable degree, could have added but little 
 to the disappointment and bitterness of feeling, engendered by 
 blighted hopes and hopeless captivity. The tone of feeling, I 
 think, must have been in all the same: yet how varied was its 
 expression! There was the deep scowl of solitary moroseness, 
 the calm yet settled -loom of melancholy, discernible in the 
 
 look of downcast vacancy, the pale cheek, and an unwonted 
 compression of the lips. There, too, were the luugh and the 
 Bong the revelry of heavj hearts, that sought in wine for an 
 oblivion of misfortune- and found it. And there, though rarely, 
 might l>c recognized, the expression of calm and unshrinking
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 253 
 
 fortitude, in those spirits of happier and more enviable mould, 
 prepared alike for the cloud or sunshine, by which the firma- 
 ment of their life might be brightened or overcast. A prison 
 is the touchstone of character, by which the ore of pure gold is 
 at once separated and distinguished from the baser metal. 
 
 The garrison of Madrid was commanded by General Belliard, 
 an officer of considerable distinction in the French service. In 
 person he was well-formed, and apparently of great muscular 
 strength ; in manner rude, coarse, and overbearing. Nothing 
 could afford a stronger contrast to the polite and well-powdered 
 emigres whom I had been accustomed to meet in England, than 
 this blutf and vulgar general of the new school. His talents had 
 raised him from the ranks ; he had seen much service, and had 
 the character, even among his own countrymen, of being " ipsis 
 Germanis Germamor" in his appetite for plunder. I well 
 remember having my English ideas of military propriety con- 
 siderably shocked, by the incongruity of topped boots and blue 
 pantaloons, the costume he generally wore in riding, and to 
 which he appeared particularly partial. 
 
 From a character like that of General Belliard we had little 
 indulgence to expect, and, in fact, experienced none. Indeed, 
 in the very ticklish circumstances in which the French then 
 stood, it may be supposed that a more than ordinary degree of 
 vigilance and decision was required from those in authority. 
 Among the soldiers, the smallest symptom of disobedience or 
 insubordination was punished rigorously, by the infliction of 
 heavy irons and a dungeon ; and the officers were informed, that 
 any infraction of prison discipline would not fail to draw after 
 it a similar visitation. 
 
 The principal officer among the prisoners, in point of rank, 
 was Colonel Guard of the forty-fifth regiment, and through him 
 all negotiation with General Belliard was directed to be carried 
 on. It was not till we had been some time at Madrid, that the 
 British officers were allowed the privilege of going at large on 
 their parole, as a preparatory step to their being sent oft' under 
 an escort to France. Hopeless of enjoying any opportunity of 
 escape, I did not hesitate to adopt the only means left me of 
 being once more at large, and joined the great majority of the 
 officers by whom this proposal was accepted. We were allowed 
 the freedom of a certain quarter of the town, under a system of 
 surveillance so strict, as to have done credit even to Fouche 
 himself. Our liberty extended from sunrise to sunset, when we 
 were compelled to undergo a rigorous muster at the convent, 
 and to remain there till morning, when our prison doors were 
 again unbarred, and we issued forth joyful as birds let loose from 
 a cage, to enjoy the full scope of our restricted freedom.
 
 '254 CVETL THORNTON'. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 I had thus been a prisoner at large about a week, when I 
 happened accidentally to enter the church of St Isidore during 
 the performance of high mass. There has always appeared to 
 me to be something solemn and imposing in the august service 
 and ceremonies of Catholicism. I neither envy the heart nor the 
 imagination of that man, who can regard the form under which 
 any portion of his fellow Christians offer up their adoration to 
 our common Deity with cold and senseless ridicule. At the 
 moment I entered, the congregation were kneeling with every 
 external demonstration of humility and devotion. The priest 
 was in the act of consecrating the holy elements, and the gor- 
 geous censers spread around the fragrance of frankincense. He 
 elevated the host, and every head was bent in adoration of a 
 present Saviour. 
 
 I too kneeled. Partly, perhaps, from deference to the religious 
 prejudices of those around me, but partly, too, from an instinc- 
 tive feeling of devotion that arose within me. The religion 
 whose ceremonies I beheld, had been that of my fathers — of the 
 whole Christian world. They were at least reverend for their 
 antiquity ; and though, in some points of doctrine and belief, I 
 differed from those around me, yet these, at that moment, 
 appeared comparatively trifling, and certainly not such as to 
 induce me to shrink from a communion of worship with a people 
 acknowledging the same Saviour, and imploring forgiveness of 
 their sins at the same altar of grace. The prayers of the mass, 
 though (unfortunately perhaps) clothed in a language not gene- 
 rally understood, are yet rich in a certain antique beauty, which 
 has never yet been rivalled, and certainly will never be surpassed. 
 At all events, I joined — I hope sincerely joined — in the worship 
 of my fellow Christians. 
 
 At the conclusion of the service the congregation dispersed, 
 ami 1 remained to inspect at leisure a magnificent altar-piece, 
 by I know not what great master, which had attracted my 
 attention. The ofliciating priests ami choristers had departed, 
 and a few inmates only remained in the late crowded cathedral. 
 ( me of these was a female dressed in the ordinary apparel of the 
 better ehivs of Spanish women, with her face shaded by a black 
 mantiilo, which depended on both sides from her head. For 
 Mime time I did not observe her, till, choosing a favourable 
 opportunity when there was no risk of being overheard, she 
 addressed me. I looked on her at first without surprise, for, in 
 the freedom of Spanish manners, such an occurrence was not 
 uncommon. 
 
 Sln> was ;i woman past the prime of life, who apparently had 
 never been handsome. She bore, it is true, even in the sere and 
 yellow leaf, towards which her May of life was evidently fast
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXVIII. 255 
 
 declining, the dark and expressive eyes, and the same profusion 
 of black and beautiful hair, by which her countrywomen are 
 generally distinguished. But such attributes were too common 
 to attract any particidar notice or admiration on my part ; and 
 having civilly replied to her civil salutation, I would have passed 
 on, without desiring or expecting any further communication. 
 
 Gradually, however, I was led into conversation. Of course, 
 she knew by my uniform I was an English officer, and asked 
 many questions concerning my situation and circumstances. In 
 particular, she enquired if I were married or single, whether I 
 had mother and sisters, whether I was a Catholic, (bueno Chris- 
 tiano,) and at length, whether, if opportunity offered, I should 
 feel inclined to brave the danger of an attempt to escape ? 
 
 I answered her questions — told her all she wished to know 
 about my family and myself — and she then informed me of the 
 motives which had stimulated her interrogatories. 
 
 Her only son, she said, had been taken in some naval engage- 
 ment, and carried as a prisoner to England. During his captivity 
 in that country, he had experienced the greatest kindness and 
 assistance from a family, I think she said, of the name of Bevill. 
 They had succoured him in his necessity; and when the subse- 
 quent peace with England had restored him to his friends and 
 country, he had returned full of the praises of the generous 
 hospitality of my countrymen. 
 
 All this had sunk deeply into the heart of his mother. A 
 burden of gratitude had been laid on it, under which her gene- 
 rous spirit was uneasy. She longed for some opportunity to 
 diminish the load of obligation she had incurred to that people 
 among whom her son had found succour in his adversity. W ith 
 this view, she had determined, if possible, to effect the escape of 
 at least one English prisoner. Chance had thrown me in her 
 way, and I found to that alone was I indebted for the offer of 
 assistance she then made me. 
 
 It was impossible to listen to the detail of her motives, without 
 at once understanding the character of the person who addressed 
 me." In what she said, there was no attempt at heightening or 
 embellishment. The gratitude she expressed towards my 
 countrymen evidently came from the heart ; and as she spoke 
 of the kindness her son had experienced among them, she was 
 much moved ; her voice became quick and irregular, and she 
 seized my hand, and pressed it warmly between hers. The 
 matter she proposed to me, however, took me wholly by sur- 
 prize ; and expressing my warmest thanks, I declined her offer, 
 stating that, as I was at that moment on parole, it would be 
 dishonourable even to enter on the discussion of any project of 
 escape. Before we parted, however, she gave me her address,
 
 256 CYRIL TIIORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 anil in case any circumstances should occur, in which her 
 assistance could be useful, I promised to have recourse to her 
 good offices. 
 
 From that moment, the offer made me by this kind and excel- 
 lent matron was one of which I never lost sight. My mind 
 dwelt on it by night and day, and many an airy and unsubstantial 
 fabric did I erect on its basis. But the illusions thus created 
 by my fancy were uniformly dispelled by my calmer judgment. 
 I had already given my parole, and to withdraw it in future 
 would certainly excite suspicion, and occasion my being sub- 
 jected to rigid, if not solitary confinement. But an avenue to 
 my hopes was soon opened, of which I did not fail to take 
 advantage. 
 
 The doctors, whom I have already mentioned as being left 
 in charge of the wounded, had been so, on the express under- 
 standing that they were not to be considered in the light of 
 prisoners of war. As such, however, they had been treated 
 from the commencement; and having completed their duties, 
 instead of being suffered to return to the British army, were 
 ordered to accompany the other prisoners to France, and during 
 their residence at Madrid were only sufi'ered to go at large on 
 parole. These gentlemen not being members of a belligerent 
 profession, revolted naturally from this unprincipled violation, 
 not only of the law of nations, but of the express stipulation 
 entered into by the French generals. In spite "f their parole, 
 therefore, they, in surgical conclave duly assembled, determined 
 on attempting their escape. In this attempt they failed, prin- 
 cipally, 1 believe, from the timidity of one or two of their num- 
 ber, who, being fired on without effect by a French sentry, 
 became alarmed by the extra-professional danger they had 
 incurred, and once more surrendered themselves prisoners. 
 
 The consequences of tins attempt were not confined to the 
 medical department. The parole liberty of all the prisoners 
 was discontinued, until a very rigid and minute examination 
 of the circumstances bad taken place. The offenders, how- 
 ever, had too strong a plea of justice on their side, to meet with 
 am very rigorous punishment in consequence of their abortive 
 effort to escape from thraldom. Colonel Guard once more set 
 about bis negotiations with the French general, and in a few 
 
 days the liberty we had before enjoyed was again tendered to 
 
 ns. The offer was accepted by all, with the exception, 1 think, 
 of seven officers and myself. What their prospects of escape 
 were, or whether they had any, 1 knew not, but we were all 
 equally explicit and determined in rejecting the proposal. 
 
 Our refusal tended considerably to disturb the harmon}' 
 which had hitherto subsisted among the prisoners. We were
 
 CYRIL THORXTOX. CHAPTER XXVIII. 257 
 
 strongly urged by Colonel Guard and several of the field-officers, 
 who with him had taken a lead in the affair, not to persist in 
 our resolution. It was stated that our adherence to the line of 
 conduct we had adopted, must be severely injurious to the other 
 prisoners, and occasion harsher measures to be adopted with 
 regard to them. Colonel Guard even stated that he had pledged 
 himself to General Belliard that the privilege of parole would 
 be joyfully accepted by all the officers, and that it was only 
 granted on condition of its being so. The meeting did not 
 terminate without high words on both sides, but the apprehen- 
 sion of spending the better part of my life a prisoner at Verdun 
 overbalanced the eloquence of Colonel Guard, and I remained 
 firm in my resolution of declining to take advantage of the 
 liberty thus strongly pressed on my acceptance. 
 
 The consequence was, that I, along with my brother non- 
 jurors, were removed to a separate part of the convent, in which 
 we were detained close prisoners. The apartments we occupied 
 were up one flight of stairs, on the top of which a sentry was 
 placed, with directions to fire on, or run through the body, any 
 prisoner who should attempt to pass him on his post. Each 
 entrance to the building (for there were two) was similarly 
 guarded, and the rooms on the ground-floor were occupied by 
 the guard and jailer, if I may so call an Italian sergeant in the 
 French service, who officiated in that capacity. 
 
 I had taken the precaution, foreseeing the close imprisonment 
 which awaited us, to write to the lady whose assistance had 
 been so freely offered in the church of St Isidore, informing her 
 of the situation in which I was now placed, and my anxious 
 desire to take advantage of her kindness. I did not think it 
 necessary to inform the bearer of this letter, who was an officer 
 on parole, of the nature of its contents, but extracted from him 
 a promise that it should be delivered, without question, into the 
 hands of the person to whom it was addressed. Imagining it 
 related to some love affair, the commission was readily accepted, 
 and the envoy probably returned from the execution of his 
 mission with a thorough contempt for my taste, in addressing 
 billets-doux to an object so little calculated to inspire tender 
 emotions. 
 
 To my letter no answer was returned, and immured as I was, 
 and separated by an apparently impassable barrier from the rest 
 of the world, hope died within me, and it required all my 
 philosophy to encounter manfully those evils from which there 
 appeared no reasonable prospect of escape. Day after day 
 passed on, and I was still a prisoner; night after night brought 
 hours of comparative happiness, for in my dreams I was free. 
 
 Such was my state of mind when the means of escape were 
 
 R
 
 258 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 suddenly presented to me. Our prison, of course, afforded no 
 convenience for cookery, and our meals were daily sent from a 
 neighbouring- hotel. The party thus supplied, including the 
 twelve assistant-surgeons, of whom mention has already been 
 made, consisted of nineteen ; and as we were daily furnished, 
 not merely with dinner, but all its concomitants, such as plates, 
 dishes, table-cloths, knives and forks, seldom less than five or 
 six servants were necessary for their conveyance. It was the 
 custom for these men to wait on us at table, and the meal being- 
 finished, to reconvey the articles above mentioned to the hotel. 
 
 I have already stated, that above a week elapsed without my 
 having received any message or intelligence from my worthy 
 matron. I was therefore, it may be supposed, not a little sur- 
 prised, when one of the servants who brought our dinner, in- 
 formed me that he was provided with a disguise, in which he 
 was ready to assist me in escaping from the prison. Very few 
 words were sufficient to render the plan abundantly intelligible. 
 While my companions were at dinner, I was employed in 
 changing my dress, and before the conclusion of the meal I was 
 equipped at all points in a manner similar to the dinner-carriers. 
 I wore a white cotton jacket and apron, dark-brown breeches, 
 and stockings of blue and white cotton. The trusty emissary 
 had come provided with a second basket, and placing this on my 
 head, I, with palpitating heart, took leave of my companions, 
 and walked down stairs with as much of the cool and nourlm- 
 lant air of my coadjutors, as 1 found it possible to assume. The 
 ruse succeeded. 1 had to pass two sentries, neither of whom 
 opposed any obstacle to my egress, and in a minute, I had 
 the satisfaction of finding myself moving in freedom along the 
 streets of Madrid. 
 
 I think if I were to select the happiest moment of my life, it 
 would probably be that in which the first sensation of liberty 
 fell, like a gleam <>f sunshine, on my spirits and my senses. I 
 am sure I musf then have played my part badly;- — for 1 danced, 
 rather than walked, along- the narrow trottoir, jostling all 1 met, 
 ,'oid elbowing my way, without regard to age. sex, or rank. The 
 
 French soldiers, ill-disposed to tolerate such rudeness, saluted 
 me with a curse, and occasionally a push with the but-end of 
 their musket as I passed- insults which, of course, 1 did not 
 slay tn resent. .My Steps were directed to the house of Maria 
 rle Noronha, where 1 arrived safely, a welcome and an ex- 
 pected guest.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIX. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 I am free. 
 Once more, dear England, ou thy sunny land 
 Is my firm footstep planted. Who ran tell, 
 Whose limbs ne'er felt a manacle, the joy 
 That fills the heart of the released captive, 
 As he inhales the first breath of free air 
 And treads with chainless limbs his native shore? 
 
 Duke of Verona. 
 
 I experienced every kindness from the worthy Senora in 
 whose house I had sought an asylum. There I remained for 
 some days, unknown to the rest of the family, secluded in a 
 small apartment, of which she kept the key. But my situation 
 was one of danger. A French officer was quartered in her 
 house, and there was consequently continual risk of being dis- 
 covered. My good hostess, therefore, was anxious that I should 
 be removed to a situation of greater safety, and prevailed on 
 her sister, who was likewise domiciled in Madrid, to receive me. 
 One evening soon after dark I effected my change of quarters, 
 dressed in a suit of naval uniform belonging to the son of my 
 patrona, without encountering any unlooked-for obstacle in my 
 transit. 
 
 In my new abode I was not received with any great show of 
 hospitality ; both mine host and his wife being evidently appre- 
 hensive of the unpleasant consequences in which a discovery of 
 the place of my concealment could not fail to involve them. The 
 husband, I found, was proprietor of an estate about thirty miles 
 from Madrid, and a considerable dealer in wool. There was in- 
 deed some excuse for his bad humour, for in the present circum- 
 stances of the country his estate was uncultivated, and his flocks 
 had been seized, without payment, as supplies for the French 
 army. 
 
 When I had been a few days in his house without prospect of 
 discovery by the French police, his apprehensions, however, be- 
 gan to wear off, and he frequently became tolerably companion- 
 able over a bottle of Sherry or Malaga, and a cigar. I remained 
 an inmate of his house about a fortnight, when some French 
 soldiers were unluckily billeted upon him, and it was again 
 necessary that my quarters should be shifted. I therefore once- 
 more removed to the apartment I had formerly occupied, in the 
 house of Maria de Noronha, where I was received as kindly as 
 before. 
 
 A considerable time had now elapsed since my escape from 
 prison, and there was every reason to hope that the vigilance of 
 the police had begun to slacken. I had become heartily sick,
 
 260 CYRIL THORNTON — CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 too, of the state of close confinement in which I had lately lived, 
 and was fully aware of the risk of detection to which, in my con- 
 cealment, I was hourly liable. In short, my whole heart had 
 become bent on making an immediate attempt to escape, since 
 further delay could apparently add nothing to the chances of my 
 success. 
 
 I communicated my sentiments on this head to my benefac- 
 tress, who perfectly agreed in my reasoning, and promised that 
 no time should be lost in facilitating my views. I had formed 
 a project of escaping in the character of a French officer ; but 
 to this many insurmountable objections occurred, and it was re- 
 linquished. It was, however, more easy to detect the dangers 
 and difficulties of any plan than to suggest another less liable to 
 objection. In vain did I torture my imagination, in vain did I 
 put my ingenuity to the rack, and rally all the energies of my 
 nature in the cause of my freedom. I summoned spirits from the 
 vasty deep, but they came not at my invocation. Had my escape 
 depended on my own solitary invention, I feel convinced I should 
 have spent six years at Verdun, perhaps some of them at Bische. 
 Luckily a better and a cooler head than my own was at work on 
 my behalf; and on this occasion of my life, at least, the star of my 
 fortune shone bright and unclouded. 
 
 One day my generous patrona entered my apartment with a 
 man in the dress of a muleteer, whom she introduced to me by the 
 name of Joze. She told me that she had engaged this person to 
 see me safely to Corunna, in which direction he was at any rate 
 going with his mules; that she would provide me with the dis- 
 guise of a Spanish muleteer, and assured me I should find Joze 
 a very good and trustworthy person. 
 
 Of course, I was enchanted with the proposal, and accepted it 
 with gratitude. In tad, no plan could have been better or more 
 skilfully devised. To have attempted a direct escape to the Bri- 
 tish army, would have been to encounter difficulties and dangers, 
 which the chance of surmounting with success was dispropor- 
 tionately small. On the route to Corunna, on the other hand, we 
 should encounter few, if any, of the French army; and at Co- 
 runna 1 had the greatest chance of meeting an English ship, 
 that town being in the hands of the British, and a considerable 
 <c']>oi for British merchandise. 
 
 All preliminaries being therefore arranged with Joze, it was 
 agreed thai we should, on the second morning, set forth on our 
 journey. The intermediate time was occupied in preparation 
 for my suitable equipment, and in acquiring as much as pos- 
 sible the external appearance and demeanour of the character 
 1 was to assume. To assist in this, the good senora pro- 
 ceeded to cut my hair on the back, crown, and sides of my head,
 
 CYBIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXIX. 2G1 
 
 as close and bare as possible, leaving a long tuft on the top of 
 the forehead, such as I remember to have seen in a picture of 
 Time, in a book which inculcated on the rising generation the 
 propriety of seizing him by the forelock. My complexion, 
 which was naturally dark, was rendered still more so by a 
 decoction of walnuts — a contrivance, by the by, rather too per- 
 manent in its effects, for it was some months before I found it 
 possible to restore my skin to its original complexion. 
 
 It was not without sensations of rather a disagreeable kind, 
 that I equipped myself for the first time in the garb provided 
 for me. It was not new, and yielded to more than one sense 
 indications scarcely to be mistaken, of having long encased the 
 person of some gross and oil-fed muleteer. The night previous 
 to my departure, sleep did not visit my eyes. Hope and fear 
 contended for the mastery within me, and my mind was alter- 
 nately elevated and depressed. I was hot and feverish, and rose 
 and paced the apartment for an hour before the first streak of 
 morning was visible. Then I commenced the business of my 
 toilet. My new dress consisted of a jacket and breeches of dark 
 coffee colour, plentifully garnished with buttons, a crimson- 
 coloured sash, in which was stuck a cuchillo or knife, blue 
 stockings and red garters at the knees, shoes of brown -coloured 
 leather, a striped handkerchief rolled round my head, and the 
 whole surmounted by a huge sombrero, far outshadowing in 
 diameter of brim even the most extended pretensions of ultra - 
 quakerism. Thus furnished forth, I flatter myself I made a 
 very tolerable muleteer, at least one whose external appearance 
 would not probably afford ground of suspicion. 
 
 The hour came when 1 was to join Joze, who waited my 
 arrival at the Plaga de Cevada. Farewell ! — How often, with 
 sorrow and bitterness of soul, have I been doomed to utter that 
 word ! Cold indeed must my heart have been, had I repeated it 
 without emotion, in parting for ever with my kind and generous 
 benefactress. She, too, was moved. She invoked for me the 
 protection of the Holy Virgin, and the tears Mere in her eyes as 
 she pressed me in a last embrace. 
 
 I found Joze with his mules at the appointed place ; and as 
 the morning gun was fired from the Retiro, as the signal for 
 opening the gates, we set forward on our journey. The tremu- 
 lous anxiety with which I entered on my new character may be 
 conceived. I rode on a mule, loaded, beside the supererogatory 
 burden I imposed on her, with two jars of oil, which hung on 
 either side of the packsaddle. Fear sat heavy on me till we 
 passed the barrier, and we found ourselves pursuing our course 
 uninterruptedly towards St Augustino. 
 
 Joze, however, marched onwards with the air of one perfectly
 
 262 CYKIL THORSTON. — CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 calm and unconcerned, alternately singing a verse of a Spanish 
 song, and swearing, with true Spanish vehemence, at his mules. 
 The morning was raw and cold ; and from the two sentinels at 
 the barrier, comfortably wrapped up in their great-coats, we 
 experienced no interruption. Joze's oaths, indeed, beeame more 
 and more vociferous as we approached the point of danger; and 
 one of the sentinels, annoyed by his stentorian imprecations, 
 threw a stone at him as he passed, cursing him, half in French 
 and half in Spanish, for a noisy blockhead. To this my con- 
 ductor replied, when fairly out of reach, with something about a 
 " Picaro Frangese," which his adversary durst not leave his post 
 to resent. 
 
 During the day wc met several parties of French cavalry, who 
 once or twice asked us a few questions, in replying to which 
 Joze always officiated as spokesman ; but nothing occurring to 
 excite suspicion, we were suffered to pass on. When examined 
 with regard to our route, we answered that we were hound for 
 Salamanca, under a protection from General Belliard ; Maria de 
 Noronha having, how 1 know not, contrived to procure us one. 
 When our course was afterwards changed, however, this protec- 
 tion was destroyed ; but being then out of the line occupied by 
 the French army, it was in fact no longer necessary. 
 
 In our journey we met with fewer dangers and impediments 
 than might have been anticipated. In fact, when ten leagues 
 north of Madrid, we had little to fear from the French. It is 
 true, that near Zamora we were stopped, and our cargoes 
 examined, by a party of French soldiers; but this was done, 
 less from suspicion than a desire of plunder, and the rascals 
 carried off my only change of linen, which I flattered myself 
 had been sufficiently secured from discovery by being thrust 
 into the stuffing of the packsaddle. Luckily they did not 
 search our persons, and my money escaped. Joze's chief fears, 
 however, were directed not towards the French, but his own 
 countrymen; and leal we fallen in with a party of Guerillas, 
 even supposing we had the good fortune to escape alive, there 
 i- no doubt wc should have been left to pursue our journey in 
 a -laic of primitive nudity . 
 
 Never- never shall I forget the sensations with which, from 
 a bright about a league from Corunna, the blue sea opened to 
 our gaze, and I saw a ship at anchor in the bay, carrying the 
 British Hag. It was on Sunday, the thirty-first of August, at 
 half-past one p.m., thai this blessed vision gladdened my eyes. 
 To me the day and hour are memorable. 1 gazed a while in 
 silence on the broad expanse of waters, speckled here and there 
 
 with the boats ofdistani fishermen, the red sails of which showed 
 brightly in the sunshine. But most did 1 gaze upon the ship,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXX. 263 
 
 of whose voyage I hoped soon to be a partaker, as if endeavour- 
 ing to recognise among the crew moving on her deck the coun- 
 tenance of some old friend or acquaintance. 
 
 But this mood of meditation was soon changed to one of 
 exuberant delight. I sprang into the air with the agility, if 
 not the grace, of De Hayes, waved my sombrero over my head, 
 and then kicked it from me, and played a thousand antics, at 
 sight of which Joze evidently entertained strong suspicions of 
 my sanity. 
 
 Having given vent to this paroxysm, we lost no time in enter- 
 ing Corunna. My first business was to call on the British 
 consul, to whom I made known my situation, and who afforded 
 me every assistance in his power. He insisted on my making 
 his house my home during my stay ; and the kindness I expe- 
 rienced from him, has left me under an obligation which I shall 
 be happy, should it ever be in my power, to repay. 
 
 I had here no difficulty in procuring money, with which I 
 recompensed honest Joze, and enabled him to return to Madrid 
 with his mules well loaded with English merchandise. I wrote 
 also to Maria de Noronha, and transmitted a sum through the 
 muleteer, which I imagined to be sufficient to cover all the 
 charges of which I had been the occasion. From enquiries I 
 afterwards made, I was glad to learn that the commission had 
 been faithfully executed. 
 
 My stay at Corunna did not exceed a week. The Leander, 
 Captain Porter, was about to sail for England ; I embarked in 
 her, and after a pleasant, because a short voyage, landed at Dover. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 From Marlborough's eye.s the tears of dotage flow, 
 And Swift expires a driveller and a show. 
 
 JOH.N'SOS. 
 
 Shall I call you father ? 
 
 Troilus and Cressida. 
 
 For some time before I left Lisbon for the army, and of course 
 during my confinement, I had received no intelligence from 
 my family. So long a time had never before elapsed without 
 bringing letters from my sisters, who, to do them justice, were 
 excellent correspondents. This unwonted silence had filled my 
 mind with dark forebodings, and unreasonable anticipations of 
 evil.
 
 264 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 While abroad it was little felt. The excitement of the cir- 
 cumstances in which I had been placed, afforded full occupation 
 for my mind ; and the suffering of present evils had prevented 
 it from dwelling with much intensity on future and more con- 
 tingent misfortunes. But when these had passed away, and I 
 trode once more securely on my native land, a crowd of appre- 
 hensions came to embitter my repose. 
 
 There was nothing in the circumstances of any of my family, 
 when I had last heard from them, to create any fears on their 
 account. Jane's spirits, indeed, were evidently depressed ; but 
 considering the change in her home which my father's marriage 
 had occasioned, there was nothing in this to excite surprise. 
 Lucy's letters, too, had been more serious than usual; but Lucy 
 was increasing in years, and could not always be expected to 
 retain the light-hcartedness of a child. Still fears, not the less 
 terrible for being vague and indefinite, haunted and depressed 
 my spirit, and would not, by any effort, be shaken off. 
 
 In vain did I marshal reason to combat these visionary gor- 
 gons — in vain did I cleave them down and smite them to the 
 earth. For a moment they were dissipated and subdued; but, 
 like the members of the giant dissevered by the sword of Astolfo, 
 they once more united, and stood before me in all their former 
 ghastliness and terror. Immediately on getting ashore, I wrote 
 to Jane, informing her of my arrival, and requesting her to 
 address a letter to me in London, by return of post. 
 
 I hurried, therefore, to town, anxious as soon as possible to 
 put an end to tins state of anxiety and doubt. There, however, 
 no answer awaited me. Not an hour was lavished on pleasure 
 or dissipation; and I waited only the brief spare necessary to 
 procure leave of absence at the Horse Guards, and to obtain a 
 dress in which 1 could appear without ridicule, to set out for 
 Thornhill. 
 
 In truth, the Coruima Schneider, whom I had employed to 
 provide a SUCCedaneum for the discarded garb of the muleteer, 
 had given, in that with which he supplied me, but a sorry speci- 
 men of bis skill. The waist of my coat commenced nearly at 
 my shoulders, while its lower extremities hung down almost to 
 my heels. This unwonted longitude of one garment, however, 
 was compensated by an equally unprecedented brevity of another. 
 My browsers SCarcelj reached to the knee, and resembled not a. 
 little those worn by Dutch fishermen above the huge waterproof 
 boots iii which they exercise their vocation. 
 
 To do myself justice, there was not, I think, much of the fop 
 
 in my character; hut I had quite vanity enough to make me 
 
 from returning to Thornhill in a dress so exceedingly 
 
 autre and unbecoming. Stulz, on the present occasion, did
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXX. 265 
 
 wonders ; and under excitement of feeling, perhaps produced by 
 beholding a customer so utterly disfigured by professional bar- 
 barity, supplied me, (notwithstanding an approaching levee,) in 
 a space incredibly short, with a costume in which, without dis- 
 credit, I might venture to appear in the very gayest circle. 
 
 No further time was lost in getting en route for Thornhill. 
 Once more I passed the old lions at the gate, and gazed on 
 the mutilated and benignant countenances of these venerable 
 guardians. Once more I stood in my paternal halls, disin- 
 herited and a stranger. I looked around me as I passed through 
 the vestibule, but strange faces met my eye ; nor did it now rest, 
 as formerly, on the aged but still rosy countenance of Jacob 
 Pearson. He was gone. With a sorrowing heart he had quitted 
 that mansion, of which, from his boyhood, he had been a tenant 
 — that service in which, by half a century of frugality, he had 
 barely secured a competence to keep penury from the gate. 
 
 The new mistress and the old servant had not agreed. Jacob 
 was an aged tree, which would break, not bend. Thornhill was 
 no longer for him, nor he for Thornhill. He had gone ; but I 
 am sure Jacob's prayer and blessing still lingered with his 
 master, unkind as he found him, and with those children whom 
 in infancy he had dandled on his knee, and to whom he had ever 
 continued an object of affectionate attachment. 
 
 Let me at once finish his story. He retired to a cottage at 
 some distance, where in a few years he died. There were none 
 with whom he claimed kindred; and he left my sister Lucv, 
 who, from her light and joyous disposition, had always been his 
 especial favourite, heiress to his little property. 
 
 Worthy and excellent Jacob, farewell ! Deep and dreamless 
 be to thee the sleep of the grave, till summoned to receive that 
 reward which we have high assurance will be bestowed at last 
 on an humble and an honest heart ! 
 
 When I entered, the butler enquired my name. The question 
 struck a chill through my frame, and answering it only by a 
 wave of the hand, I continued to advance. The servant, though 
 evidently surprised, opened the door of the drawing-room, and I 
 entered. It was vacant. I advanced, and seated myself in a 
 chair, half afraid to look around me, from the associations with 
 which I imagined every article in the apartment to be indis- 
 solubly linked. The chair on which my mother had been used 
 to sit — the table at which she worked — the sofa on which, when 
 faint or weary, she had been accustomed to recline — the thou- 
 sand little elegances with which she had adorned the apartment 
 — could I gaze on these things without stirring up a countless 
 throng of mournful memories and solemn thoughts ? Slowly 
 and fearfully did I raise my eyes, and look around with the
 
 2G6 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 hesitating glance of one who expected to discover a frightful 
 fiend gazing forth on him from some dark nook of the chamber. 
 
 Soon, however, all dread of painful association was dispelled. 
 The apartment was newly and gaudily furnished in the fashion- 
 able taste of the day. Hangings tit crimson silk, tables and 
 chairs of rosewood inlaid with buhl, splendid cabinets of shells 
 and minerals, had been substituted for the more ancient furni- 
 ture to which my eye had been accustomed. I gazed round the 
 room, but there was nothing in it to recall the memory of former 
 days; — no, nothing. The beautiful antique mirror, which 
 nearly covered the wall of one end of the apartment, had been 
 newly framed, and in more modern taste. Even the room itself 
 was changed. A bay window had been thrown out since I had 
 la-t seen it ; and the Gobelin tapestry, which had been the 
 admiration of the whole country, and on which were represented 
 the history and miracles of the apostles, had been displaced by 
 a showy French paper and a gold moulding. All this delighted 
 me. There was nothing here to remind me of the home of my 
 early days. That, it seemed, was now gone, and I stood a 
 stranger in a strange place, calm and indifferent. 
 
 Mrs Thornton at length entered. I rose, and saluted her 
 with a distant how. She raised her eyeglass as she advanced, 
 and soon recognized my features. 
 
 '• Ah. Captain Thornton!" she exclaimed, with an easy and 
 /( mchalant air. " I am delighted to see you. You are welcome 
 — most welcome, to Thornhill. This is really such an agree- 
 able surprise! 1 assure you both Mr Thornton and myself were 
 so disappointed at learning you had been taken prisoner — such 
 a blighting of all your prospects in the army — and then to find 
 you here -o unexpectedly! What delight it will give my excel- 
 lent husband. I must not lose a moment in letting him know 
 the pleasure that awaits him. I am not selfish enough to deprive 
 him of it for a single instant. Tray, excuse me, Captain 
 Thornton, lor I cannot sutler any one but myself to be the 
 hearer of BUch plea-ant tidings." 
 
 " I beg first to ask one question," I interrupted: " How are 
 my sisters?" 
 
 ■ Both well quite well. Jane is with her husband in Glou- 
 cestershire, quite gay and delighted with her change of condition: 
 and Mi' Hewson i- so charming a person" 
 
 " Her husband ! " 1 exclaimed, staring with astonishment — 
 
 " [g m\ sister .lane married ?" 
 
 ■ Yes, to be sure, Borne months; 1 thought you must have 
 known that. 1 remember Borne one or other talked of writing 
 you about it: probably it was forgot; hut 1 assure you it is 
 a delightful match, and Mr Qewson has been most liberal in
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXX. 267 
 
 point of settlements. But excuse me ; I must run and tell Mr 
 Thornton of your arrival. I hope you mean to make some stay 
 at Thornhill ? Pray, authorize me to say you will pass a clay 
 or two with us ? Your father, I am sure, would be quite 
 delighted. At all events, you shall positively not leave us to- 
 day — I must at least insist on that. I assure you, nothing less 
 will satisfy either Mr Thornton or myself." Having thus spo- 
 ken, she left the apartment. 
 
 I had some difficulty in recognizing, in the portly and loqua- 
 cious personage who had just quitted me, the mild, pensive, and 
 demure Miss Cumberbatch of former days. The insect which 
 changes from a chrysalis to a full-grown butterfly, and flutters 
 with painted wings in the sunshine, undergoes not a metamor- 
 phosis more complete than that which had been wrought on my 
 stepmother. True it is, we are but creatures moulded by cir- 
 cumstance—clay from which the plastic hand of the modeller 
 may form at will an angel or a demon. But there are certain 
 changes of character, so marked and striking, so sudden and 
 unexpected, as to make us forget at once the previous deductions 
 of philosophy, and look on them with unmixed wonder and sur- 
 prise. 
 
 Of this nature was the revolution, if not in character, at 
 least in its external demonstrations, which I had observed in 
 Mrs Thornton. In appearance, too, she was considerably altered. 
 In person she was larger and fuller than formerly; and the increase 
 of expansion had given her a certain portliness of presence, which 
 consorted well with her recent augmentation of consequence. I 
 think it possible, that in mixed society she might be considered 
 an agreeable woman ; and she possessed a certain quickness of 
 apprehension, and a decided manner of expressing her opinions, 
 which would probably acquire for her the character of a clever 
 one. She was generally considered handsome, but there was 
 something unamiable and repulsive in her eye, which marred the 
 expression of her countenance, and appeared to indicate a selfish 
 disposition, and a heart callous to those finer feelings which con- 
 tribute at once to elevate and sanctity the baser and more 
 grovelling attributes of our nature. 
 
 In whatever haste my good stepmother might be to communi- 
 cate the intelligence of my arrival to my father, he, at least, 
 betrayed no symptoms of haste to take advantage of it. I waited 
 for half an hour alone in the drawing-room. At length my 
 father entered, leaning on the arm of his wife. I half started as 
 my eyes first rested on his figure. Time had evidently made 
 deep inroads on his frame since I had last seen him — deeper, 
 indeed, than might have been expected from his age, which was 
 little above sixty. His brow was furrowed, and his cheek hollow
 
 2GS CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 and wrinkled. His body was worn and emaciated ; yet it was 
 evidently a burden which bis feeble limbs were with difficulty 
 able to support. 
 
 Though the ravages of time, and perhaps of mental inquietude, 
 were tlius visible on my father, care had evidently been taken to 
 conceal as much as possible the havoc of the spoiler. In former 
 days, he had been in a more than ordinary degree negligent of 
 his toilet. A marked change in this respect was now obvious. 
 His dress, which, within my memory, had been uniformly black, 
 was now composed of several colours, and there was a certain 
 neatness and precision in its arrangement, which bespoke con- 
 siderable attention to personal adornment. His head, which was 
 formerly bald, except a few silver locks, which still afforded a 
 scanty covering to his temples, was now adorned by a wig. My 
 father's teeth, too, were gone, and the skill of the Chevalier Rus- 
 pini had evidently been called in to contribute its quota of 
 renovation. Those he now displayed were far too white and 
 regular to be mistaken for genuine, and they occasioned an unna- 
 tural elevation about the mouth, which affected disagreeably the 
 expression of his countenance. Every thing around me had 
 undergone a change, but to me the most striking and impressive 
 was that I now beheld in my father. 
 
 Immediately on observing his entrance, I rose from my chair, 
 • Hid advanced to meet him. His gait was tottering and unsteady, 
 and as I extended my hand, and enquired kindly for his health, 
 he spoke in a feeble, tremulous, and almost unintelligible voice. 
 There was no feeling depicted in his countenance on our meeting 
 — their natural lustre had laded from his eyes, and he gazed on 
 me as one nazes on a stranger, with whose features lie imagines 
 himself familiar, yet concerning whom he can recall only few 
 and uncertain particulars. 
 
 After the first salutations 1 remained silent, for I was shocked 
 by discovering thai my father had suffered equally from mental 
 a- from bodily decay. He looked at me lor a short space, and 
 was evidently endeavouring to colled his ideas. At length he 
 
 spoke. 
 
 "I think 1 have had the pleasure of seeing you before; and 
 yet *' - he hesitated, and placed his linger on his head, as if 
 making a Strong mental effort; "excuse me, I cannot exactly 
 recollect when or where." 
 
 "This is yourson, Captain Thornton," interrupted my step- 
 mother; "you know he ha- been abmad in Spain; ami you 
 heard lately of his being taken prisoner, which occasioned 
 
 us all great regret and alarm, you see," said she, address- 
 ing me in an under tone, "your father's memory is a little 
 ; but it is only his memory, all his other faculties are
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXX. 269 
 
 quite perfect, and on most subjects, I assure you, he is wonder- 
 fully acute." 
 
 To what she said, however, I paid little attention, for I was 
 occupied in observing what effect the intelligence of my presence 
 produced on my father. 
 
 His eyes, which had been turned towards his wife as she spoke, 
 were now keenly directed on me, as if engaged in the act of 
 recognition. There was more of life and expression in them 
 than I had yet seen. " Cyril," he said, " you are altered, and I 
 did not know you ; but I might have expected that, for you left 
 Thornhill a boy, and you have returned a man. You are wel- 
 come—I am glad to see you." 
 
 I was indeed considerably altered. Exclusive of the change 
 wrought by the transition from youth to maturity, my face had 
 become embrowned by exposure to a more southern sun ; and the 
 whiskers, which I had suffered in my character of a muleteer to 
 cover the largest possible quantum of my cheek and chin, had 
 not since my arrival in England been reduced to more moderate 
 and civilized dimensions. Yet, however different I might be in 
 appearance from the smock-faced boy who, seven years before, 
 had solicited his blessing, and gone with joy and lightness of 
 heart into the world, there was something bitter and melancholy 
 in the idea, that I should not again be recognised by him to 
 whom I owed my being. But the change, alas ! had not been 
 in me alone. I beheld before me the wreck of a stately vessel, 
 from the summit of whose lofty mast I had seen the pendant 
 float proudly on the breeze — and but a wreck — her power, her 
 glory, and her pride, were gone for ever. 
 
 The knowledge of my presence seemed to have the effect of 
 collecting and condensing my father's ideas, and on every thing 
 relating to myself he spoke connectedly, and with perfect 
 memory ; but on other subjects his mind evidently wandered, 
 and betrayed imbecility both of memory and judgment. Mrs 
 Thornton, however, seemed determined to make up, by the exer- 
 cise of her own conversational talents, for the deficiency of her 
 husband, who, apparently exhausted by the effort he had felt 
 himself called on to make, remained mute, with distressing 
 vacancy of countenance. 
 
 I passed a melancholy day. Lucy was at Bath with Lady 
 Willoughby, and there was nothing to obliterate, even for a mo- 
 ment, the sad spectacle of decay which I was called on to wit- 
 ness. I quitted the house, and went forth into the grounds. 
 There every object I encountered tended only to deepen the 
 mournful impressions which weighed upon my spirit. Far aloft, 
 the huge chestnut trees were waving their branches in the wind, 
 as I remembered them of yore ; the wooded hill was yet crested
 
 270 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 by the tower which had been to me the scene of joy and of pas- 
 sion. A thousand painful memories rushed tumuituously on my 
 soul as I gazed on it. Nature, too, in her innumerable voices 
 was unchanged. All remembered sounds fell mournfully on my 
 ear, and, like a song of other days, were linked in every cadence 
 with shadowy and dream-like remembrances of innocence and 
 childhood. 1 returned to the house. At dinner, our party was 
 increased by the presence of three sisters of Mrs Thornton, 
 who had, I found, established themselves as stationary inmates 
 at Thornhill. I do not know what the previous situation of 
 these ladies had been, but certainly their present one did not 
 seem very enviable. When my good stepmother addressed them, 
 she did so with an air of patronage and authority, and they 
 were frequently called on by their more fortunate sister to dis- 
 charge offices, which, although trifling in themselves, could 
 not, I thought, but involve mortification, by being publicly de- 
 manded. 
 
 The dinner was served with more attention to routine and 
 display than had formerly been usual. The livery of the ser- 
 vants, which in my recollection had been always plain, was now 
 garnished profusely with hue, and adorned with epaulettes. 
 Splendid candelahras shed a glare on the dinner-table, and the 
 observance of trifling points of minute punctilio was evidently 
 magnified into a duty. This was vulgar. It was the error of 
 one, who, elevated to a sphere above her natural pretensions, 
 wished to draw as marked a line as possible between her pre- 
 sent station and that in which she had originally moved. 
 
 The dinner passed cumbrously and slowly, and was succeeded 
 by the wine and the dessert. Not by these only, for with them 
 entered a nurse flounced and furhelowed to her middle, and 
 bearing in her arms a rickety and squalling baby. Nothing 
 could exceed the empressement displayed by the whole party, in 
 soothing and cares-ing the little irritable darling. Miss Polly 
 Ciimberhatch whistled for its amusement; Miss Emma held 
 oow n her oose to he grasped by its little fingers ; and .Miss Mar- 
 gery dangled her watch and trinkets before it> eyes, and cried 
 
 — Da. da! 
 
 I was not long Buffered to remain ignorant of the relation in 
 which I stood to the diminutive intruder, of whose existence I 
 
 had not till that moment been aware. It was necessary that I 
 should Bay some civil things on the beauty and engaging appear- 
 ance of my little brother; hut when its mother, taking advan- 
 tage of mj complaisance, proceeded to propose my taking it in 
 m\ arms and kisvjno' it, I gave a positive veto to the proposition, 
 
 ' I assured her that, from a certain nervous awkwardness, to 
 which I was Bubject in such circumstances, I had already drop-
 
 CYRIL THORNTOX. CHAPTER XXXI. 271 
 
 ped three children, one of which had broken its leg, and another 
 fractured its skull, by falling on a marble floor. 
 
 This declaration had the desired effect of relieving me from 
 further importunities, at the trifling expense of becoming an 
 object of detestation to all the females of the party. Never was 
 a penalty more readily paid. 
 
 In consequence of my refusal, the bantling was transferred 
 to the arms of its father, by whom it was joyfully received. 
 There is always, I think, something melancholy in the contrast 
 exhibited by the conjunction of infancy and old age— the decrepi- 
 tude of exhausted powers, and the helplessness of those not yet 
 developed. But besides this, there was something at once sad 
 and disgusting in the spectacle before me. The tears of dotage 
 and fondness flowed down the cheeks of my father, as he kissed 
 the slobbering babe, and dandled it in his withered arms. Had 
 his elder children experienced from him but one tithe of the 
 fondness he lavished on this supererogatory offspring of his 
 declining years, by what strong and undisseverable ties would 
 he not have bound our hearts ! 
 
 When the ladies retired, and I was left alone with my father 
 in the dining-room, he was evidently uneasy and embarrassed. 
 I pitied his condition too much, to allude in conversation to any 
 of those topics which were likely to excite emotion, and soon 
 afforded him relief, by repairing to the drawing-room. There I 
 withdrew myself as much as possible from conversation, and 
 spent the evening with a book. In the morning, I bade farewell 
 to Thornhill, without any regre r implied or expressed on the 
 part of its inmates. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 But now I am return'd, and that -war-thoughts 
 Have left their places vacant ; in their rooms 
 Come thronging soft and delicate desires, 
 All prompting me how fair young Hero is, 
 Saying, I liked her ere I went to wars. 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 My destination was Bath. I was a homeless traveller — a leaf 
 parted from its parent tree, which is wafted where the wind 
 listeth. My sister Lucy was at Bath, and that determined 
 my choice. A day and a night brought me to the con- 
 clusion of my journey, and I lost no time in proceeding to
 
 272 CYRII- THORNTON. — CHArTER XXXI. 
 
 Lady Willoughby's. Sir John had died since my departure for the 
 army, and she was now a widow. On enquiring for her residence 
 I was directed to a handsome house in the Circus; and on my 
 arrival learned from the servant that the ladies were at home. 
 My name was announced. Lucy and Laura were seated in the 
 drawing-room when 1 entered. 
 
 Never did fawn spring more lightly from its lair in the moun- 
 tains, when its ear is suddenly startled by the baying of the 
 hounds, than did Lucy to embrace me. In a moment she was 
 in my arms, and I felt the throbbing of her young heart as I 
 pressed her to my bosom. For a few seconds she was breathless 
 and overcome ; then bending back her head, she gazed upon my 
 face, as if anxious to read there an answer to questions which 
 she could not speak. 
 
 Never had I beheld a picture of simple and expressive beauty 
 like that which then riveted my gaze. From the position of her 
 head, the ringlets of her dark brown hair fell backwards, and 
 left her forehead bare. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes, 
 which were fixed on mine with looks of joy and love, were 
 brighter than, till then, I had deemed it possible for human 
 ey< a to be. 
 
 Lucy, though by no means a delicate flower, had been over- 
 powered by the unexpectedness of the meeting ; but she soon 
 recovered, and never was there a happier maiden, as she sat with 
 my large and tawny hand clasped in both of hers, listening with 
 eager interest to narratives of broil, battle, and escape. 
 
 lint Lucy, dear as she was, did not wholly engross my atten- 
 tion. Laura Willoughby was there. She received and welcomed 
 me as a friend — as one who had been her playmate in infancy, 
 and of whom she still cherished a pleasing, though distant 
 remembrance. As for me, it was natural that I should gaze on 
 her witli more than common interest and curiosity. I had 
 left Laura Willoughby a child, and she had now grown up into 
 a woman. She had been the Lady of my childish love; love in 
 which my boyhood had felt the tirst foretaste of passion; per- 
 haps too airy to lie permanent, yet too pleasing to have utterly 
 decayed. 
 
 Her figure, as I now beheld her, was a little inclining to en- 
 bonpoint, but well and symmetrically formed. I do not know, 
 that, considered in its individual features, notwithstanding its 
 extreme Bweetnessof expression, her face would have been reckon- 
 ed beautful. Perhaps not, for the charm that hung around her 
 proceeded less from any distinct and peculiar perfection of form 
 or feature, than from a general harmonious combination of them 
 all. When quiescent, her countenance generally bore something 
 of that calm tranquillity of expression — that still, and almost
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHATTER XXXI. 273 
 
 deathlike beauty, which is shed around the finer creations of 
 Chantrey or Joseph, and mingles with the admiration of the 
 spectator somewhat of awe. But it was in speaking that she 
 appeared most captivating ; for then the eloquent blood mounted 
 into her cheek, and the words breathed by one of the most 
 musical of human voices, were rendered even more charming, 
 by the sparkling comment of her eye. 
 
 In Lucy, too, a striking change was visible. From a fat and 
 chubby child, she had sprung up into a tall and elegant girl. 
 The flush of health was on her cheek, life in the sparkle of her 
 eye ; and her dark-brown hair, yet innocent of papillotes and 
 curling-irons, hung down in beautiful ringlets nearly to her 
 shoulders. The changes of time had been favourable to her 
 beauty, and entirely removed a certain cock of the nose, which 
 approached somewhat too closely to the character of snub, not 
 occasionally to incur the application of that odious expletive. 
 Altogether, there was something riant in the character of hei 
 countenance, and one might read in its expression the lightness 
 of the heart within. It was indeed a countenance which not 
 even the nose of Slawkenbergius could have rendered other than 
 delightful. 
 
 Lady Willoughby received me with kindness almost maternal ; 
 and, to enjoy as much as possible the society of Lucy, I deter- 
 mined on making Bath my headquarters during the period of my 
 leave. The season then passing had been to Lucy the memorable 
 one in which her career of gayety had commenced, in which, 
 according to common phrase, she had been brought out. I had 
 never yet enjoyed an opportunity of mingling much in the gay 
 world, and I was delighted at the opportunity now afforded me, of 
 doing so, and of acting in some respects as a guardian and pro- 
 tector to my sister, on her first entrance into life. To me, as to 
 her, the gay assemblies, in which I then for the first time formed 
 an unit, were arrayed in all the charms of novelty. There is a 
 freshness of spirit which one brings to the first enjoyment of 
 such things which lingers but for a brief space, and then departs 
 to return no more. 
 
 'Tis odour fled 
 As soon as shed; 
 'Tis morning's winged dream 
 'Tis a light that ne'er shall shine again 
 On Life's dull stream. 
 
 I enjoyed Bath then, but I have never had the spirit to try it 
 again. I am sure it would be insipid. The dull monotony of 
 the pump-room promenades — the eternal routine of balls and 
 parties, different, yet the same — varying in trifling accessaries, 
 unvarying in essentials. Who would travel like a horse in a 
 mill, eternally in the same track ? And yet Bath remains the
 
 274 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 same — it is / who am changed. The mountain still lowers, but 
 Mahomet has passed away. 
 
 The circumstances which 1 learned from Lucy connected with 
 Jane's marriage, were such as to excite strong fears for her hap- 
 piness. Uewson (I had heard of the man before) was a- wealthy 
 profligate, who, having run a career of more than youthful dissi- 
 pation, had, with a heart rendered callous, and a head silvered 
 with debauchery, determined on marrying. Jane, sensitive, 
 delicate, and retiring, was not, it may appear, a person likely to 
 captivate such a man ; and yet it was so. He admired her per- 
 haps for the contrast she afforded to the coarser class of females, 
 with whom alone in the career to which his early years had 
 been devoted, his taste had led him exclusively to associate. His 
 character was known, and he was one of those persons whom 
 prudent mothers took care to exclude from the society of their 
 daughters. But he was master of a fine estate, and others were 
 not wanting who endeavoured to draw him into wedlock, in that 
 most visionary of all expectations, that the attractions of a wife 
 would convert the worn-out roue, into a fond and respectable 
 husband. 
 
 Vain hope ! The leopard may change his spots and the Ethiop 
 his skin, but the leprosy of such a man reaches to the core — it 
 pervades his system — his very vitals are contaminated — his veins 
 circulate venom — Vice has set her signet on his heart, and the 
 impression is ineffaceable. 
 
 Hewson, too, was a man of sporting celebrity, and possessed pre- 
 cisely so much honour and morality as is considered necessary in 
 ! lie circle iit'.Ww market. He was, indeed, an experienced econo- 
 mist in morals, and his supply of marketable virtue was always 
 precisely proportioned to the " effectual demand." The value of 
 the commodity was never depreciated by any excess of produc- 
 tion. Not good enough to excite one scintilla of esteem, and 
 scarcely bad enough to be expelled from respectable society — not 
 SO openly fraudulent in his dealings as to be considered a black- 
 legs, and yet enough so to be distinguished as a "sharp fellow," 
 and "an old one" — such was Hewson. 
 
 Was it possible for .lane to love such a person — to marry him ? 
 To love him —no. To marry him — unfortunately, yes. Mrs 
 Thornton was too anxious to rid her establishment of one whose 
 mce, retiring and unassuming as she was, could not but 
 frequently he felt as a check and a control, not to back with all 
 nfluence the proposals of Hewson. My father, I do him but. 
 justice in believing, would never, in the full possession of his 
 faculties, have consented to such a sacrifice of his daughter. 
 Then, alas! he could scarcely he considered as a moral and 
 a responsible agent, and at once governed and deluded by his
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXI. 2/5 
 
 wife, joined his influence to hers in promoting his daughters 
 misery. 
 
 Deep must have heen the cruelty and persecution by which 
 poor Jane was driven to seek for refuge even in so hateful an 
 union. Yet Hewson's manners had nothing in them of the gross- 
 ness of the debauchee. No one knew better than he how to cast 
 a veil over his depravity, and cover a rotten heart with a fair ex- 
 terior. That Jane knew his character I do not believe ; for how 
 could a creature so innocent and inexperienced conceive the exis- 
 tence of a being like Hcwson ? It was impossible. Beset by 
 importunity — urged by parental authority — suffering under daily 
 cruelty and mortification — without enjoyment in the home, which 
 till then had been so dear to her, and which in present misery 
 must have been rendered more bitter by the remembrance of for- 
 mer happiness ; — with no friend to comfort or advise, is it won- 
 derful — is it unnatural — that she should sink under such diffi- 
 culties, and become the wife of Hewson ? 
 
 It is at least true — she did so. 
 
 I entered into all the gayeties of Bath, and it was delightful 
 to me to observe the effect of such scenes on a spirit formed so 
 naturally for their enjoyment as that of Lucy. Scarcely as her 
 light form passed down the dance, did she seem to touch the 
 ground, but, like a winged creature, skimmed along its surface, 
 with her small feet twinkling to the sound of music. 
 
 My eyes were not wholly occupied with this fair vision — often 
 were they turned to another as fair and not less delightful — 
 Laura Willoughby. How, with looks riveted on her counte- 
 nance, did I not drink in the tones of her silver voice, as they fell 
 like snow-flakes, soft, pure, and melting on my heart! It was, 
 indeed, impossible for any one to know Laura Willoughby as I 
 did, and not to love her. To the world her manner probably ap- 
 peared cold and distant, but beneath that vestal stillness of 
 expression I knew there dwelt a spirit of fervent feeling — of deep 
 though quiet energy. Yet how different both in character and 
 degree was the tranquil affection she inspired, from that resist- 
 less tornado of passion by which I was soon destined to be over- 
 whelmed ! 
 
 The circumstances of my escape had blazed abroad, and I 
 found myself in Bath an object of curiosity and interest. My 
 ear caught whispers in the pump-room as I passed, opera-glasses 
 were levelled at me in the theatre, and bright eyes beamed on 
 me in the ball-room. It was the period when military enthu- 
 siasm was at its height, when victory had not satiated the strong 
 appetite for glory which existed in the public mind. Then, every 
 soldier who had fought in Spain was considered a hero, and a 
 subaltern with a wooden leg attracted as much interest and atten-
 
 •27o CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 tion as Wellington himself, the hero of an hundred fights, in these 
 days of more tempered enthusiasm and calmer feeling. To the 
 vanity of a young man this could not be but gratifying; and I 
 felt with the Roman satirist, 
 
 Pulcbrum est digito monstrari, et dicier, Hie est. 
 
 Till then I was not conscious of any thing peculiarly heroic in 
 my own character; but in this matter I was not peculiarly 
 bigoted to my own opinion, and soon brought myself to partake 
 sincerely enough in the general sentiment respecting my hither- 
 to latent merits and achievements. 
 
 In truth, I believe our real value is generally that which the 
 world puts on us. Let a man, however gratuitously, be irrevo- 
 cably set down in public opinion as a scoundrel, and he is pretty 
 sure to become one- — let the courage of a martyr be lauded in 
 another, and he will die bravely at the stake. Men's powers 
 and passions alike depend on surrounding circumstances for 
 their development, nor is it impossible, had these been changed, 
 that Sir William Curtis might have ruled the senate, while 
 Canning stammered at a city feast. So true it is 
 
 Men's judgments are 
 A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward 
 ))■> <!r.->\v the inward quality after them, 
 To Buffer all alike. 
 
 Of all cities Bath is, perhaps, the best for meeting singular 
 characters; and as one generally calculates on being brought 
 into contact with mid figures, they are -ecu with little interest, 
 and no surprise. But there was a party at one of the subscrip- 
 tion balls to which the attention of the company seemed pecu- 
 liarly directed. It consisted ofa mother and five daughters. In 
 the morning we had seen them at the pump-room; but their 
 veils, ami the fashionable shape of bonnet then prevalent, were 
 so successful in concealing their countenances, that nothing had 
 been recognized bul their costume. That, indeed, was sufficiently 
 bizarre, and, joined to the general oddity of deportment which 
 distinguished the party, excited peculiar observation. 
 
 Their appearance at the ball was no less remarkable. The 
 mother wore a gown of light purple, with a necklace of huge 
 amethysts, the whole surmounted by a turban of the brightest 
 yellow. The five young ladies (young by courtesy) were gor- 
 geously furnished forth in dresses of Pompadour satin. The 
 air ami language of the party were singularly novel and outr4. 
 They partook in nothing of the manner and appearance of those 
 .■found them. There w as :l certain rawness of hone, an inde- 
 scribable air of sauvagerie, which marked them, as distinctly as 
 Cell can he distinguished from Goth, even by the eyes of Mr
 
 CYRIL TIIORXTOX. CHAPTER XXXI. 277 
 
 Pinkerton, to belong to a different variety of the species from 
 those among whom they mingled. One of them looked like a 
 man in petticoats, and strode through the room with the air of 
 a grenadier. Another might almost have passed muster, had 
 her dress been long enough to have concealed feet about the 
 length of a folio, and the breadth of an octavo volume. Two 
 were disfigured by red elbows and high cheek-bones, and the 
 fifth was easily recognisable by a wreath of white roses inter- 
 twined with locks, whose brightness of hue it was impossible 
 for the grossest flattery to reduce to auburn. 
 
 The faces of this singular-looking party being displayed for 
 conquest, I recognised them at first glance to be those of my 
 aunt and cousins, with whom I had parted at Balmalloch. My 
 first object was to avoid recognition, but it was impossible. It 
 was too plain, by the direction of their glances, that I was 
 already recognised, and that the impending calamity admitted 
 of no escape. I lost no time, therefore, in preparing Lucy for 
 the interview, by informing her of the name and quality of the 
 strangers, to whom, I was aware, it would soon become neces- 
 sary that I should introduce her. The drama, indeed, was 
 obviously verging rapidly towards the catastrophe ; for when I 
 rose to dance with Miss Willoughby, I had the mortification to 
 perceive that Miss Thomasina Spreull was led to the same set 
 by Mr Archibald Shortridge, junior, son, as my readers may 
 perhaps remember, to the worthy ci-devant chief magistrate of 
 the commercial metropolis of Scotland. 
 
 Mr Shortridge was dressed as superbly as rings, brooches, 
 gold chains, and the skill of a Wapping or a Glasgow tailor 
 (certainly one or other) could make him. His golden locks 
 were spread out in the utmost amplitude of friz, of which the 
 art of the peruquier could render them susceptible, and every 
 eyeglass in the room was put in requisition, as with that sort 
 of walk, generally called heel and toe, he led his fair partner to 
 her station. 
 
 The astonishment of the company, however, did not reach its 
 perihelion till they began to dance. With agility, in Bath at 
 least, quite unprecedented — increased perhaps, on the present 
 occasion, by the desire of display — this gifted couple commenced 
 by springing at least three feet above the level of the floor, and 
 whirling themselves in the air, with a command of muscle alto- 
 gether wonderful ; while their return to earth, from these aerial 
 ascents, was signalized by gyrations and curvatures of the body 
 scarcely less worthy of admiration. 
 
 For the benefit of those readers whom the facilities of steam- 
 travelling have not yet tempted to pay a visit to the portion of 
 our island north of the Tweed, I may here mention that the
 
 'J 7 s CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 steps danced by my fair cousin and her partner were those of 
 the Highland Vltng, a dance which, although deservedly popular 
 among " Caledonia's mountaineers," is probably still destined to 
 remain a rare exotic in the south. 
 
 I would have given, I know not what, but certainly a great 
 deal, to have avoided the public recognition of acquaintances, 
 whose appearance and deportment were evidently objects of 
 ridicule to the whole assembly. Hut (lis aliter visum, it was 
 otherwise decreed. In passing down the dance, it became 
 necessary, by the figure, that I should turn Miss Thomasina 
 Spreull. Mutual salutations of course passed between the fair 
 danseuse and myself. 
 
 " Bless me," said she, capering loftily as she spoke, "is this 
 you? Mamma will be so glad to see you. She's been bobbing 
 to you for the last half hour, but you would never look our way." 
 
 I answered, civilly and briefly as possible, by enquiring for 
 her health and that of her family, and darted off, happy that 
 the mazes of the dance put a stop to a colloquy, of which there 
 were too many listeners to be agreeable. 
 
 At the conclusion of the set, any further attempt at evasion 
 being useless, I thought it better to make a merit of necessity, 
 and advance with a good grace to pay my respects to my rela- 
 tions. On doing so, 1 was saluted by a clatter of tongues from 
 the whole family at once. Their sojourn in the south had 
 softened down none of their national peculiarities, either of 
 accent or expression, and my welcome was pronounced in the 
 broadest Doric of their native land. The first burst of recog- 
 nition having subsided, our dialogue became gradually more 
 intelligible. 
 
 "Wae'fl me, Imt ye're poor in the flesh, by when ye was at 
 Balmalloch," said the mother, eyeing me as a butcher eyes a calf 
 that he has some intention of purchasing ; "but, nae doot, that's 
 wi' campaigning." 
 
 "Hoot, mother," interrupted one of her daughters, "it's a' 
 the fashion now to lie slim and genteel, and in my opinion Mr 
 Thornton's no a pin the waur o' the change; but, to be sure, 
 he's Bair freckled." 
 
 "Whar are ye biding?" resumed the mother; "and wha's 
 that auncient dooager o' a lady, that's matroneezin' the twa 
 young anesP Yin <»' them's yer si>ter, 1 ettle, and twa better- 
 t'aurt lasses I never Bel my ecu mi, noair especially the douce? 
 lookin' sonsy yin ye've just been dancing \\i'. The ither, too, 
 i~ verj bonny, bul she's young, and no just, filled oot yet sae 
 weel as she will !»■; but, hie- me, sic a lam-bin' and kecklin' 
 
 oa she's keepin' up wi' her neebour, that seems o' a mair douce 
 and composed character."
 
 CYRIL THORNTON'. CHAPTER XXXI 279 
 
 I informed my new friends of the name and character of the 
 different persons composing our party, and nothing could exceed 
 the impatience expressed by them all to be introduced to their 
 cousin. Wishing as much as possible to avoid attracting public 
 attention, I proposed they should remain in their places, and 
 that I should bring Lucy to undergo the ceremony of intro- 
 duction. This proposal, however, was rejected. They insisted 
 on making the first advances, and simultaneously rose to traverse 
 in a body'the whole length of the apartment, which intervened 
 between them and the object of their search. This motion en 
 masse was effected amid the tittering and stare of the company, 
 to my infinite discomfiture, and was not perhaps rendered less 
 ludicrous by the dismay expressed on the countenances of Lady 
 Willoughby and her party, on observing that this irruption of 
 the Philistines was directed towards them. I endeavoured to 
 regulate the introduction, with as much regard to decorum and 
 propriety as possible. 
 
 " Mrs Spreull, Lady Willoughby— Lady Willoughby, nvy 
 relation Mrs Spreull. 'Lady Willoughby, my cousins," point- 
 ing to the disorderly host coming forward like a party of High- 
 land caterans ; " Lucy, my dear, let me present you to your 
 aunt and cousins." 
 
 No sooner were these last words uttered, than poor Lucy felt 
 a pair of long bony arms clasped about her neck, and a huge 
 bearded mouth in the act of kissing her cheek, which had flushed 
 to the deepest crimson. The Scot did not stand more afflicted 
 and aghast when 
 
 The shadowy kings of Banquo's fated line 
 Through the dark cave in gleamy pageant pass'd— 
 
 than did poor Lucy, as the fated and apparently interminable 
 line of her aunt and cousins successively came forward, at once 
 claiming and enforcing the privilege of an affectionate embrace. 
 Then rose many voices of loud and discordant gratulation, more 
 than half unintelligible, as she stood in the centre of a circle of 
 blood relations, all bent on demonstrations of most unwelcome 
 kindness. One patted her neck, and assured her she was the 
 gleggest and bonniest young thing she had ever seen. Another 
 sadly deranged the economy of her hair, by pushing back the 
 ringlets from her forehead, as she declared her inheritance of the 
 bree of the Spreulls. Another admired prodigiously a string of 
 pearls which encircled her neck, from which hung a small 
 diamond locket containing her mother's hair, and, after a minute 
 inspection, pronounced them beautiful and genuine. 
 
 I saw all this was perfect martyrdom to poor Lucy, and did 
 every thing in my power to create a diversion in her favour.
 
 280 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Lady Willoughby assisted me with her usual good-nature — spoke 
 to Mrs Spreull — requested her and her daughters to be seated, 
 and at length, with much difficulty and exertion, succeeded in 
 reducing the mighty chaos into something like order. Poor 
 Lucy's dress had suffered considerably, in the closeness of the 
 engagement to which she had been exposed, and she took the 
 earliest opportunity afforded her of an honourable retreat. 
 
 For myself I was still exposed to molestation. Mr Archibald 
 Shortridge, who bad been overlooked in the brunt of the battle, 
 now came forward, and insisted on making himself a prominent 
 object in the group. Accosting me, with what he no doubt 
 considered an air of elegant familiarity, with one hand in the 
 pocket of his yellow breeches, and the other stretched forth 
 in token of old acquaintance, be commenced his friendly 
 greeting. 
 
 " Damme, Thornton, how's a' wi' you — devilish glad to see 
 you — tired of the fighting trade, eh? that's but a poor business 
 to embark in, all loss and no profit. I'm thinkin' it would have 
 been a better spec to have turned merchant, and chirted yoursel' 
 into a snug birth with old David." 
 
 My countenance must certainly be one of no expression, for 
 the look I endeavoured to throw into it must otherwise, I think, 
 have had the effect of stopping this odious gabble. This look, 
 and a cold how of recognition, were indeed the only answer it 
 received ; hut not at all daunted, Mr Shortridge proceeded — 
 
 " I saw the old gentleman lately, but he's cursedly changed 
 since you left Glasgow, quite tailed ; he can hardly jo^r his trot- 
 ters along the Trongate, and goes to the coffee-room in a chair. 
 Bless m\ soul, what a lot o' money he keeps in the hank! A 
 capital old hoy to fly a kite on. I suppose you sometimes touch 
 him lip with a fifty? if you don't, you're a fool for your pains; 
 and wire 1 in your shoes, I"d make the old codger trundle the 
 mouldy blunt out of his money hags, to some purpose, I warrant 
 you." 
 
 This was carrying the joke somewhat too far; and I instantly 
 adopted what 1 though! effectual steps for putting a stop to fur- 
 ther outrage from this impudent babbler. 
 
 " Mr Shortridge," 1 replied, " 1 do not imagine you have any 
 intention of insulting me. and am ready to attribute to your 
 Ignorance Of the world, the extremely improper expressions you 
 
 have thoughl tit to use, both with regard to my uncle and my- 
 self. I am not accustomed to hear such language, and request 
 thai it may not he repeated." 
 
 He wasobviou l\ a little what sailors call taken aback by this 
 address, and apologized with a look of somewhat diminished 
 assurance ; bul bis \ulgar audacity soon returned, and I was
 
 CYRIL TUORNTON CHAPTER XXXI. 281 
 
 glad to escape from it by leading Miss Willoughby again to the 
 dance. 
 
 Since I saw him last he had become doubly detestable. He 
 had been led by business to a temporary residence in London, 
 and thus, in addition to the indigenous vulgarity which still 
 clung to him, he had acquired much of that vile Cockney slang 
 and underbred assumption, which mark the beaux of Broad 
 Street and Pudding Lane. 
 
 I was apologizing to my partner for the annoyance to which 
 she had been exposed from my Vandal relations, when my indig- 
 nation was suddenly roused to its utmost pitch, by observing 
 this Glasgow Yahoo lead my sister Lucy as his partner to the 
 dance. The possibility of such an occurrence had never for a 
 moment been present to my thoughts, or I should have taken 
 effectual means to prevent so unpleasant a consummation. Poor 
 Lucy, I afterwards found, had at first declined dancing ; but 
 urged by the united clamour of her Scotch cousins, who declared 
 it " both a sin and a shame sae young and bonny a creature 
 should sit still wi' the auld folk, instead o' kicking her heels 
 about wi' the young anes," she had, with the infirmity of pur- 
 pose natural to her age, suffered herself to be persuaded to adopt 
 what appeared the smaller evil, and danced with Mr Shortridge, 
 in order to avoid the continuance of solicitations at once urgent 
 and disagreeable. 
 
 With what an air of self-complacent triumph the booby led 
 her to the dance, and made it evident, by the alternation of his 
 glances, that his admiration was nearly equally divided between 
 his fair partner and his yellow breeches ! Then to see the villain, 
 as he stood opposite to her, deliberately produce from his breeches- 
 
 !>ocket a huge silver snuff-box, and having tapped the lid with 
 lis knuckles, proceed to offer her a pinch ! One kick, one single 
 solitary kick, inflicted on the monster, in the act of perpetrating 
 such unheard-of enormities, would have been as balm to my 
 spirit, and have lightened the burden under which it groaned. 
 But, alas ! even this trifling consolation was denied me, and I 
 was compelled passively to behold the inhuman barbarian lead 
 my sister down the dance, jumping like a kangaroo, and followed 
 by the ridicule of the whole assembly. 
 
 Mortified as Lucy was, her gravity could not stand the exhi- 
 bition of her partner, and she found it impossible to refrain from 
 laughing. But even this the stupid savage seemed to consider 
 as a compliment to his skill, and capered if possible even higher 
 than before. 
 
 On the whole, I found that " digito rmmstrari" was not always 
 so pleasant a thing as I had imagined ; and I retired to rest that 
 night in no very amiable state of mind and feeling, firmly
 
 282 CYRII. THORNTON CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 resolved to quit Bath forthwith, in order to escape any further 
 mortification from the presence of these pestilent relations. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Knights and dames I sing, 
 Such as the times may furnish, "fis a flight 
 Which seems at first to need no lofty wing, 
 Plumed by Longinus, or the Stagyrite: 
 Tlic difficulty lies in colouring 
 ( Keeping the duo proportion still in sight) 
 With Nature, manners which are artificial, 
 And rendering general that which is especial. 
 
 Bykox. 
 
 With the morning, hetter thoughts came. These good people 
 were simple and warm-hearted, and I was not ungrateful enough 
 in my calmer moments, to forget the kindness of their welcome 
 at Balmalloch. That estate had been purchased by my uncle, 
 and the ladies were now possessed of a very considerable fortune 
 in money, with the world all before them where to choose. A 
 sudden desire of mingling in fashionable society, and becoming 
 denizens of the beau moude, had been endemic in the family. 
 They set up a gay equipage, and bidding " farewell to beggarly 
 Scotland," now blazed forth in native and reflected radiance, in 
 a handsome tenement in Hath. 
 
 Their domestic circle had been increased by the marriage of 
 one of the elder Miss Spreulls, and had the speedy prospect of 
 being still more so, by its fruits; for Mrs M'Craw, wife of 
 Major Gulliver M'Craw of Cockapistle, in the county of Aber- 
 deen, was evidently in the way that women wish to be who love 
 their lords. The major was a tall gaunt man, with enormous 
 black whiskers, and a face the colour of Lundy Foot's Irish 
 snuff, who bad served with distinction in the Royal African 
 corps, and survived a residence of nearly twenty years in Sierra 
 Lecne. By the death of a brother, he had succeeded to the 
 small paternal inheritance to which Ins lady was now about to 
 
 furnish him with an heir. The major was solemn and taciturn, 
 not addicted to lighl conversation, hut partial to sangoree and 
 tobacco-smoking. It was made no secret in the family that 
 Miss Thomasina Spreull was soon about to follow the example 
 ni' her sister, and, at the suit of Mr Archibald Shortridge, become 
 a votary of I Is men. 
 
 I received from the Spreulls much interesting information
 
 CTEIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXII. 283 
 
 with regard to my uncle. He was fast declining into the vale 
 of years, and had not escaped the infirmities of increasing age. 
 The account of Mr Shortridge, which from its manner had 
 excited my indignation, was true as to matter. My old and 
 warm-hearted friend — for friend, in the widest acceptation of 
 the term, I knew him to be — was beginning to pay the penalty 
 of life extended beyond its usual limits. I learned that Girzy, 
 too, (for my enquiries extended to that faithful domestic,) began 
 likewise to show traces of incipient senility, yet was active and 
 bustling as ever ; and though my uncle, as formerly, vehemently 
 insisted on being king in his own establishment, the subdolous 
 Girzy, by prudently resigning all external symbols of domestic 
 power, still managed to secure its substantial enjoyment. 
 
 Mr Spreull having become the purchaser of Balmalloch, was 
 now proprietor of his ancestorial estate ; and I believe neither 
 the major nor his lady were without hopes that the expected 
 produce of their union might one day add the succession of 
 Balmalloch to the family estate. 
 
 I have already said, that I received occasional letters from my 
 uncle. They were generally charged with friendly monition 
 and advice, not always, indeed, very applicable to my situation 
 and circumstances, but evidently dictated by strong regard, and 
 anxiety for my welfare and prosperity. His was a heart of hard 
 materials, and difficult to move to kindness ; but the impression 
 once made was indelible. "There are some hearts," says Crabbe, 
 that great master of human character, 
 
 Which are like wax : apply them to the fire, 
 Melting, they take the impression you desire, 
 Easy to mould and fashion as you please, 
 And again moulded with an equal ease; 
 Like smelted iron, some the forms retain, 
 But once impress'd, will never melt again. 
 
 Thus my boyish freedom, and entire absence of artifice, and 
 perhaps the discovery that I really loved him, and found pleasure 
 in his society, had established me at an elevation in his good 
 graces, from which I think scarcely any after misconduct could 
 have occasioned my fall. 
 
 On the day following the ball the whole family of Spreull, 
 escorted by Major M'Craw and Mr Archibald Shortridge, came 
 to call at Lady Willoughby's. I was there when they arrived. 
 They entered the drawing-room in long array, the cortege being 
 headed by the Major, who appeared flanked by Mrs Spreull and 
 his lady. The veteran advanced with an air of solemn dignity 
 to the head of the apartment, where Lady Willoughby was seated, 
 and on being presented to her ladyship by his mother-in-law, he 
 performed three separate salaams, with a formality and stiffness 
 which would have done no discredit to Dr Pangloss.
 
 284 CYP1L THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Though the motions of the head of the column were thus un- 
 usually ceremonious, the same observation certainly did not 
 apply to the centre and rear, which advanced in tumultuous dis- 
 order, like thai of the Trojans in the third book of the Iliad. 
 Miss Duncan and Miss Thomasina, the youngest and most lo- 
 quacious of the party, seated themselves beside Lucy and Laura, 
 with whom they instantly commenced a conversation, of which 
 balls, lace, fashions, jewels, theatres, and dress, were the sub- 
 ject. When the party had become sedentary, and Mr Archibald 
 Shortridge had wriggled into a chair, where he sat with crossed 
 legs, coaxing his hair into an erect position, (which from its 
 being naturally rather limber and oleaginous, seemed a matter 
 of some difficulty,) and displaying a pair of enormous brass- 
 heeled spurs which adorned his boots ; 1 had leisure to attend to 
 the conversation, which commenced between Mrs Spreull and 
 Lady Willoughby. 
 
 " I houp your leddyship," began the former matron, " wasna 
 the waur o' the ha' last night. It was just extraordinar het and 
 overpoorin'. I likit that kind o' amusement weel cneuch in my 
 day, but I'm getting ower auld for't noo. Though, when one 
 has dochters to bring out into the world, it's really nccessar, 
 mair especially in a place like Bath, for a prudent mifher to keep 
 an e'e ower them, to see they dinna fa' in wi' discreditable folk, 
 that arc aye on the look-out for weel-tochcred lasses, and ready 
 cneuch to tak' a' advantage o' their youth and inexperience." 
 
 Lady Willoughby, who had been able to collect the drift of 
 this address, though many of its expressions were unintelligible, 
 answered by yielding a civil assent to the propositions of Mrs 
 Spreull, on which encouragement thai lady proceeded. 
 
 "It's a sair tax on me, I assure your leddyship, but it's one I 
 houp that will no continue much longer to fa' on my shouthers. 
 For there's my dochter David— that's hersittin' there beside the 
 gudeman — will soon he able to tak' my place, and matroneeze 
 her sisters. But you see she's near the downlying, and no just 
 at present in a condition to appear in public. — Major, you had 
 better get her a cod and footstool, for, puir soul, she seems no 
 that easy in that cane-bottomed chair." 
 
 The major rose, with the stillness of a church-steeple, to per- 
 form the task assigned him, and of course all eyes were turned 
 on his interesting helpmate, to whose situation the attention of 
 the company had been so pointedly directed. The lady, how- 
 ever, betrayed no Bymptom of embarrassment on finding herself 
 tlm- suddenlj the object on which the gaze and interest of the 
 party were concentrated. The truth, I believe to be, that a 
 
 s|iinster who unexpectedly changes her condition, at that critical 
 period of female life when the horrors of antiquated maidenhood
 
 CTKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXII. 285 
 
 are felt to be nearly impending, is naturally led to think more 
 highly than usual of the honours of the femme couverte, and to 
 display perhaps an overweening pride in the prominent demon- 
 stration of approaching maternity. 
 
 The object of the major's mission was rendered unnecessary 
 by two of the young ladies insisting on Mrs M'Craw taking their 
 places on the sofa, where, with cushions judiciously adjusted to 
 her back by the tender care of her husband, she reclined in a 
 pleasant and self-complacent consciousness of the interest she 
 had excited. 
 
 My attention, which had been hitherto otherwise engaged, 
 was now turned to Mr Shortridge, who, drawing his chair nearer 
 to Miss Willoughby, appeared determined to begin a conversa- 
 tion. " Fine day, ma'am." 
 
 A slight nod of acquiescence from the lady. 
 "Have you seen the papers this morning, ma'am?" 
 " No, sir ; I seldom read newspapers." 
 
 "No read the papers! That's astonishing; I could not live 
 without them. There's an account in the Traveller to-day 
 of a horrid murder, that amused me so much this morning at 
 breakfast. The brains of a whole family knocked out ; the 
 maid-servant with her throat cut from ear to ear, and a butcher's 
 knife found sticking in the small ribs of an infant in the cradle. 
 I'll be happy to send you over the paper, ma'am, if you wish to 
 see it." 
 
 The proposal was civilly declined, and the assailant, finding 
 his approaches in this quarter not very likely to succeed, changed 
 his point of attack. 
 
 " Have you been long in Bath, ma'am ? " 
 " Some weeks." 
 
 " It's very stupid, ma'am, isn't it ? Terrible riff-raff set the 
 company at the ball last night — very few of the right sort, but 
 plenty of what I call tag-rag and bobtail— people one wouldn't, 
 choose to know, if one met them in Pall-Mali or St James's 
 Street. You have been in London, ma'am, haven't you ? " 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Ah, that's the place to go it in style ; Bath's nothing to Lon- 
 don. — Tommy," addressing his intended, "when we're married, 
 1 must have you to town, to show you a little of life ; what do 
 you say to that, my tight wench ? " 
 
 Tommy, as he called her, expressed perfect acquiescence in 
 the proposal ; but observing how much poor Laura was annoyed 
 by the pertinacious continuance of this vulgar balderdash, 1 took 
 occasion to cut short the conversation by stepping up between 
 her and the object of her annoyance, turning on the latter what 
 Lord Castlereagh would have called a bach front. This had the
 
 28G CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 desired effect, and the booby, if not silenced, at least directed his 
 conversation to those, the meridian of whose taste it better suited. 
 
 From the samples of my relations which I have already ex- 
 hibited, the reader may imagine that their society, which it was 
 impossible wholly to escape, was an abundant source of annoy- 
 ance and mortification. But these, after all, diminished in a 
 trifling degree the sum total of our enjoyment. With Laura 
 Willoughby I experienced that sort of pleasure which arises 
 from the almost abstract consciousness of being an object of in- 
 terest to a young and beautiful female. I loved her; but when 
 I now calmly reflect and analyse the feelings by which 1 was 
 moved at that period, I think my love was that of a brother, and 
 1 imagined it was in that light she regarded me. 
 
 The days flew by, as days of happiness ever do, on fleeting 
 wings The destined period of Lady Willoughby's stay at Bath 
 had elapsed, and she relumed to Middlethorpe. She carried 
 with her the only inducements I had to a longer residence there 
 — Laura and Lucy. They were gone, and notwithstanding I 
 had formed a pretty large circle of such acquaintance as one 
 generally contrives to pick up at a watering-place, 1 felt that 
 my chief objects of interest had been removed, and I roamed 
 about the streets with all the feelings of a solitary man. The 
 gayeties by which I was surrounded had lost their zesl : I felt 
 myself in the mood of being "melancholy and gentlemanlike." 
 
 In Mich a state of mind, 1 determined to quit Lath for London, 
 in search of new objects of excitement, which might stir the 
 Bluggish current of my spirits into more rapid motion. Having 
 resolved on speedy departure, 1 was walking in the Circus, in a 
 fit of blue-devils, and abstraction from Lath and its concerns, 
 when a pnitl\ elderly gentleman, either from hurry or hlindness, 
 or a (it of musing like my own, ran up bolt against me. This 
 shock was something like that one has read of as occurring be- 
 tween two ships ;it sea, which have happened to run aboard of 
 each other in the dark. For myself, being the lighter vessel, I 
 was mosf damaged by the concussion; and on recovering my 
 
 Q8es, which were at lirst somewhat deranged by the rudeness, 
 a- well as suddenness of the encounter, 1 Looked towards m\ 
 opponent with no very amiable feehngs. 
 
 Had I known nothing of the man, it would still have been 
 impossible t" he angry, lie sputtered out a thousand apologies, 
 
 attributed the accident to his blindness, and bore himself as a 
 
 per on of consummate tact and knowledge of the world might 
 be BUpposed to do in such unpleasant circumstances. 
 
 It was Lord Ainershain. 1 immediately made myself known, 
 and. of course, vied in assuming for my own absence and awk- 
 wardness the whole blame of our collision.
 
 CVRLL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXII. 287 
 
 "Ah, my good friend, Thornton!" exclaimed his lordship, 
 on learning who I was, " I can scarcely call this a pleasant meet- 
 ing for old friends — not a pleasant mode of meeting at least — for 
 to meet with you must always be pleasant. Ha, ha ! to think 
 that so gay and gallant a man-of-war, should be run down by 
 an old, crazy, and heavy-sailing hulk like myself. Glad to see 
 you, at all events — hope your excellent father is quite well, and 
 your sisters — Gad, I hear they are fine girls, very fine girls. Ah, 
 and there's a marriage, too, I -hear, to congratulate you on. 
 Wish you joy, with all my heart — every thing one could wish — 
 good family and large fortune. From the army, I suppose — not 
 wounded, or on the sick list, I hope — come home for a little 
 pleasure, eh ? — I know what young men are — like to sweeten 
 Mars with a little of Venus, and then run back to campaigning 
 — too young yet to change, like me, the sword for the plough — 
 mustn't think of that for the next twenty years." 
 
 It was in vain to attempt stopping his lordship in the full 
 career of speech, and I waited till he was fairly out of breath 
 before I attempted a reply. Having then with difficulty hitched 
 in an answer to the more prominent queries of his address, I 
 expressed a hope that Lady Amersham and [my heart fluttered 
 as my lips pronounced the name] Lady Melicent were well. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, Melicent quite well — but poor Lady 
 Amersham — of course you know — very "bad indeed — sadly 
 changed since you saw her — Sir Henry ordered change of air, 
 and sent us to Bath for a fortnight— thought the waters might 
 do her good. Here's my card — don't see company, but always 
 glad to see you. Good-by, my dear Thornton — Colonel, eh — 
 Major — pardon my not giving you your proper title — always in 
 a hurry, you know — it's my failing, can't help it — what's bred 
 in the bone, eh — you know the rest — hope to see you very soon. 
 Good-morning."— So saying, this antiquated Mercutio set off at 
 a space between a walk and an amble, while I stood gazing after 
 him, till, by turning the corner of the street, he was lost to my 
 view. Then I continued my walk, but in how different a frame 
 of mind from that which I experienced before this unexpected 
 encounter ! 
 
 What a strange piece of mechanism is the human heart ! 
 What a revulsion of feeling had been excited in mine by the bare 
 mention of a name ! But it was a name indissolubly linked in 
 my imagination with beauty, grace, pride, splendour, and capti- 
 vation ; with days, the memory of which was flattering to my 
 vanity, and therefore fondly cherished. The gloom which had 
 hung over Bath was gone, and to my eye it seemed encircled by 
 a zone of light and beauty. 
 
 Yet the transports I felt, were not those that swell the breast
 
 288 CYRIL THORNTOX. — CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 of a lover, when the blessed vision of her whom he has long 
 silently, and it may be hopelessly adored, unexpectedly greets 
 his eye. When even to breathe the same air — to gaze on the 
 same objects — to hear the same sounds with her, from whom by 
 time and distance he has been long divided, is in itself a joy 
 unspeakable, and sheds enchantment on them all. Raptures 
 such as these mingled not at all in the delight, which the 
 knowledge of the near presence of Lady Melicent had caused so 
 abundantly to overflow within me. 1 was spurred onward by a 
 vague stimulus, and was contented to swim with a current which 
 carried me 1 knew not whither. 
 
 My pleasure was a blind one. The society of Lady Melicent 
 had been to me pregnant with greater excitement than that of 
 any other woman. She had piqued my vanity, and to become 
 agreeable to one so accomplished at all points, had roused within 
 me powers and energies, which, till then, had lain dormant. I 
 had been flattered, too, with the belief of success. 1 imagined 
 that 1 had succeeded in rendering myself to her an object of more 
 than common interest. 1 had done this with no'hope of suc- 
 cessful passion, with no definite nor distinct object in view, be- 
 yond the immediate gratification of being pleasing in her eyes 
 whom all sought to please. This arena 1 imagined was once 
 more opened to me, and I felt as a young and prevz chevalier 
 about to enter the lists at a splendid tournament, and try a pas- 
 sage at anus with the bravest and noblest of the land ; perhaps 
 scarcely hoping to come off victor, yet conscious in such a con- 
 test it was pride to have been even a competitor. 
 
 The preparations for my departure were countermanded, and 
 on the following day 1 presented myself at Lord Amersham's. 
 1 sent in my card, and iii a few moments was admitted. Lady 
 Melicenl was the first object that met my eye as 1 entered the 
 apartment. She was seated at her harp, but rose immediately 
 on my entrance. There was a smile on her countenance as she 
 approached to welcome me, but 1 observed none of that hurried 
 tremour, and nervous rapidity of motion, which 1 think must 
 
 base been observable in myself. She moved slowly and grace- 
 fully, and extended towards me a hand unsurpassed lor beauty 
 and whiteness, which I grasped in mine with somewhat more 
 vehemence of pressure than was perhaps quite suited to the occa- 
 sion and circumstances. That >he perceived this 1 know, for a 
 align! and scarcely perceptible suffusion overspread her cheek, 
 
 hut found there no resting -place, ^>^ in an instant it was gone. 
 The usual compliments, and nothing but the usual compli- 
 ments of meeting, passed between us. At the head of the 
 apartment, man armed chair, propped up by cushions, sat Lady 
 Amersham, 1 had not observed her at first, but her figure soon
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXII. 2S9 
 
 caught my eye, and I approached to offer salutation. Eight years 
 had barely elapsed since I had seen her last, and had I not been 
 prepared by the meeting with Lord Amersham for a great and 
 striking change, I certainly should not have known her. She 
 was no more like the Lady Amersham whose image was per- 
 durably imprinted on my memory, than I to Hercules. Nothing 
 of that fine and dignified form which had formerly struck me 
 with admiration now remained. Her cheek was hollow, her 
 eyes — those large, dark, proud eyes — twinkled small and dimly 
 from beneath the forehead by which they were now far oversha- 
 dowed. It was evident disease had made sad inroads in her 
 frame ; her form was thin and wasted, and she was suffering 
 before the time of its natural advent the debility of extreme old 
 age. She spoke in a voice so feeble and tremulous as scarcely 
 to be intelligible, and it seemed as if the exertion of speaking 
 was not unaccompanied with pain. 
 
 Though it was impossible I should feel more than common 
 interest for one into whose society I had been only once tran- 
 siently cast, yet I could not regard the spectacle of decay before 
 me without considerable emotion. It seemed as if I stood 
 before the ruins of a splendid and gorgeous palace, fallen from 
 its high estate — deserted — desolate. The contrast of the pre- 
 sent and the past occupied my imagination : it was a striking 
 one. I had not seen the gradations of the change ; they might 
 have been slow and gradual, but to me she seemed as one 
 brought low by some awful and sudden dispensation — one whom 
 the lightning of God had scathed and smitten in the very 
 season of her pride. 
 
 This train of thought, however, was suddenly interrupted. 
 A servant entered, and announced that the Earl of Lyndhurst 
 was below, and solicited admission. 
 
 " Not at home," was the laconic answer, and the menial made 
 his instant exit. 
 
 There was something in the unhesitating and decisive man- 
 ner in which these words were spoken by Lady Melicent, which 
 implied that the person suing for admission was disagreeable to 
 her, and there was something in the circumstances of Lord Lynd- 
 hurst which made them, perhaps, more than usually remarkable. 
 
 He was a young man who had succeeded to an earldom and 
 a princely fortune, and whose recent arrival at Bath had excited 
 a " strong sensation" among speculative mothers and marriage- 
 able daughters. It was understood that, like an eastern sultan, 
 he had only to throw the handkerchief, in order to concentrate 
 on one happy female the envy of her sex. Such was the person 
 to whom Lady Melicent had in so marked a manner denied 
 admission.
 
 290 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A minute or two had barely passed in that kind of conversa- 
 tion which, though not perhaps interesting in itself, frequently 
 leads to that which is so, when our dialogue was interrupted by 
 the entrance of Lord Amersham, accompanied by Lord Lynd- 
 hurst. 
 
 " Very pretty work this ! " exclaimed his lordship ; " at home 
 to one young gentleman, and denied to another — very pretty, 
 upon my honour! Why, it seems that you young soldiers, 
 Thornton, have only to cry, ' Open Sesame,' to be admitted 
 every where. Ha, ha, ha ! However, as the Scotch say, 
 ' Blood's thicker than water ;' and as Melicent can plead rela- 
 tionship as a sort of excuse in this case, I suppose it must 
 be admitted. Lord Lyndhurst, Captain Thornton — Captain 
 Thornton, Lord Lyndhurst." 
 
 The person to whom I had thus the honour of being intro- 
 duced was a young man, apparently of three or four and twenty, 
 with fair hair, face round and full, not remarkable for expression, 
 figure well-formed, and somewhat inclining to obesity, and 
 marked altogether by that easy confidence of manner, arising 
 from a full and habitual sense of his own consequence and 
 claims to distinction. On the whole, he was good-looking, but 
 there was a want of spirit and animation, both in his counte- 
 nance and manner, which in some degree derogated from the 
 amount of his claims to personal attraction. 
 
 The ceremony of introduction being concluded, Lord Lynd- 
 hurst threw himself on an ottoman, and with an air of easy 
 nonchalance, addressed occasionally a question or an observation 
 to Lady Melicent. From the little I could gather of his con- 
 versation, in the moments of interval I could snatch between 
 the voluble sentences of Lord Amersham, it was of that light 
 and uninteresting sort which is the common vehicle of inter- 
 course in well-bred society, and is the better fitted, perhaps, for 
 its purpose, that it calls forth no latent difference either of sen- 
 timent nr opinion. His manner in addressing her was free, and 
 altogether unmarked by any of that dilfidence which at once 
 betrays an anxiety to please, and an apprehension of failure in 
 the attempt. 
 
 Lady Melicent, on her part, listened to him with that sort of 
 air which betrayed consciousness of superior powers, such as a 
 \erv clever person may soiuet imes be detected in assuming when 
 Conversing with one of inferior talents, with whom he feels it is 
 Mime condescension to place himself on a footing of temporary 
 equality. This, however, was unnoticed. Lord Lyndhurst had 
 nothing about him of mauvaue hoiite, and was perhaps too 
 conscious of bis own value and importance to feel the slightest 
 buff.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXIII. 291 
 
 In this state of things a servant entered, and announced to 
 Lady Melicent that the carriage was at the door. On receiving 
 this intelligence, she started up, and declaring she had a world 
 of business before her, tripped out of the apartment, glancing a 
 smile towards me as she departed. I also soon rose to take 
 leave, and after accepting an invitation to dinner from Lord 
 Amersham, made my conge and exit. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 There, my father's grave 
 
 Did utter forth a voice. 
 
 Measure for Measure. 
 
 Vex not his ghost : Oh, let him pass! He hates him, 
 That would upon the rack of this rough world 
 Stretch him out longer. 
 
 Lear. 
 
 During the remainder of my stay in Bath, Lady Melicent 
 was to me the loadstar of attraction. Yes, to me she was as 
 some bright particular star, shining far above in the blue firma- 
 ment of heaven, beautiful to gaze on, and to love, hopeless. 
 Therefore it was, that, even in the depth of my admiration, I 
 enjoyed a dreamy and contemplative tranquillity. Never was 
 homage more fervent and sincere offered as a tribute to beauty ; 
 yet my heart was free from passion. I suffered none of that 
 bitterness and depression attendant on a hopeless attachment. 
 I could have tranquilly borne to see her in the possession of 
 another. Even in my waking dreams — those moments of glory 
 and of power — I had built no fabric of love or of ambition, on a 
 foundation so visionary and fantastic as that of winning Lady 
 Melicent to be the lady of my love. 
 
 Indeed, in our relative circumstances, it was scarcely possible 
 that such a hope could even for a moment present itself to my 
 fancy. It was generally believed that Lord Lyndhurst had 
 already made proposals to Lady Melicent, which it was evident, 
 from the continuance of their intercourse, had not been defini- 
 tively rejected. It was even said that all the preliminary 
 arrangements had been settled to the satisfaction of both fami- 
 lies, and that the marriage, which had been delayed only by the 
 illness and precarious state of Lady Amersham, was positively 
 to take place in the course of the following summer. 
 
 It may be supposed that an alliance between parties so dis-
 
 292 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 tinguished, afforded matter for abundance of comment and tittle- 
 tattle to the coteries of Bath. Many, indeed, were the rumours 
 and speculations of which it was the daily subject. In one point 
 alone did all opinions appear to coincide, namely, that the union 
 was one less of love than of policy and expedience ; that it had 
 been concerted and matured by Lady Lyndhurst and Lord 
 Amersham, and that the parties most interested had yielded an 
 assent, mutually cold and indifferent, to the project of older and 
 more calculating heads. 
 
 The intimacy which, at our first interview at Staunton, had 
 sprung- up, like Adam, full grown even in its birth, was at this, 
 our second meeting, a plant of slower, though perhaps of 
 stronger growth. When I had last seen her, Lady Melieent 
 was just emerging into the world, with high and buoyant 
 spirits, conscious of her own pretensions, and eager to start for- 
 ward into that world which she felt she was alike calculated to 
 enjoy and to adorn. With too much pride and too much talent 
 to form herself on any model, she possessed that delightful 
 freshness and originality of thought and expression, which, 
 requiring a certain degree of nerve and innate power for its 
 display, can only be expected from those who feel their conse- 
 quence and pretensions to be above the censure and ridicule of 
 the world. In ninety-nine eases out of a hundred where this is 
 tried, it will fail; in Lady .Melieent it succeeded. Witli nothing 
 of sentiment or manner which it was possible to censure, it was 
 evident, at the first glance, that Lady Melieent was singular; 
 that the impulse of her own spirit was to lead, not follow; and, 
 without betraying any one very marked peculiarity, there was 
 something in her most trifling speech and action to arrest the 
 attention and interest the fancy. Such was the impression of 
 the Lady Melieent which my short visit to Staunton had im- 
 printed on my memory. 
 
 When I again nut her at Hath, she had been abroad in the 
 world. She was beautiful, but the character of her beauty was 
 changed. When she spoke, the eloquent blood no longer man- 
 tled in her cheek, anil the sparkle of her eve was somewhat 
 dimmed of its brightness. 1 missed, too, that extraordinary 
 vivacity, or rather enthusiasm of manner, which in former days 
 had sat upon her with a grace so charming. Her smile, indeed, 
 was beautiful and enchanting as ever, hut it was no longer the 
 smile of her youth— perhaps not less captivating — yet different. 
 
 I confess that at first 1 was disappointed. Lady Melieent was 
 Dot as 1 expected to find her. I had not allowed sufficiently for 
 that influence on character, which intercourse with the world 
 never fail- to exert. Vet had not I too undergone a change? 
 Had not ripened years — the gratification of debasing passions,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXIII. 293 
 
 and the lessons of worldly prudence, -which I acquired in the 
 interval, changed me from the light and open-hearted boy, who 
 had bent before the shrine of her beauty ? My life was then in 
 blossom ; the flower had indeed expanded, yet what had been 
 the fruit ? Was my manhood such as in the high aspirings of 
 my youthful heart I had believed and trusted it would have 
 been? No. But the change which is continually taking place 
 in ourselves, we pass unnoticed ; while that in others appears to 
 our eyes with all the strength of contrast. 
 
 Whatever disappointment the change of character perceptible 
 in Lady Melicent at first occasioned, soon wore off. Being the 
 thing she was, it was impossible to wish her different. She was 
 admired and beautiful ; grace, talent, fortune, rank, shed their 
 splendour around her, and I felt her to be invested with a capti- 
 vation which I could neither analyze or explain. 
 
 Her friend, Mrs Masham, whom our readers have already 
 known in the character of Miss Pynsent, was at Bath with her 
 husband, the colonel of a regiment of militia, then stationed 
 there, and it was under her auspices Lady Melicent generally 
 went into public. I followed her every where. There was an 
 attraction about her which I felt to be irresistible. Lord Lynd- 
 hurst was considered by the world her acknowledged and 
 accepted lover ; and my appearance in her suite, constant as it 
 was, excited neither notice nor suspicion. 
 
 While the course of events was thus proceeding, my stay at 
 Bath was cut short by the death of my father. He had fallen 
 from his chair in an apoplectic fit, and survived but a few hours. 
 This intelligence was conveyed in a letter by post, from Miss 
 Polly Cumberbatch, who assured me that my worthy stepmother 
 had submitted with Christian resignation to the severe dispen- 
 sation, but was still too ill to write. 
 
 I lost no time in starting for Thornhill. My father had never 
 loved me ; and in the state to which he had been recently 
 reduced, death could scarcely be considered as an evil. He was 
 not, and could not be, to me an object of strong affection ; yet 
 the intelligence of his sudden death moved me strongly, and I 
 received it with a fearful awe. An old familiar face had dis- 
 appeared for ever. He whom, from the very dawn of life, I had 
 been accustomed to regard with respect and reverence — who 
 had heard the first prattle of my infancy — whom I had been 
 early taught to love and to obey — and whom I had obeyed, but 
 not loved — was no longer numbered among the living. Never 
 again would his voice fall upon my ear — never should I behold 
 him but as a livid and lifeless corpse. Such reflections may be 
 trite, but they are natural ; and they engrossed me till my arri- 
 val at Thornhill.
 
 294 CYRIL THORNTON. — CnATTER XXXIII. 
 
 It was winter. The trees were bare, and the snow lay deep 
 on the ground. The cold was intense ; and having travelled all 
 night, 1 arrived about mid-day. The sun was bright, and shed 
 a sort of desolate, but brilliant splendour, on the face of nature. 
 For the first time in my life I returned to Thornhill without 
 a palpitating heart. What did Thornhill now contain that was 
 dear to me? Nothing. 
 
 As I approached I gazed around me with a bitter sentiment of 
 wrong. The inheritance, that should have been mine was des- 
 tined to another. Like Esau, I had fori'eited my birthright, but 
 not like Esau had I bartered it away. No — as I gazed on my 
 paternal demesne, I felt that the wealth of the Indies would not 
 have tempted me to injure or dismember the succession of a far- 
 descended line. That which came to me from my fathers, should 
 have passed to my descendants. But this was not to be. There 
 was a ban upon my name and fortune, and I, the head of my 
 family, was fated to endure even worse than the torments of 
 .Macbeth, in seeing my natural inheritance pass from me, and 
 from my line for ever. 
 
 Occupied in such reflections, the carriage stopped at the door. 
 I descended, and, on my name being announced, I was shown 
 into an apartment, the windows of which were closed, where, 
 seated by taper-light, I beheld Mrs Thornton- and one of her 
 sisters. The ladies were evidently in some bustle as I 
 entered. A white handkerchief was instantly applied to the 
 eyes of my stepmother, while her sister w r as unsuccessfully 
 endeavouring to conceal below the sofa an embroidery frame 
 and a book, which I afterwards had the curiosity to examine, 
 and found to be a volume of Tom Jones. 
 
 There was nothing in this interview very moving or senti- 
 mental. Mil belle mem came forward to receive me in the 
 character of a disconsolate widow ; but finding this part rather 
 too irksome to be kept up longer than occasion required, her 
 lamentations became gradually fainter, and before the conclusion 
 
 of our interview, she professed a perfect resin-nation to the will 
 of Divine Providence, and resolved not to yield herself* up to 
 Sinful sorrow, and unavailing regrets. Unwilling to mingle 
 more than necessary in society that was disagreeable to me, I 
 requested thai two apartments might be made ready for my 
 reception ; and Btating my intention of confining myself to these 
 till the time of the funeral, 1 wished the ladies good-morning, 
 and retired. 
 
 I found that MrB Thornton had tnken the necessary legal 
 steps of Bealing up, in presence of a man of the law, all those 
 plaices in which either important papers, or valuable property, 
 might be supposed to have been deposited. All suitable arrange-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXIII. 295 
 
 merits for the funeral had been likewise set on foot ; and having 
 written an affectionate letter to each of my sisters, and procured 
 a stock of books from the library, I passed my solitary hours in 
 reading, till the period fixed for the performance of the last 
 obsequies arrived. 
 
 That came, and with it a vast concourse of people to attend 
 the ceremony. The representatives of the old families in the 
 county, forgetting the differences to which the frequent unfor- 
 tunate exacerbations of my father's temper had given rise, came 
 personally, or sent their carriages, to form part of the proces- 
 sion, less, perhaps, from any personal regard to the deceased, 
 than a desire to show respect to a family with which most of 
 them, in the course of a century or two, had formed connexions, 
 the memory of which was not yet wholly eradicated. 
 
 Occupied by sad and solemn thoughts, I found myself in the 
 carriage, moving slowly towards the place of interment. Once 
 before I had approached it, to lay the head of my beloved mother 
 in the earth. My father had now followed her ; and the awful 
 sounds of dust to dust were once more about to be pronounced 
 in my hearing, over the remains of him whom, next to God, 
 she had most loved and honoured. At that moment my heart 
 was softened ; all thoughts of wrong had passed away, and tears, 
 the only tears I had shed to his memory, flowed down my 
 cheeks, and restored tranquillity to my spirit. 
 
 On opening my father's will, which had been executed only a 
 few months before his death, it was found that he bequeathed 
 his estates, both real and personal, to his wife, with remainder 
 of the former to his son by the second marriage, the latter 
 remaining entirely at her own disposal. Small legacies were 
 likewise left to my sistei's, and a trifling one to myself, as heir- 
 at-law. 
 
 I could experience little disappointment from the contents of 
 this document. So far as concerned me, they were what I had 
 expected, and announced the completion of that parental enmity 
 which I had long learned to contemplate with fortitude. But its 
 injustice to my sisters I could not forgive. Under the circum- 
 stances of the case, however, I reflected with all the calmness 
 and deliberation I could command, on the steps most proper to 
 be pursued. Knowing as I did the state of mental imbecility 
 to which my father had been reduced for a considerable time 
 before his death — knowing how perfectly his weakness was open 
 to be practised upon by a person whose influence over him was 
 so great as that of Mrs Thornton — and knowing, likewise, how 
 strong the motives were, to urge her to an interested exercise of 
 that influence, and considering the strong internal evidence 
 afforded by the tenor of the document itself, that such influence
 
 296 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 had, in reality, been exercised to the prejudice of his children, I 
 at length resolved to dispute the validity of the will. 
 
 This resolution, too, was not a little strengthened by communi- 
 cation with the family physician who had been in the habit of 
 attending my father for many years. He expressed his opinion 
 that, at the date of the will, my father's mind was not in the 
 state necessary for the legal execution of such a document, and 
 his perfect readiness to give evidence to this effect in a court of 
 justice. 
 
 Having formed my decision, I communicated it by letter to 
 Mrs Thornton, and set off for London. There for a while I 
 remained, immersed in business. Evidence was collected on all 
 hands, and at length formed a mass so strong and overpower- 
 ing, that I was assured, by counsel of the first eminence, there 
 scarcely existed a possibility of an unfavourable result. 
 
 During my residence in town, I allowed myself but little par- 
 ticipation in the pleasures of society, and none in that society in 
 which, in former days of youth and gladness, I had delighted to 
 mingle. I was now, for the first time, engaged in business. I 
 felt as if a great and important duty had devolved upon me, and 
 as if called upon to stand forward as the champion, not merely 
 of my own cause, but of that of my family. The interest of my 
 sisters, particularly of Lucy, was deeply involved in my success; 
 and in the new dignity of knowing myself at once an object of 
 hope and of fear, I felt my importance enlarged in my own eyes, 
 and assumed a gravity both of mind and deportment, to which 
 
 I had hitherto been a stranger. The charms of youthful dis- 
 sipation now exerted their influence in vain. The midnight 
 revel, which called forth the glorious swing of spirits high and 
 unrestrained, combining, in a temporary and mystic communion, 
 beings altogether dissimilar, and united only in the pursuit and 
 the enjoyment of one maddening delight, was now, in my eyes, 
 but little distinguishable from the orgies of coarse and vulgar 
 debauchery. In the change which the plastic influence of cir- 
 cumstances had wrought in my character, these pleasures were 
 no longer for me, nor I for them. I was as a bird which had 
 moulted the gaudy plumage of its youth for one of stronger 
 pinion anil more sober hue. 
 
 I had been several weeks in London, and had effected all the 
 necessary arrangements for the successful prosecution of my 
 suit, when I received a letter from Lord Amersham, of condo- 
 lence on my father's death, conveying a very kind and cordial 
 invitation to spend the remainder of my leave in England at 
 Staunton Court, to which they had already returned from Lath. 
 
 I I mentioned also, that Lady Melicent had written to my sister 
 Lucy, inviting her to accompany me, a request which Lord
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXITI. 297 
 
 Amersham entreated I would back with my influence, as the 
 state of his daughter's spirits, depressed by anxiety for her 
 mother, made the presence of such a companion peculiarly 
 desirable. 
 
 For my own part, nothing could be more agreeable than this 
 invitation. It gave me the means of being again placed within 
 the sphere of that attraction to whose influence I was ever ready 
 to resign myself, conscious only of the pleasure it afforded. I 
 knew of no danger in thus exposing myself, and I feared none, 
 for no one can appreciate the danger of love till he has felt its 
 sufferings. I wrote, therefore, to Lucy, expressing my desire 
 that she should accept Lady Melicent's invitation, and desiring 
 her to be in readiness in the following week, when I would 
 myself escort her to Staunton. 
 
 In a few days I accordingly left town for Middlethorpe. My 
 reception there was what I knew it would be, warm and cordial. 
 There is a certain kindness of heart and generosity of feeling, 
 which is sometimes found to be characteristic not merely of 
 individuals but of families ; and so it was with the Willoughbys. 
 Living in the world, they were nothing worldly, nor did increa- 
 sing years, in them, appear to obliterate any thing of the warmth 
 and vivacity of youthful feeling. Lady Willoughby had loved 
 my mother, and loved her to the last ; she was gone, but her 
 regard had survived the grave, and was extended to her children. 
 
 Frank Willoughby had been the friend of my boyhood. We 
 had been long separated, and in the busy scenes of life by me he 
 had been forgotten. Time and absence, however, had apparently 
 nothing diminished the warmth of his regard, and in the com- 
 panion of my childhood I found the friend of my maturer years. 
 Laura, too, she loved my sisters, and extended a share of her 
 affection even to myself. When we met, the blood for an instant 
 forsook her cheeks. I extended my hand, and it received hers. 
 My pressure was not returned ; her fingers were in mine, passive 
 and motionless as those of the dead. Few and brief were the 
 answers which Laura Willoughby afforded to the kind enquiries 
 of meeting. She seemed anxious to conceal by silence the diffi- 
 culty of utterance occasioned by inward emotion. Soon, however, 
 did her cheek recover its bloom, and the power of breathing 
 sweet sounds was again restored to her lips. Lucy mingled in 
 the conversation, and in a few minutes we were tranquil and 
 happy. 
 
 There was certainly a striking contrast between the two 
 females by whom my feelings had been most deeply interested, 
 and who seemed destined by turns to become the engrossing 
 objects of my thoughts and impulses. Yet, even in the influence 
 they exercised over me, they were different. Lady Melicent had
 
 298 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 subdued my heart by her power of exciting my imagination ; 
 Laura Willoughby excited my imagination only from having 
 touched my heart. 
 
 Lady Melicent was dazzling and brilliant. Wherever she 
 moved there was light in her path, and she was encompassed by 
 grace and splendour. Rank, talent, beauty, all contributed to 
 aid the enchantment, and render the tenure of her power secure. 
 She bore about her a certain air of pride and of distinction, 
 which, even in the largest and most promiscuous assembly, could 
 neither fail to attract the eye nor engage the attention. 
 
 Very different from this was Laura Willoughby. She was 
 not talented, in the common sense of the term, and she did not 
 pretend to be so. Her strength lay in her very weakness, in 
 possessing, in their highest perfection, all the tender, mild, 
 graceful, and retiring attributes of woman. She carried about 
 her nothing of that glare and display which is, perhaps, neces- 
 sary to attract a large share of admiration in a public assembly. 
 There was nothing brilliant or obtrusive about her. In the 
 ball-room or the theatre she would probably be overlooked ; it 
 was only in the intercourse of private life that either her beauty 
 or her character, forming, as they did, a delightful unison, could 
 be appreciated as they deserved. She was, in truth, formed 
 after the imagination of the poet : — 
 
 A creature not too bright ami good 
 
 For human nature's daily t I, 
 
 For transient Borrows, Bimple wiles, 
 
 J'raix-, Maine, love, kisses, tears, and .smiles. 
 
 Such were the two most charming women whom I have ever 
 known; nor was the character of their attraction less different 
 than those from whom it emanated. In the society of Laura 
 Willoughby I felt repose — in that ut Lady Melicent 1 was goaded 
 on by a perpetual Btimulus. With the one I enjoyed a delight- 
 ful quiescence of mind, and the heart only was active and awake. 
 To render myself agreeable to the other, every faculty was called 
 into action, and, in tile belief of BUCCesS, 1 felt that pride and 
 elation which is ever attendant on the successful exercise of 
 
 power. To a person of my age and temperament, perhaps, the 
 hitter constituted the more powerful charm; it aimed at a 
 prouder triumph, if not a more valuable conquest. 
 
 I found on the day of my arrival that B family in the neigh- 
 bourhood were expected to dinner. It consisted of Colonel and 
 
 Mr- ( 'ul pepper, their son and daughter. Colonel Culpepper had, 
 
 early in life, gone out as an adventurer to the Last Indies, and, 
 
 late in life, had returned with a large fortune. .Mrs Culpepper had 
 likewise been a sojourner in the east, and, in marrying the colonel, 
 
 had been equally successful in her speculations as he had in his.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXI1J. 299 
 
 The great object of both Colonel and Mrs Culpepper having 
 been thus happily accomplished, they returned to England, 
 where the colonel lost no time in purchasing a magnificent estate, 
 and astonishing his country neighbours, by a style of living to 
 which they had hitherto been unaccustomed. The ancient desig- 
 nation of this estate, one of the old baronial residences of the 
 country, was, in rather questionable taste, changed to Culpepper 
 Park. The mansion-house was pulled down, the park enclosed 
 with a high brick wall, and a huge Chinese-looking building, 
 plastered all over with stucco, afforded ample evidence to the 
 admiring neighbourhood of the wealth and taste of its owner. 
 
 It is one misfortune of so long an exile, as the acquisition of 
 a fortune in India generally involves, that the gratified fortune- 
 hunter is necessarily alienated from the habits of the country to 
 which he returns, and has seldom either tact, or versatility of 
 character, sufficient to naturalize him in a new society, with 
 whose manners and ideas, from the nature of things, he can have 
 nothing in common. He has been all his life employed in grow- 
 ing indigo, or fighting black men. His entrance into polished 
 society is only recent. In tastes and habits he differs entirely 
 from those around him. He has not, and cannot have, that tact 
 and savoir viore, without which no man in this country can hold 
 his place in the higher circles of society, and which early habit 
 alone can supply. An Indian is an animal ferce natures in the 
 eyes of the beau monde. He is excluded from the statutes. The 
 laws of fashion afford him no protection ; he is without their 
 pale. 
 
 I was riding along the road with Frank Willoughby, an hour 
 or two before dinner, when a carriage and four, with two out- 
 riders, emblazoned with armorial bearings, which occupied nearly 
 the whole breadth of the panels, drove past. 
 
 " Ah, there go the Culpeppers," said Frank ; " you know they 
 dine with us to-day : but I daresay you don't know my mother 
 has cut out, in her own imagination, a match between Miss 
 Culpepper and myself. Her fortune is large — a crore of rupees, 
 or some such unintelligible sum ; and my old acres, you know, 
 are not without burdens." 
 
 " Well, I hope you are not unreasonable enough to object ?" 
 
 " Object ? Not I. She has never mentioned it to me ; but I 
 see her wishes, and shall be sorry to disappoint them." 
 
 " Why should you disappoint them ?" 
 
 " For this reason — I do not like the girl ; and if I did, I should 
 not like to be connected with her family." 
 
 " What sort of girl is she ?" 
 
 " Don't ask me : I could never describe a young lady in my 
 life. Her brother I will describe, if you like, and that briefly.
 
 300 CTEIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 He is an arrant puppy, who lias lately, I think, showed strong 
 symptoms of a penchant for Lucy. Will your brotherly sagacity 
 approve of such a match?" 
 
 This intelligence roused my curiosity, and, in the exercise of 
 my functions, as next of kin to my sister, I enquired more par- 
 ticulars about the family than I should otherwise have been 
 interested in knowing. The Culpeppers, Frank assured me, 
 were vain, rich, harmless, flashy, and stupid people, with nothing 
 about them of the odeur de In bonne societe. Living in a style 
 of expense and profusion, with which none of their immediate 
 neighbours could pretend to vie, they had at first been rather 
 shyed in the county; but by dint of playing the agreeable to all 
 the old families around them — a large subscription to the county 
 hounds — and a splendid ball given annually on the birthday of 
 Miss Culpepper, they had gradually brought themselves to be 
 considered in the light of at least a tolerable nuisance, and were 
 admitted, cum nota, among the elites of the province. 
 
 On descending to the drawing-room, I found it only tenanted 
 by Lucy, with whom I was not displeased to have an opportunity 
 for a little private conversation. In the course of it I endea- 
 voured to probe the sentiments she entertained for young Cul- 
 pepper. Lucy appeared, indeed, entirely unconscious of having 
 ever been the object of any unusual attentions from the gentle- 
 man in question, though the singularity and pretension of his 
 deportment had occasionally been the source of amusement. 
 The entrance of some of the family put a stop to our colloquy : 
 and shortly afterwards Colonel and Mrs Culpepper made their 
 appearance. 
 
 The colonel was a little dapper man, who wore a wig an ?iaturel, 
 and came into the apartment with that air of strut and conse- 
 quence, for which persons of diminutive stature are generally 
 remarkable. His coat was of light-green, a colour which con- 
 trasted rather unfavourably with the yellowness of his com- 
 plexion. His nether man displayed integuments of straw colour, 
 
 joined at the knee by a diamond buekle; and flesh-coloured silk 
 BtockingS, with huge open clocks, adorned lus interior extremities. 
 In her day Mis Culpepper had been handsome, and though 
 fallen somewhat into decline, was evidently unwilling to resign 
 her pretensions to admiration. All that the milliner, the peru- 
 
 quier, and other professional contributors to female embellish- 
 ment could do, to establish ;( claim so dubious, had evidently 
 been done. The pretence to beauty was indeed (dearly made 
 
 out, whatever hesitation might arise with regard t<> the presence 
 
 of the reality. Their daughter was a little swarthy girl, with fine 
 eyes and a pretty foot, displaying chains and bracelets nd infini- 
 tum of Trichinopoly gold.
 
 CY'RIX TIIORXTOX. CHAPTER XXXIII. 30! 
 
 Mr Frederick Culpepper, the son, though, like the rest of his 
 family, cast in a small mould, was evidently, in his own opinion, 
 a beau of the first magnitude. Nothing could be more recherche 
 than his dress, or more splendid than his rings and brooches. 
 Redolent of perfume, and pointing his toes with the air of a 
 dancing-master, he advanced into the' room in the evident expec- 
 tation, that being, as he considered himself, the " glass of fashion 
 and the mould of form," he was instantly to become " the observed 
 of all observers." Still, to one who knew the world, it was evi- 
 dent he was not quite sure of his ground. He had none of the 
 calm and collected security of an experienced tactician in society. 
 There was something restless and fidgety in his manner, and he 
 was obviously apprehensive lest the bills at sight which he 
 drew on the admiration of the company might not be duly 
 honoured. 
 
 To each member of this family I was successively introduced, 
 and received by all with a certain indifference of manner, some- 
 what mortifying to my vanity. The truth was, I was no longer 
 heir-apparent to the Thornhill estate. The intelligence of my 
 father's will had blazed abroad, and the Culpeppers were by no 
 means anxious to form any intimate connexion with a disinherited 
 son. When I say by all the Culpeppers I was so received, per- 
 haps I am wrong, for the distance of Miss Culpepper's manner 
 soon wore off, and her after uccueil, at least, was sufficiently 
 benignant and encouraging. The thews and sinews of a man 
 formed an item, and a very important one, in her account of 
 personal property ; and though for this inheritance I was per- 
 haps indebted to my father, it was fortunately one of which I 
 could not afterwards be deprived. Though such possessions 
 generally go for nothing in the catalogue ruisonne of a lover's 
 wealth, when estimated by parents and guardians, they are 
 generally of some consequence in the eyes of the young lady, 
 and often serve as a counterpoise to his deficiency in more vul- 
 gar opulence. 
 
 Dinner was announced, and I handed Miss Culpepper to the 
 dinner-room. The style of living at Middlethorpe was without 
 ostentation, yet in perfect harmony with the rank and character 
 of the establishment. It is true there was rather more of plenty 
 on the board, than was quite consonant to the recent refinements 
 of fashionable delicacy. The apartment, too, was very different 
 from the ideas attached to a modern dining-room. It was, in 
 truth, a large hall, paved with marble, and wainscoted with oak, 
 at either extremity of which blazed a fire large enough to roast 
 an ox. In the centre was spread a Turkey carpet ; and there 
 was a massiveness and antiquity about the furniture, in perfect 
 keeping with the character of the mansion. In the style of the
 
 302 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 entertainment there was evidently no catching at modern fashions, 
 nor adoption of those recent innovations, which have hy degrees 
 succeeded in effecting a complete revolution in the ancient pro- 
 gramme of an English dinner. 
 
 It was easy to observe that Colonel Culpepper was an adept 
 in the science of good living. On the soup and fish being 
 removed, he raised his eyeglass, and took a leisurely survey of 
 every dish on the table. 
 
 " Pray, Captain Thornton, may I enquire what dish is that 
 immediately before you, which is hid from me by the centre of 
 the plateau ?" 
 
 " Jugged hare." 
 
 " And that immediately below?" 
 
 " Ilarico." 
 
 " Oh, I see rice at the other end, and presume there's curry ! 
 Bring me some curry." 
 
 But the promise of curry, though thus given to the eye, was 
 broken to the hope, the defective vision of the colonel having 
 metamorphosed a boiled fowl into that oriental esculent. 
 
 1 was seated between Laura Willoughby and Miss Culpepper, 
 and, as may be supposed, was led by the bent of my inclinations 
 to bestow the larger share of my attention on the former. This 
 division of my favours, however, I found scarcely practicable. 
 Miss Culpepper was not one of those young ladies who throw 
 the whole burden of conversation on the gentleman, and in case 
 he is rather taciturn, sit moping and silent by his side, until 
 restored to freedom and loquacity by the departure of the ladies 
 for the drawing-room. Finding, perhaps, that I was engrossed 
 with Miss Willoughby more than impartial justice required, she 
 proceeded to enforce her claims to attention by such queries as 
 the following : — 
 
 " Prav, Captain Thornton, is it long since you returned from 
 Spain P* 
 
 " About four months." 
 
 " Pray, were you ever in a battle ?" t 
 
 " I have had that honour." 
 
 " And were you wounded P" 
 
 " Very Blightly." 
 " Put you were taken prisoner?" 
 " 1 have been so unfortunate." 
 " In what battle?" 
 
 " Roleia." 
 
 " Oli, pray, describe it to me ! I cannot possibly understand 
 what people do in a battle. Pray tell me all about it?" 
 
 " I fear it would be rather a difficult task to make it intelli- 
 gible."
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIII. 303 
 
 " Oh, not at all ! I am very quick, I assure you ; now, sup- 
 pose the table to be a field of battle, I am sure you can make it 
 quite plain, and you will so oblige me. Come now, begin." 
 
 " Well, since you insist on it, I will endeavour. Suppose, 
 then, that sirloin of beef to be a height, on the top of which 
 there is erected a battery. This, the English, who are repre- 
 sented by these dishes, wish to take, and the French, who are 
 those dishes opposite, wish to defend. Then the English send 
 this venison-pasty, which is a brigade of infantry, to attack the 
 sirloin of beef, which, as I said before, is a hill with a fort on 
 the top of it. The French seeing this, send up that dish of 
 Maintenon cutlets as a reinforcement. That capon is the Duke 
 of Wellington, who immediately directs these Vol an Vents, 
 which are light cavalry, to charge the enemy in flank. These 
 partridges are the French flying artillery, which that calf's head, 
 which is the French general, orders forward to act as a point de 
 appui to that dish of beef a-la-mode, which these Maintenon cut- 
 lets — no, the harico opposite, is about to attack. Thus you see 
 the battle is fairly begun. The partridges, you observe, have 
 opened a heavy fire on the chickens and stewed-duck, which are 
 advancing with the courage of lions to the charge, and the French 
 general is riding up and down the table — I mean the field, at- 
 tended by these butter-boats, which are his aides-de-camp ; and 
 this mustard-pot, which is the quartermaster-general. But I 
 fear, after all, I have not succeeded in making the plan of the 
 battle quite intelligible." 
 
 " Oh, perfectly, I assure you ! Pray go on, I am quite inte- 
 rested, I declare." 
 
 Luckily for me, however, the dishes were in the act of being 
 removed, and this change of the materiel de guerre having thrown 
 all the operations of the battle into confusion, a cessation of hos- 
 tilities was found necessary. 
 
 I did not fail, during the dinner, to cast occasional glances of 
 observation on Lucy, who, on the opposite side of the table, was 
 seated next to Mr Frederick Culpepper. There was in her man- 
 ner of addressing him no symptom of constraint or embarrass- 
 ment; and she had evidently no idea that there was any thing 
 implied in his attentions beyond the homage to which perhaps 
 . no young and beautiful woman can be unconscious of her 
 claim. Still, however, it was evident that a trifling stretch of 
 that vanity in w r hich her admirer was certainly not deficient, 
 might attribute her naturally gay and good-humoured recep- 
 tion of his advances to a sentiment of prepossession in his 
 favour, which I was very certain she was far from entertaining. 
 This, however, admitted of no remedy, for I could not think ot 
 imposing on one so artless and innocent the task of schooling
 
 304 CYRIX, THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXITI. 
 
 and restraining her words and actions, lest the folly or vanity 
 of another might be led to draw from them erroneous conclu- 
 sions. 
 
 After the departure of the ladies the conversation was dull 
 enough. For want of a more interesting subject, hunting, that 
 never-failing resource of a country dinner party, was brought on 
 the tapis. This naturally led to the county pack of foxhounds, 
 and these foxhounds to certain extraordinary and unprecedented 
 runs which they had lately afforded. Though my military avo- 
 cations had of late years prevented the indulgence of my sport- 
 ing predilections, I still i'elt myself to be a foxhunter in posse 
 if not in esse, and knowing the country well, felt some interest 
 in Willoughby's narratives of perilous adventure by hedge and 
 ditch. 
 
 But a Nabob is always a perfect Marplot in matters of this de- 
 scription ; and the colonel, who had never followed a fox in his 
 life, dexterously introduced the subject of tiger-hunting in India, 
 relative to which he insisted on telling us long stories ; the 
 shortest, and therefore the best of which, occupied at least a 
 quarter of an hour in the narration. Then came elephant-hunt" 
 ing, lion-hunting, boar-hunting, and jackal-hunting; on each 
 of which subjects he had much information to give, anil many 
 anecdotes to relate. To get rid of this Willoughby talked of the 
 war in Spain, and enquired some particulars of my escape. He 
 did not, however, gain any thing by the change. Fighting in 
 Spain led to fighting in the East. Lord Wellington had fought 
 in both, and the colonel had unluckily been at Assay e in the 
 character of a commissary. All the details of Indian tactics 
 were studiously explained and commented on, and the advan- 
 tages of gram, bat-money, and camp-kettle allowances in the 
 e pany's service, were laid open to the meanest capacity. 
 
 Politics were then tried, and politics failed. The colonel had 
 been employed as a diplomatist at some of the Kastern courts, 
 and having jockeyed a Rajah to the complete satisfaction of the 
 company, the political relations of Europe were speedily merged 
 in others, on which our Nabob could deliver his sentiments 
 without fear of contradiction. 
 
 When we returned to the ladies, Mrs Culpepper was in the 
 aet of recapitulating the extensive improvements then carrying 
 nn at Culpepper Park, and strongly impressing on Lady Wil- 
 loughby the propriety of inducing her son to knock down oue 
 side of the dra wing- room for the purpose of adding a conserva- 
 tory, which she assured her, and appealed to the colonel for cor- 
 roboration of her opinion, would be a vast improvement. On 
 this, indeed, she was sure there could be no difference of opinion 
 in those who had ever seen her drawing-room at Culpepper
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIII. 305 
 
 Park. Lord R (an Indian, by the way, who had recently 
 
 been created a peer from the weight of his purse) had lately been 
 there, and declared the drawing-room at Culpepper Park to be 
 the finest thing he had ever seen ; the beau-ideal of elegance, 
 splendour, and comfort. 
 
 As there was evidently no desire, however, either in Lady 
 Willoughby or her son to convert Middlethorpe into any thing 
 resembling Culpepper Park, the proposal having been coldly 
 received, was not further enforced by its advocate. 
 
 Music was then introduced, and Miss Culpepper was handed 
 very gallantly by Frank Willoughby to the piano. She was 
 certainly a player of great execution, and united firmness and 
 rapidity of touch in great perfection. Nothing could be more 
 facile or masterly than her performance of the most difficult pas- 
 sages of Mozart or Beethoven. Then she sung. Hers was one 
 of those clear hard voices, possessing great power and little soft- 
 ness, and none of that mellowness of tone which, judging from 
 my own feelings, is essential to the excitement of strong musi- 
 cal delight. I felt this perhaps more strongly when Miss 
 Culpepper's performances were concluded, and I saw Laura 
 Willoughby bending gracefully over her harp, and listened to 
 the ethereal sounds with which it filled the apartment. 
 
 When the song was finished, she rose from the instrument, and 
 resumed her place on the sofa. Surely beauty is never more 
 resistless than when the heart has been softened by music, and 
 prepared to feel the whole influence of its charms. Never had 
 Laura Willoughby appeared more interesting in my eyes. The 
 flush, which during the exertion of singing had risen to her 
 cheek, had passed away, the sparkle of excitement had faded 
 from her eye, but without diminution of her loveliness. I rose, 
 and, crossing the room, seated myself beside her. Since my 
 arrival in the morning there had been no opportunity for unre- 
 strained intercourse between us, and on the following morning 
 I was to depart. W T e had both many questions to ask, and many 
 to answer ; and I looked upon her as an old and dear friend, from 
 whom a long separation was about to divide me. 
 
 She received me with the same open and unembarrassed air to 
 which I had been accustomed. At first we talked of Lucy and 
 her approaching departure. "Bring her back to us," said she, 
 looking on me with earnestness, and speaking in a pleading tone ; 
 "for though Lucy must be loved every where, nowhere will 
 she be loved as she is loved here." 
 
 I promised this, and the conversation gradually changed to 
 what was more immediately connected with myself. 
 
 I told her, for I saw she was interested, and loved to listen 
 to me, all my plans, and all my hopes, for the future. She was 
 
 v
 
 306 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIU. 
 
 at that moment to me as a kind and loving sister. We spoke 
 not the language of lovers, but of friends; and though she 
 sighed when I told her of my yet unsated thirst for military dis- 
 tinction, and spoke of the path of danger I was yet destined to 
 pursue, she read in my words and looks the bias of my spirit, 
 and she dissuaded me not from following the career in which I 
 had embarked. 
 
 Then we spoke of the Lady Melicent. Laura had never seen 
 her, but the praises of her beauty were familiar to her ear. With 
 eyes half averted, yet with a tone that bespoke a deep interest in 
 the question, she asked whether her charms had been exaggerated 
 by report ; and whether she was, in truth, the captivating per- 
 son which the world represented her. 
 
 At first I spoke of the Lady Melicent indifferently and calmly ; 
 but warming with my subject as I proceeded, my description 
 became gradually more glowing, and far outstepped those limits, 
 within which alone, perhaps, it is ever pleasing to one woman 
 to hear the praises of another. At length I stopped, when, look- 
 ing at Laura, I perceived the blood had left her cheeks, and she 
 was pale. In the impulse of the moment I exclaimed, " Laura, 
 
 you are unwell. I hope " By a sudden motion she raised 
 
 her head, and, laying her hand on mine, she entreated me not 
 to attract the notice of the company to her discomposure. 
 
 " It was but a sudden pain that shot through here," said she, 
 removing her hand from mine, and slightly pointing to her heart 
 — " it was but the pang of a moment, and it is now gone." 
 
 As she spoke she smiled in my face, but I saw there were 
 tears in her eyes although her cheeks were dry. Soon after, she 
 arose, and, mingling with the company, no traces of her emotion 
 were discernible. I too rose, and observing that Mr Frederick 
 Culpepper had once more succeeded in entangling Lucy in a 
 l(ti-a-t£te, I exerted the privilege of a brother in rescuing her 
 from what I imagined she could only regard as an annoyance. 
 
 As it is probable I may be too much interested in my own 
 concerns, to notice it in its proper place, I may here take the 
 liberty of anticipating an event which did not take place till 
 some time after. 
 
 Shortly before my return to Portugal, I received a letter from 
 Colonel Culpepper, inclosing one from his son to Lucy, con- 
 taining an offer of marriage. In the envelope, addressed to 
 myself, the Colonel stated that he would be happy to consent 
 ucb settlements as were suitable to my sister's fortune, 
 should the match, to which he could anticipate, on our part, no 
 
 objection, lie agreed upon. 
 
 1 delivered Lucy's letter, and found hi r not a little surprised 
 at the proposal it contained. After much labour, and the con-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIV. 307 
 
 sumption of a quire or two of paper, she succeeded at length in 
 making her refusal sufficiently civil and decided ; and I enclosed 
 it to the Colonel in a letter of my own, containing the usual 
 professions of thanks for the honour which it had been in his 
 contemplation to confer on my family by the proposed alliance. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Take heed you steer your vessel right, my son : 
 This calm of heaven, this mermaid's melody, 
 Into an unseen whirlpool draws you fast, 
 And in a moment sinks you. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 On the following morning, Lucy and myself bade farewell to 
 our excellent and kind friends, and set out for Staunton Court. 
 There were wet eyes at our departure, and young and bright 
 countenances were darkened with sorrow ; yet there was no tear 
 on the cheek of Laura Willoughby, no outward sign of inward 
 agitation, when the words of parting kindness were exchanged 
 between us. Her countenance was calm and unmoved, and, but 
 for one long and convulsive heave of her bosom, as she quickly 
 turned from me to cast herself into the arms of Lucy, her figure, 
 too, might, at that moment, have been taken for one wrought 
 into the semblance of life by the Promethean art of the sculp- 
 tor. Then, however, and not till then, came the burst of grief ; 
 and never, I believe, were purer tears shed from angel-eyes, than 
 bedimmed the cheeks of these innocent and lovely girls. 
 
 But, delay it as we may, the moment of parting comes at last. 
 The weeping Lucy was assisted to the carriage by Frank Wil- 
 loughby and myself; and, after one kind pressure of the hand 
 — one lingering look of sorrowful attachment, poor Lucy's 
 effort was over, and we were rapidly moving onward to our des- 
 tination. 
 
 For the first mile or two she leaned her head upon my shoulder, 
 and was silent. But the change of scene and object, which 
 every moment was presenting to her view, and the excitement 
 of rapid locomotion to one little accustomed to travelling, 
 wrought their usual effect, and, before the conclusion of the first 
 stage, all traces of grief had vanished from her countenance. 
 
 There is a pleasure in travelling with a young and happy 
 creature, smiling in the exuberance of her own innocent delight 
 — to whom all that she beholds comes clad in the charm of
 
 308 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 novelty. Lucy had a thousand questions to ask, and I to answer; 
 till at length fatigued by her long-continued task of observation, 
 she would warble for me a sweet and lively song, often stopping 
 with a note half modulated on her lips, when any new object 
 appeared to excite her curiosity or interest. 
 
 We slept that night on the road, and the next day found us 
 rapidly approaching the termination of our journey. It was 
 about three o'clock when we drove through the splendid gate- 
 way into the large outer park, which stretched for miles on 
 every side of the mansion. During the latter part of the jour- 
 ney Lucy was engaged in thought, and silent. External objects 
 had no longer their former power in swaying the mood of her 
 mind. All her anxiety and enquiries were now connected with 
 the Lady Melicent ; and the impression which she, a simple and 
 inexperienced girl, could expect to make on one so imposingly 
 arrayed in all beauty and accomplishment. 
 
 Poor Lucy knew not the charm she bore about her, in her 
 own fair countenance and guileless heart. I endeavoured 
 to calm her fears, but my efforts were in vain. Her spirit was 
 damped by apprehension of the new scene on which she was 
 about to enter — with dread of mingling for the first, time with 
 strangers, to all of whom she was unknown, and by all of whom, 
 of course, unloved. As we approached the house her anxiety 
 increased ; and in crossing the bridge, through the superb portal 
 which I have already described, she clasped her arm in mine, 
 as if clinging to me for support and protection, and her breath- 
 ing was hurried and irregular. 
 
 We descended from the carriage, and were ushered into the 
 library. We found there the Lady Melicent, and a very starched 
 and dignified old lady, who was introduced to us as her aunt, 
 Lady Greystoke. The dowager rose from her chair as stiff as 
 a poker, and scrutinizing poor Lucy with her keen, spectacled 
 eves, dropped such a courtesy as might be in vogue in the reign 
 of Queen Anne, and resumed her work. 
 
 I felt gratified by Lady Melicent' s reception of Lucy. She 
 seemed charmed by her appearance; and seating herself beside 
 her on the sofa, spoke to her a thousand kind things, which 
 were aided in their effect by looks, if possible, yet kinder. The 
 task of making Lucy happy was never a very difficult one, and 
 before half an hour had elapsed, all the (ears which her imagi- 
 nation had conjured up, had vanished into thin air. 
 
 It was natural that at first Lucy should be the chief object 
 of Lady Melicent's attentions, and I was not mortified there- 
 fore, as in other circumstances I probably should have been, at 
 finding myself thrown into the background. If it was impos- 
 sible to extract any thing flattering to my self-love from the
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIV. 309 
 
 manner of my reception, there was, on the other hand, nothing 
 in it which could be mortifying to my vanity. What, indeed, 
 but the height of coxcombry could have led me to expect — if I 
 really did expect — that my meeting with Lady Melicent should 
 be accompanied, on her part, by any peculiar demonstration of 
 gratified feeling. Yet mine was an imagination which, when 
 fairly at work, was generally unshackled by reason or proba- 
 bility, and delighted in constructing gorgeous fabrics of future 
 happiness, which, like the enchanted castles of old, a single 
 breath sufficed in an instant to dissipate. 
 
 The conversation, which had become general, was soon di- 
 verted from the channel it had sought, by the entrance of Lord 
 Amersham, accompanied by Sir Charles Greystoke and Sir 
 Cavendish Potts. His lordship entered the library in his usual 
 extraordinary pace, and running, if so it can be called, up to 
 Lucy, seized both her hands in his, and saluted her cheek 
 before she was aware of his intention. The blood, for a moment, 
 mounted into her face; but when she had time to contemplate 
 the figure of Lord Amersham, and listen to the compliments 
 which he pronounced in a voice and with a volubility peculiar to 
 himself, the suffusion gave place to a smile. 
 
 "Welcome, most welcome to Staunton, my dear young lady; 
 and you, too, Thornton, how dy'e do ? — glad to see you. Nay, 
 don't blush, Miss Thornton ; I'm an old man, you know, and a 
 relation, and entitled on both grounds to a salute. Hope you've 
 not suffered from your journey? — Pleasant weather, but bad 
 roads. Your sister, Mrs Hewson, I think — pardon me if I mis- 
 take the name — shocking memory for names — quite well, I hope, 
 when you last heard ? Well, Thornton, when are you going to 
 be a colonel, eh ? Don't let 'em rest at the Horse Guards, you 
 know — that's the secret ; out of sight out of mind's the rule 
 there. Nothing like a monthly memorial, and a visit to the 
 levee. Sir Charles can tell you that — eh, Sir Charles ? — old 
 services apt to be forgot — a freshener of the memory always good 
 in such cases. By the by, Sir Charles, let me introduce rny 
 young friends to you. Sir Charles Greystoke, Miss Thornton ; 
 Captain Thornton of the , eh, am I right — that your regi- 
 ment ? Ah ! I see Sir Cavendish and you are old friends, so I 
 needn't go through the form with him. Sir Cavendish knows 
 all the world, and, of course, you among the rest." 
 
 Lord Amersham was right. Sir Cavendish Potts was one 
 of those people who never drop an acquaintance, nor forget 
 a single person whom, in a very extended and promiscuous 
 intercourse with the world, they ever chance to meet. To 
 drink a glass of wine with Sir Cavendish, or sit next him at 
 dinner, was to establish an acquaintance for life ; for never
 
 .310 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 after would he pass you, even in the street, without a how of 
 recognition. 
 
 On the present occasion he had accosted me as an old friend, 
 though we had never met since I had last seen him at Staunton. 
 Immediately on entering the apartment, he advanced towards 
 me, retaining his eyeg-lass in its position by the compression of 
 his eyebrow, and exclaiming — 
 
 " Ah ! my old and excellent friend Thornton, I declare ; I 
 trust I have the pleasure of meeting you in perfect health ? I 
 am delighted once more to have the honour of taking you by the 
 hand. I scarcely dared, from hearing- you were abroad, to anti- 
 cipate the pleasure of so soon again enjoying your agreeable 
 society ; and it is now with sincere pleasure I venture to con- 
 gratulate you on your return to your native land, crowned with 
 laurels and distinction." 
 
 Though Lady Greystoke has been already mentioned as being 
 in the library with Lady Melicent on our arrival, I have thought 
 it better to defer introducing her more particularly to the notice 
 of the reader till the appearance of Sir Charles, in order that 
 those whom Holy Church had joined, should not be separated 
 even in description. Lady Greystoke, then, was uterine sister 
 to Lord Amcr.sham by a former marriage, and was several years 
 older than his lordship. The illness of Lady Amersham, who 
 was now unable to quit her chamber, and whose recovery was 
 at length pronounced to be hopeless, had rendered it desirable 
 that a person of some standing and consideration in the world 
 should, by her presence, relieve Lady Melicent from that awk- 
 wardness of situation which is sometimes apt to arise in an 
 establishment ungraced by the presence of a matron. 
 
 For this purpose, the person towards whom the thoughts of 
 Lord Amersham were naturally directed, was Lady Greystoke. 
 She was indeed the very mirror of decorum ; and the mere fact 
 of her countenancing any person or establishment was consi- 
 dered by the world as sufficient evidence of its perfect propriety, 
 in the very widest and strictest acceptation of the term. Lady 
 Greystoke, indeed, was one of those persons, the lustre of whose 
 reputation the breath of scandal had never dared to dim. Rigid 
 and censorious in her judgment of others, and a perfect precisian 
 in all observances of external decorum, she realized the beau 
 ulnal of a Duenna, and was at once shrewd, sharp, and unbend- 
 ing in exacting a scrupulous conformity to her opinions from all 
 within the range of her influence. 
 
 Modern fashions, and modern innovations in manners, were 
 her aversion. In dress she was at least half a century behind r 
 her age, and delighted in that style of antique and picturesque 
 adornment, now considered only as historically curious. Her
 
 CYRH. THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIV. 311 
 
 grey hair was drawn up straight from her forehead, beneath 
 which peered two keen grey eyes, the expression of which was 
 in perfect accordance with the sharpness of her other features. 
 
 Sir Charles Greystoke was exactly the sort of person one 
 would, a priori, imagined to have selected such a woman for his 
 wife. Sir Charles was a military man of the old school, who had 
 been employed as a general officer in several important com- 
 mands, and been rewarded for his conduct in them by the insignia 
 of the Bath. There was something professional in his dress and 
 air which betrayed him at once to be an old soldier. He wore 
 a blue surtout, with the button of a lieutenant-general ; high 
 military boots, which were cut square at top, and reached in 
 front above the cap of the knee ; and his hair, which was highly 
 powdered, was collected behind into a club, to which the motion 
 of his head generally communicated a sort of vibratory swing 
 across his shoulders, not unlike that of the pendulum of a clock. 
 The hour of dinner found the party all assembled in the draw- 
 ing-room. Lord Amersham was spruce as usual, and adorned 
 with the never-failing Star of rhe Bath. His brother knight, 
 though renovated likewise by the cares of the toilet, was not 
 similarly decorated. Holding the post of equerry to the King, 
 he wore what is called the Windsor uniform, and the cut of his 
 coat, the tails of which when buttoned nearly met in front like a 
 petticoat, was of a fashion apparently contemporaneous with the 
 dress of his better half. That, indeed, was sufficiently remark- 
 able in these days of degenerate taste, to draw the attention of 
 every eye which custom had not rendered familiar with the ap- 
 pearance of Lady Greystoke. 
 
 Her gown was of the old Florentine silk, the pattern of -which 
 displayed flowers of all sizes and colours. The sleeves, which 
 were of enormous size, terminated at the elbow, and were deco- 
 rated with broad lace, the inferior part of the arm being covered 
 with gloves of white silk. The waist was of unusual length and 
 slimness, and at the lower extremity the skirt or petticoat bulged 
 suddenly out in a rotundity and fulness of drapery, indicating to 
 an unpractised eye a plenitude of that inexpressible part of the 
 person altogether disproportioned to what above was ^.ore visible 
 and better defined. Her head-dress was something in the shape 
 of a sugar-loaf, and from the summit lappets of Brussels point 
 hung down behind. On her bony hands she wore rings of great 
 size, and the handkerchief which covered her neck, *md reached 
 almost to her chin, was decorously pinned in front by a large 
 diamond brooch, corresponding with the antique brilliant ear- 
 rings which sparkled above. 
 
 When Lord Amersham approached to hand her to the dining- 
 room, nothing could exceed the formality and stateliness of the
 
 312 CTRIL THORNTON — CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ■whole proceeding. She tendered his lordship the tip of her 
 gloved fingers, and slowly led the way from the apartment, in all 
 the grace and dignity of rustling silk and high-heeled shoes. 
 
 The dinner passed — to me heavily enough, for I was not near 
 the Lady Melicent, and ivas near Lady Greystoke. Of course, 
 I was courtier enough to leave no reason to complain of any want 
 of assiduity in my attentions. Her observations, which at first, 
 to say the truth, were cold and haughty enough, were by me re- 
 ceived as oracles, and before the second course was removed, I 
 had drank champagne with her, and evidently had gained some 
 footing in her good graces. 
 
 " Your sister, Captain Thornton," said the dowager, in the 
 civil and benignant mood into which my attentions had brought 
 her— " your sister, Captain Thornton, glancing at the same time 
 with her sharp grey eyes at Lucy, who was seated on the oppo- 
 site side of the table, between Sir Charles Greystoke and Lord 
 Amersham," (what a situation for poor Lucy!) "seems a very 
 good and a very pretty girl. I have been talking with her in 
 the drawing-room, and find her to be very well informed, and 
 really better educated than common." 
 
 I of course bowed, and expressed my delight that Lucy should 
 have obtained the good opinion of so accomplished a judge of 
 female excellence as Lady Greystoke. The old lady wreathed 
 her lips into what was intended for a smile, and proceeded : — 
 
 " Your sister told me, I think, she had been educated at home. 
 Indeed, I should have known as much, for public schools are 
 sad things, Captain Thornton. I never would have allowed any 
 daughter of mine to be educated at a public school. Of the 
 immorality acquired at these public schools, you can form no 
 idea ; besides, the girls are always pert, forward, ill-educated, 
 and ill-bred." 
 
 I answered, that although she was right in supposing that the 
 immorality taught in public seminaries for young ladies had not 
 fallen within the immediate scope of my own experience and 
 observation, my conviction must naturally follow any statement 
 of opinion from one so eminently qualified to decide on such a 
 subject as her ladyship. 
 
 " Now, I'll give you an instance, Captain Thornton, in which 
 it would have been fortunate if my advice had been followed. 
 
 Perhaps you know Tottenham — Colonel Tottenham of the 
 
 All! no matter; he was aide-de-camp to Sir Charles when he 
 commanded the Brighton district, anil fell in love with some silly 
 girl with a pretty face, whom he met with at a ball. One morn- 
 ing Captain Tottenham — for he was then only Captain — came 
 to me, and said — ' Lady Greystoke, I wish for the honour of 
 your ladyship's advice on a point that concerns me very nearly.'
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIV. 313 
 
 ' You know, Captain Tottenham,' I replied, ' that my advice is 
 always at the service of my friends.' Well, I soon found out he 
 wished for my advice about his marriage. ' But how can I advise 
 you, Captain Tottenham,' said I, ' till I know something of the 
 lady.' ' Oh,' replied he, ' she is a very nice, elegant, accom- 
 plished, and pretty girl, of a respectable family, and only lately 
 returned from a finishing-school at Bath.' ' Hold, Captain Tot- 
 tenham,' I interrupted. ' not a word more. What ! marry a girl 
 from a finishing-school ! Yes, I'll warrant she's finished enough ; 
 young ladies are generally tolerably well finished before they quit 
 such seminaries. Are you mad,' said I, ' to think of marrying 
 such a girl ? Have nothing to do with her. Give up the con- 
 nexion instantly ; or if you don't, take my word for it, you'll 
 repent it ever after.' Well, Captain Thornton, in spite of all he 
 married her— and mark the sequel In less than two years she 
 eloped with Major Farebrother, of the Shropshire militia, whom 
 Tottenham shot afterwards in a duel." 
 
 I soon found that Lady Greystoke's character was not a very 
 difficult one to fathom. She, in truth, was one of those very 
 kind and friendly people who insist on managing every body 
 and every thing. Submit yourself to her guidance, and she will 
 do every thing to promote your interest. Dispute her authority, 
 or neglect her advice, and the kind friend becomes at once a 
 determined enemy. 
 
 On the departure of the ladies, the conversation would have 
 been stupid enough but for Sir Cavendish Potts, who, though 
 rather inordinately loquacious, was furnished with a store of 
 anecdote sufficient to render him, occasionally, an amusing 
 companion. The authenticity of most of his relations might, 
 perhaps, be questioned, but if not vrais, they were at least vrai- 
 semblablcs, and that, for all common purposes, is enough. 
 
 Lord Amersham introduced farming, and began an explana- 
 tory dissertation of his own recent improTements in the art 
 agricultural. This, I found, was coldly received by his audi- 
 tors, who had probably been too often caught by the same bait 
 to nibble at it very freely again. 
 
 Farming being discarded, then came the war in Spain and 
 Viscount Wellington. At first, I was not without hope of 
 profiting by the military experience of the two generals, and 
 listened to their observations in a spirit of respectful attention. 
 But the old fable of the Mountain and the Mouse could not 
 have been more fully illustrated. To me who, from personal 
 observation, knew something of the facts and circumstances of 
 the war, nothing could appear more puerile than their remarks ; 
 and the plausible sottises of Sir Charles Greystoke were, in 
 reality, little better than the more violent absurdities of Lord
 
 314 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Amersham. 1 discovered, indeed, that both of these veterans, 
 in common, I believe, with most officers similarly situated, felt 
 not a little jealousy of their younger rivals, whom the circum- 
 stances of the Peninsular war had suddenly called forward into 
 action and distinction. Tliey felt that their own fame had 
 diminished, in comparison with that of officers of standing far 
 junior to themselves. The generals, whose greatest achievement 
 consisted in the capture of a fort, or the defence of a sugar 
 island, could not but perceive that they were no longer regarded 
 as the heroes of their age. Those whose fame, a few years ago, 
 had been second to none, were now become second to many, 
 with the imminent prospect, from the occurrences which were 
 taking place around them, of sinking still lower in the scale. 
 
 In such circumstances, a little bitterness of feeling is perhaps 
 pardonable ; and the merit which a man cannot see without 
 pain, he may be excused for shutting his eyes, and refusing to 
 see &i all. Sir Charles gravely maintained the impossibility of 
 permanently supporting an army in the interior of Spain, from 
 the inability to procure supplies ; and both he and Lord Amer- 
 sham united in considering the retreat of Lord Wellington, 
 after the battle of Talavera, to be a proof of utter and hopeless 
 failure. 
 
 The opinions of these distinguished officers wore not singular, 
 and probably sot original. They were in strict accordance with 
 the sentiments of a very large portion of the British nation, by 
 whom Lord Wellington was long regarded with jealousy and 
 distrust; nor were they finally relinquished, until he had suc- 
 ceeded in crowning the British arms with a series of victories 
 unsurpassed in our annals, and his fame had become alike beyond 
 the reach of envy or detraction. 
 
 In the drawing-room, I enjoyed no opportunity of particular 
 conversation with Lady Melicent, nor did I seek for such. I 
 saw her, I heard her, and this in itself was happiness. Perhaps 
 she was to me more attractive, that I could now trace a stronger 
 resemblance to what I remembered her to have been on my first 
 visit to Staunton. Her spirits were certainly better than when 
 I had seen her in Bath ; her step was more elastic, and her 
 manner more airy. Lovely, indeed, she was, in all her phases, 
 but to me most delightful in this, in which she had first impressed 
 my young imagination. 
 
 A week flew past at Staunton, and found the same party still 
 assembled within its walls. Once a day, Lady Melicent gene- 
 rally walked with Lucy in the park, or drove her in a pony 
 carriage. On these occasions, sometimes alone, sometimes with 
 Sir Cavendish, I funned their escort. Often, when tired by the 
 length of her walk, Lady Melicent would lean on my arm for
 
 CYRIL THORKTOX. — CHAPTER XXXV. 315 
 
 support. At first, by the very privacy which this afforded, I 
 felt embarrassed. That to which my wishes were most eagerly 
 directed, when obtained brought with it no enjoyment. But by 
 degrees this wore oft'. There was nothing of reserve about Lady 
 Melicent; her manner was ever free and unconstrained; and 
 open in the expression of her sentiments, she was vehement alike 
 in her partiality and aversion. 
 
 Thus were the artificial barriers to our intimacy broken down, 
 and now for the first time did hope dawn on my spirit, and 
 whisper of high destiny and successful love. The seeds of pas- 
 sion, which had hitherto lain dormant in my bosom, by degrees 
 burst out into fife and vigour. Its roots became gradually 
 twisted with every fibre of my heart, and I felt and knew that 
 the tree to which my life-blood lent its nourishment, could not 
 wither till that heart had perished. 
 
 I was a being no longer under the sway of reason. In all 
 that concerned my love, or its object, my judgment had no 
 share. I acted under a vehement and commanding impulse, 
 which it was alike impossible to oppose or to restrain. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 The house which was my father's, is mine own ; 
 / am the lord of all this fair demesne. 
 
 Montalto, a TYagedy. 
 
 From the period of her marriage, both Lucy and myself had 
 received occasional letters from Jane. Those written immedi- 
 ately after that event, were not couched in the phraseology 
 generally adopted by new-married ladies to convey their first 
 blissful experience of the wedded state. She did not profess 
 herself the happiest of women, nor bless Providence, in the 
 exuberance of her gratitude, for having given her an angel for a 
 husband. This I did not expect. She had given her hand to 
 one who I was well aware could never touch her heart. But I 
 was not without hope that, unpromising as the character of 
 Hewson certainly was, he might be led, in a great degree, to 
 relinquish his former habits, by the allurement of domestic 
 pleasures, to which he had till now been a stranger. 
 
 Jane's fortune, though considerable, was not such as to hold 
 out any strong inducement to a man like Hewson. Love alone, 
 I imagined, could have led him to seek an union with one whom
 
 31G CTHIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 it appeared so natural to love; and little pleasure as I could 
 anticipate in his society, I deemed it right, for Jane's sake, to 
 cultivate the acquaintance, and, if possible, to secure the friend- 
 ship, of a person with whom I had become so closely connected. 
 
 On our arrival at Staunton, I had therefore written to Jane, 
 offering a visit both on my own part and on Lucy's, which had 
 been joyfully accepted. I felt it would be unkind to Jane, and 
 painful to myself, to quit England without seeing her. It would 
 seem, I thought, as if her own family had withdrawn their coun- 
 tenance and protection, and had left her to depend solely on the 
 kindness of those among whom she might be cast. 
 
 On reaching Feltham — for so Hewson's place was called — we 
 found Jane there alone. Hewson had gone to Newmarket, and 
 was not expected for some days. 1 was not displeased at this. 
 It gave us an opportunity of enjoying that confidential inter- 
 course with Jane, to which Hewson's presence must have been 
 a bar. 
 
 The meeting was, as might be expected, an aifecting one. 
 Since we had parted, our only surviving parent had been laid in 
 the grave ; and in the situation of us all, great changes had 
 taken place. I endeavoured to support Jane's spirits, which I 
 saw were strongly agitated, by rendering the meeting as little as 
 possible the vehicle of painful remembrance, and smilingly con- 
 gratulated her on her recent change of condition. Jane, too, 
 smiled ; but her smile was a faint one, and certainly not a smile 
 of gladness. 
 
 My presence, indeed, had but little share in exciting the deep 
 emotion which the meeting had evidently caused her. The two 
 sisters clasped each other in a long embrace, and wept bitterly. 
 From infancy to womanhood, never had they been separated for 
 a single hour. 
 
 They with their needles ere.ited both one flower, 
 Both c.n one Bampler, Bitting on one cushion, 
 Both warblinjr of one vm -, both in one key : 
 .v- If their hands, their Bides, voices, and mimls, 
 
 Had 1 n Incorporate. So tiny grew together, 
 
 Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; 
 
 So, will i two sci iiiing bodies but one heart. 
 
 But the vows which Jane had breathed at the altar had been to 
 them the fiat of separation, and then they first had been divided. 
 They spoke not— they could not speak; but well did I know 
 that their hearts were full, even to bursting, with the memory 
 of Home. 
 
 What an infinity of mournful recollections had not that single 
 word the power to conjure up within them! They thought at 
 that moment of all their childish happiness and love — of love 
 unbroken — of happiness, perhaps no longer so. Even to him,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XXXV. 317 
 
 •whose life has been unclouded by sorrow, the memory of past 
 delight brings with it a pang. But, happy as their days of youth 
 and innocence had been, they had not been unmarked by storm 
 and darkness. Their joys had been the same, and the same 
 clouds had overcast them. 
 
 There exists between sisters a confidence too sacred, even for 
 the ear of a brother to partake. Nature herself has placed a 
 barrier in the difference of sex to that perfect sympathy and com- 
 munion of feeling, that guileless outpouring of the heart, which 
 knits still closer the ties of blood, and alike alleviates the sorrows, 
 and heightens the enjoyment, of young and innocent sisters. It 
 was natural that in such a meeting I should form but a secondary 
 object. They embraced, they wept in each other's arms ; but 
 sunshine came again, for in their tears there was comfort. 
 
 Perfect confidence, even between sisters, can exist only before 
 marriage. Thus far can it go, but no farther. Different feel- 
 ings, and separate objects of interest, then inevitably spring up, 
 and the ties by which female hearts till then had been bound 
 together, are either loosened or snapped in twain. The love may 
 still remain, but the confidence is gone. 
 
 So it was with Jane. When I questioned her on the situation 
 into which she had been thrown, and, pressing her hand in mine, 
 enquired if she was happy, she answered evasively, and was 
 evidently anxious to turn the conversation into another channel. 
 
 " Do not, my dear brother," she at length said, " believe me 
 to be unhappy, till I complain of being so. Do you not see me 
 surrounded by all the comforts and elegances which wealth can 
 
 bestow ? and if" She paused for an instant — for a sigh 
 
 mounted to her lips, and struggled for utterance — " and if — 
 there are some drawbacks to my happiness, these can, and ought 
 to be known only, to God and myself, and must be borne unre- 
 piningly, and in silence." 
 
 I forbore, therefore, all further entreaty on a point, to which 
 allusion was evidently painful. 
 
 Jane, since I saw her last, had not in appearance undergone 
 any remarkable change. Her figure was thin and graceful, as it 
 had been in the days of her maidenhood. Her countenance bore 
 the same sweetness of expression, but its vivacity had been 
 dulled by an acquaintance with the cares and duties of a married 
 life. The cheek was paler, and the eye more dim, than my 
 memory told me they had been of yore. I regarded these demon- 
 strations with interest, for it was in a great measure from these 
 alone, that I could draw any conclusion with regard to the 
 effect which her union with Hewson had produced on her hap- 
 piness. 
 
 In speaking of her husband she used neither the language of
 
 318 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 complaint nor of reproach. I understood the delicacy of her feel- 
 ings, and felt their propriety. Whatever Hewson might be, she 
 was now his wife, and was resolved to shrink from no duties, 
 whether of action or sufferance, which that relation imposed on 
 her. His failings, whatever grief they might have caused her, 
 were things of which it was painful to think, and impossible to 
 speak ; and of whatever sorrows her union might have been the 
 fatal cause, they were treasured in the secrecy and silence of her 
 own heart. 
 
 While I was at Feltham, and before the return of Hewson 
 from Newmarket, a letter reached me, which had been forwarded 
 from Staunton, having arrived there the day after my departure. 
 It was from Mrs Thornton informing me of the death of her 
 son, and stating her willingness — now that her own interests 
 were alone concerned — to enter into a reasonable compromise, in 
 order to avoid the unpleasant family disclosures to which the 
 legal prosecution of my claims could not fail to give rise. She 
 proposed, therefore, that I should grant her an immediate inter- 
 view at Thornhill. at which the preliminaries of our agreement 
 might be arranged, and the lawsuit brought at once to an ami- 
 cable termination. 
 
 Nothing could possibly be more consonant to my own wishes 
 than such an arrangement. I was willing to give up much, in 
 order to avoid the humiliation of a public disclosure of a father's 
 weakness and prejudice. The idea that the sanity of my father's 
 mind should become the subject of investigation in a court of 
 law — that the privacy of his domestic life should be exposed to 
 the public gaze, become the subject of newspaper comment, and 
 furnish matter of amusement to every coffeehouse in London, 
 was to me inexpressibly painful. With the most perfect con- 
 viction of having both law and justice on my side, I felt this, 
 and felt it strongly ; and to escape from such an alternative, there 
 WHS scarcely any demand short of the entire alienation of the 
 hereditary estate of my family, with which I was not fully pre- 
 pared to comply. 
 
 I determined, therefore, to lose no time in seeking the pro- 
 posed meeting; and having already spent a day or two with Jane, 
 I left Lucy with her till my return, and on the following morn- 
 iiif;- set off for Tliornhill. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable in my journey; and on my 
 arrival I was instantly ushered into the presence <>t' Mrs Thorn- 
 ton. She was alone, anil apparently, or (why should I question 
 the sincerity of a mother's sorrow for the loss of her only child ?) 
 really absorbed in deep and violent grief. I offered her such 
 condolence as it was natural for one, peculiarly circumstanced as 
 1 «:i-. to feel and express — neither suffering the expression of
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXV. 319 
 
 my sympathy to exceed the modesty of nature, nor to sink below 
 what one, in any case, may he expected to feel for the bereave- 
 ment of a mother. My little brother, I learned, had always 
 been an unpromising and sickly child ; and at last had fallen a 
 victim to one of those fevers to which children are peculiarly 
 liable. 
 
 The conversation, which had begun in this melancholy strain, 
 however, gradually converged to the point which constituted the 
 more immediate object of the interview. I informed Mrs Thorn- 
 ton that I now waited upon her, in compliance with the desire 
 expressed in her letter ; that I was fully prepared to enter into 
 any reasonable compromise, which would obviate the unpleasant 
 necessity of determining the extent of my rights in a court of 
 law. In case she wished it, I was ready to submit to her the 
 opinions of the very eminent counsel by whom I had been 
 guided in the legal steps I had taken. By these she would at 
 least be convinced, that in uniting in her wish for an amicable 
 adjustment, I was prompted not by any fears of the issue, but 
 by those motives of delicacy and proper feeling alone, for which 
 I was prepared to give her full credit in making the proposal. 
 
 It boots not, however, that the reader should be troubled with 
 the details of a negotiation, of which it is sufficient that he be 
 made acquainted with the issue. Waving, therefore, all minor 
 details, be it known that preliminaries having been duly adjust- 
 ed, I requested my worthy stepmother to name her terms. These 
 were, first, that the jointure of five hundred pounds a-year, set- 
 tled on her by the contract of marriage, should be doubled. 
 Secondly, that all the furniture which had been purchased for 
 Thornhill, since her marriage with my father, should be assigned 
 to her. Thirdly, that out of the personal estate she should be 
 paid the sum of two thousand pounds, to defray the expenses 
 attendant on change of residence and fitting up a new establish- 
 ment. 
 
 To these conditions I instantly acceded ; and in the presence 
 of old Humphreys the steward, and of an attorney, whom the 
 providence of Mrs Thornton had caused to be in attendance, the 
 proper missives were instantly written and exchanged, and direc- 
 tions given for the preparation of the deed of settlement. 
 
 The joy of Humphreys, at finding the natural heir of Thorn- 
 hill thus undisputedly in possession of his rights, was the most 
 affecting incident of the scene. Tears filled the eyes of the old 
 man as he pressed me to his bosom, and uttered broken ejacula- 
 tions of thanksgiving to God. My own heart, too, was full, as I 
 cordially returned his embrace, and heard myself hailed as the 
 lord of that inheritance to which I had never expected to 
 succeed.
 
 320 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 The objects of the meeting being thus accomplished, I bade 
 adieu to Mrs Thornton, and accompanied Humphreys to his 
 house, where I intended to remain for the night. I had much 
 information to receive, and many arrangements to make, with 
 regard to my newly-acquired property, and I was anxious to 
 devote every possible moment of my necessarily short stay, to 
 receiving the one and communicating my wishes on the other. 
 
 The house, in which the aged steward had dwelt for nearly 
 half a century, was situated at the extremity of the Park. We 
 walked at a slow pace, for the limbs of my companion were stiff 
 and feeble, and he leant heavily on his start'. With difficulty I 
 prevailed on him to accept the additional support of my arm, 
 and we advanced in silence, for I was too much occupied in 
 reflection to speak. 
 
 I looked around me on the rich landscape, that spread on every 
 side — the noble oaks, beneath whose shadow we passed, and in 
 whose topmost branches the rook had fixed its airy dwelling — 
 the hill, the woods, and the fair valley watered by the Severn — 
 and a thrill of pride passed through my heart, as I thought — of 
 all this I am now the master. 
 
 Pride, however, soon gave place to feelings of a different cha- 
 racter. I remembered it was to the hand of death that I was 
 indebted for the inheritance. These oaks, which my progenitors 
 had planted, had seen many generations pass away around them 
 — had beheld their progress from infancy to youth, from youth 
 to manhood, from manhood to decrepitude and death. They 
 were gone, and the face of nature had remained unchanged. 
 The spring came again; the trees had blossomed, and the birds 
 carolled from their branches; the summer had been gay with 
 flowers, and the merry song of the reapers had been heard in 
 autumn, even while the worms were yet busy with his body, who 
 had called these things his men. The eyes that wept for the 
 possessors of this fair demesne, as they successively dropped into 
 the grave, were long since closed for ever ; the hearts that loved 
 them were undistinguishablc from a clod of common earth, and 
 were cold and senseless as that. 
 
 I, t(io, had seen a generation pass away; — had laid my parents 
 in the dust; and what was I but an insignificant link between 
 the future and the pa^t in the great chain of creation ; a creature 
 doomed like them to live, die, and be forgotten. 
 
 This train of reflection, more melancholy perhaps than may 
 appear suited to the occasion, was interrupted by our arrival at 
 the domicile of old Humphreys. lie was a widower. My father 
 had procured his only son an appointment in India, where he 
 then uas; and a maiden sister, nearly as old as himself, officiated 
 as mistress of the establishment.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXV. 321 
 
 Though my appearance as a guest could not have been an- 
 ticipated by either of these worthy people, yet I was not troubled 
 with any verbose apologies for the plainness of their fare. 
 
 " Had we been sooner apprized of the honour you have been 
 Kind enough to confer on us," said the lady, as we seated ourselves 
 to such a substantial repast as is generally seen on the board 
 of the wealthier class of English j-eomec, " we should have been 
 better provided." 
 
 To say this much was perhaps due to the pride of her charac- 
 ter as a housewife ; but on my assuring her I was an old cam- 
 paigner, and accustomed to fare a thousand times worse than 
 that I saw before me, no further apologies were obtruded. 
 
 After dinner, Humphreys and myself were left alone; and 
 over a bottle of admirable port, which with his own hands he 
 brought from the cellar, we proceeded to business. Humphreys 
 explained to me very clearly the state of the property. There 
 were no mortgages, and the rent-roll amounted to about L.2700 
 a-year ; so that, after paying my stepmother her stipulated 
 allowance of L.1000 a-year, there would still remain a surplus, 
 adequate, and more than adequate, to all my wants. 
 
 He then informed me of several minor arrangements which he 
 thought would be conducive to my interest, and which I gave 
 him full authority to carry into effect ; and, aware that my pro- 
 fession would again soon render my presence necessary abroad, 
 I committed the estate to his manngement during my absence. 
 I directed likewise, that such of the old servants as wished to 
 resume their former situations at Thornhill should be engaged ; 
 and that those who were now too old for service, should be al- 
 lowed such trifling pensions as might be required to make them 
 comfortable in their declining years. 
 
 Perfectly satisfied that my affairs were committed to the hands 
 of a faithful steward, well qualified by experience for the charge 
 confided in him, and whose attachment to my interests was sin- 
 cere, I, on the following morning, set out on my return to 
 Feltham. 
 
 Hewson had returned in my absence, and received me on my 
 arrival. I had never seen him before. He was a man whose 
 manners in general society would be considered pleasing. They 
 were manners which, expressing nothing, might be called con- 
 ventionally good, such as a person habituated to promiscuous 
 intercourse in a mixed and extensive circle might be expected to 
 acquire. He received me with an emprcssement evidently with- 
 out meaning, and poured forth a torrent of common-place 
 civilities, with something of the air of a man whose cue it is to 
 play the agreeable for some unknown purpose of his own. 
 
 There was something, too, in the expression of Hewson's
 
 322 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 countenance to me extremely unpleasant. There was a coldness 
 of eye which was occasionally commuted for a certain cunning 
 twinkle, and there was a curvature of the lip, and something 
 generally ahout the region of the mouth, which indicated a licen- 
 tious man, and one given to sensual indulgence. In his expression 
 there was nothing in the slightest degree intellectual, though it 
 conveyed the impression of considerable shrewdness and worldly 
 sagacity. 
 
 The joy of my sisters on learning that I had now become the 
 possessor of Thornhill, was sincere and warmly expressed ; nor 
 was Ilewson deficient in his congratulations, which were only 
 cut short by the entrance of a party of gentlemen he had brought 
 with him from Newmarket. These, it was easy to gather from 
 their conversation, were what is called sporting characters, second 
 or third-rate betters on the turf, and first-rate betters on a cock- 
 fight or a boxing-match. Among them was a clergyman, who 
 was generally addressed by his companions by the name of Jack, 
 and certainly altogether a bad specimen of his cloth. 
 
 After dinner, betting and horse-racing formed the principal 
 topics both of interest and conversation. Pocket-books were in 
 every hand, and whoever ventured to express an unguarded an- 
 ticipation of any contingent event, was generally pulled up by an 
 enquiry whether he had courage to back his opinion. As I cer- 
 tainly wanted inclination, if not courage, to back mine, of course 
 I was a mere cipher in such a party. 
 
 The bottle circulated freely, and the pleasures of the table 
 being concluded, the party sat down to cards. I was not a 
 gambler in the strict sense of the word, because I had never yet 
 been thrown into a situation where I was assailed by the temp- 
 tation of high play ; but I always experienced a degree of 
 pleasing excitemenl from games of chance, even with the very 
 moderate -takes which my circumstances had allowed me to ven- 
 ture Little fellowship as I i'elt with any of the company, I was 
 weak enough to sutler myself to be prevailed on to engage in 
 play. The stakes were high, my opponents were experienced 
 players; and the consequence was, that when we rose from 
 table I was a loser to a very considerable amount. 
 
 It was late when the party broke up, and on going to the 
 drawing-room I found my sisters had retired. In no very 
 pleasanl humour 1 followed their example, moralizing on my 
 pillow till sleep closed my eyelids, and brought oblivion of my 
 lolly. 
 
 It gave me sincere pleasure on the following morning to wit- 
 ness the departure of the guests. They had left on me no very 
 favourable impression of Hewson'a character and habits; and 
 what 1 afterwards witnessed of his conduct to Jane, did not tend
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. 323 
 
 to raise him in my opinion. The manner in which he addressed 
 her, betrayed nothing of the affectionate intercourse which marks 
 a happy marriage. Towards her his demeanour was cold, plau- 
 sible, and unfeeling ; and there was even in his perfunctory 
 observance of the decencies of politeness, something which forced 
 the conviction, that in different circumstances he would not hesi- 
 tate to violate them all. 
 
 I had intended to court this man's friendship, but I could not. 
 I shrunk from him as from something loathsome ; and it was with 
 difficulty that even my regard for Jane made me consent to re- 
 main his guest for a few days. These at length expired, and 
 after a mournful farewell, Lucy and myself returned to Staunton, 
 filled with pity for our sister, and indulging melancholy fore- 
 bodings of the future evils which awaited her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Tve seen the day 
 That I have worn a visor, and could tell 
 A whispering tale in a fair lady's ear. 
 Such as would please. 'Tis gone — 'tis gone — 'tis gone ! 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 Ox our return to Staunton Court, we found that some change 
 had taken place in the party since we had quitted it. Lord 
 Lyndhurst and his sister Lady Eleanour had arrived. The 
 former was in the library when I entered. He lay extended on 
 an ottoman, engaged in the perusal of the Morning Post ; and 
 his faculties were so deeply absorbed in the task, that he did not 
 perceive my entrance till I stood opposite the tire. Then cast- 
 ing towards me a languid glance, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Ah, Thornton, is that you ! Monstrous glad to see you, 
 'pon my honour," slightly raising himself at the same time, and 
 extending two fingers of his hand as a token of welcome. 
 " Hope you've come to enliven the dull scene ; for it is monstrous 
 dull, upon my honour." 
 
 " Whatever effect my presence may have, whether of enliven- 
 ing the scene, or rendering it still duller, here I am, at your 
 lordship's service." 
 
 "Duller — that's impossible," indulging in a long yawn; " I 
 do believe my jaws will crack if I stay here much longer. There's 
 old Potts last night bored me for two hours with his long sto- 
 ries ; and I had scarcely dropped asleep, when Lady Greystoke
 
 324 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 knocked me up to make a fourth at half-crown whist, for it seems 
 she never plays higher. Half-crown whist, Thornton, wasn't 
 that good ? " 
 
 '• Well, I hope you played the agreeable, and consented." 
 
 " Why, what could I do? I refused at first, but Lady Grey- 
 stoke's a stiff old dowager, and talked of the young men of her 
 days, and moralized upon me; and Lady Melicent quizzed me, 
 and called me the Sleeping Beauty, so I was obliged to consent. 
 But, after all, the old lady was monstrous angry, for I was her 
 partner, and made all kinds of mistakes and revokes, and she 
 grumbled so confoundedly because she lost two guineas. She 
 can't bear losing her money." 
 
 " Not a singular failing. But where are the ladies?" 
 
 " Gone out, I believe. Eleanour wanted me to go too ; but 
 old Amersham had just been hauling me all over his vile farm, 
 and 1 was knocked up. You've no idea, Thornton, what a bore 
 it wa<. Would you believe it, he pulled me about to see ploughs, 
 and great fat bullocks, and fields of turnips, and monstrous pigs, 
 and sheep, and thrashing-machines. Can you conceive a greater 
 bore, Thornton ?" 
 
 "Not easily, I confess." 
 
 Just then the ladies entered from their walk. Lady Melicent 
 (for had there been an angel in company, she would first have 
 caughl my eye) was blooming from exercise, and looking, I 
 thought, more lovely than 1 had ever seen her. Her companion, 
 too, was a pretty girl ; but her beauty was of that dull and 
 inanimate sort which attracts no deeper admiration than that 
 of the eye. 
 
 The ceremonies of introduction and salutation had scarcely 
 passed, when Lady .Melicent, glancing her eye round the apart- 
 ment, enquired for Lucy. 
 
 •• You have not, I hope," said she half smilingly, and half 
 seriously, "dared to return without her? If you have, 1 shall 
 exercise the authority I possess over all the gentlemen in this 
 bouse, and charge yon, on your fealty and allegiance, to set out 
 instantly to bring her hack." 
 
 "That were indeed to evoke a spell of power," I answered. 
 " Bal it is unnecessary. Lucy returned with me, and is now in 
 her chamber." 
 
 She gave me a smile of kindness for the intelligence, and 
 turning to tier companion. 
 
 "Come, Eleanour," she exclaimed, "I must introduce you to 
 my dear Lucj :" and in a moment the fair visions had vanished 
 from the apartment. 
 
 To any one hut myself, the tone of the party was little if at 
 all changed by the arrival of the new guests. To me, however,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. 325 
 
 all was changed. I saw that Lord Lyndhurst was regarded by 
 every one as the destined husband of the Lady Melicent. That 
 he had made proposals to Lord Araersham, and had met a 
 favourable reception, 1 had no doubt. I thought — nay, I was 
 sure, Lady Melicent did not love him ; but the very indifference 
 — nay, stronger — the dislike I had so often seen her manifest to 
 his society and attentions, served but to provoke the conviction 
 that, urged by worldly motives, she had given a cold — perhaps 
 even a reluctant consent, to be united to a man, in all the quali- 
 ties of an intelligent being, a thousand degrees beneath her. 
 
 But my mind was not fixed. We are slow to believe any thing 
 which must give a death-blow to our hopes ; and though some- 
 times the conviction was strong and irresistible, and the storm 
 of jealousy raged within me, at others, one glance of her bright 
 eye, one whisper of her sweet voice, would banish doubt and 
 suspicion from my heart. 
 
 She knows, I thought, she must know I love her. It is im- 
 possible that the deep devotion of my soul should not be made 
 intelligible by a thousand indications, minute perhaps, but nol 
 to be mistaken. And knowing that she is thus adored, can she 
 make a sport of my feelings, and lead me on, by cruel encourage- 
 ment, till I am at last irrecoverably lost in the labyrinth of a 
 hopeless passion. 
 
 Oh, no ! To cherish such a suspicion even for a moment, what 
 was it but foul treason to the lady of my love. Doubt and fear, 
 at all events, had come too late, for I had set my life upon a cast, 
 and I felt that I must stand the hazard of the die. 
 
 Weeks passed on, and every thing proceeded as formerly at 
 Staunton. Our morning excursions still continued, and though 
 Lord Lyndhurst generally formed one of the party, watchful and 
 engrossed as I was with only one object, it generally fell to me 
 to render any act of gallantry or attention to the Lady Melicent. 
 Her acceptance of these convinced me that, compared with my 
 rival, I was at least an object of preference, and I longed for an 
 opportunity of putting a period to the state of agonizing suspense 
 in which I suffered — of knowing the best or the worst that could 
 befall me — of becoming at once supremely blest, or more, if pos- 
 sible, than supremely miserable. 
 
 Well do I remember sitting whole hours in my chamber, medi- 
 tating on fitting words in which to embody the declaration of 
 my love, and pouring forth, in its solitude, the eloquence (for 
 such it seemed to me) of deep, fervent, and overpowering pas- 
 sion. Thus, I thought, would I speak — thus would I lay bare 
 my heart before her, and she should read at once its pride and 
 its humility, its hopes — its aspiring hopes — its fears, that seemed 
 to fall cold and witheringly on the very springs of life. I would
 
 326 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 at least give voice to my passion. I would, at all events, not die 
 a silent and despairing- lover. 
 
 But how different it is to meditate a declaration of passion in 
 the confidence of solitary communion, and to utter it to the 
 adored object. It was in vain. Days rolled on — she leant as 
 formerly upon my arm — I sat beside her in the library — I lis- 
 tened to her sweet music when I was the only listener, and 
 might have spoken the words that burned for utterance within me, 
 when no ear but hers whom I loved could have caught the sound. 
 
 But I did not speak them. My lips refused their office. A 
 glare as of the noontide sun was in my eyes, and a sound like 
 the rush of mighty waters in my ears ; and my knees trembled, 
 and I gasped for breath, as I vainly attempted to syllable her 
 name. 
 
 After such scenes, I would rush forth, half frantic, into the 
 Park, or bury myself in the solitude of my own apartment. 
 There, in all the bitterness of self-reproach, I would curse my- 
 self for a coward, in having shrunk in silence and trembling from 
 the trial I had courted. 
 
 Spring was now fast melting into summer, and reviving nature 
 had once more brightened into life and love. The blossom was 
 on the bush, and the bird on the bough. The sound of gladness 
 came from above, and re-ascended from the earth unto the sky. 
 Who could then wander forth into the woodlands, or the bright 
 green meadows, and gaze on the gay and glorious face of nature, 
 without a thrill of gratitude that his lot had been cast in a world 
 so beautiful and happy ? Yes! — in bitterness of soul I beheld 
 the scene of glad revelry around me. I contributed not to swell 
 the mighty diapason of gratitude and joy which rose in one grand 
 and universal chorus from all created beings. I was a discord 
 in the harmony of nature, a blot on her fair escutcheon. There 
 was but one object in my soul, and the whole world beside ap- 
 peared avast interminable blank. 
 
 The hopes which in their youthful vigour had blossomed in 
 my heart, faded before the expansion of the flower. The ecstatic 
 dreams of bliss in which I had delighted to indulge, visited me 
 no longer. 1 shrank even from the presence of the Lady Meli- 
 cent, and as the destined period of my return to the army drew 
 near, I anticipated, with gloomy satisfaction, the opportunity 
 which would he then afforded me of finding an honourable grave. 
 i in another month, I would quit my country — never, never 
 
 to return. Then, perhaps, the memory of my folly would be 
 washed away by its retribution, and she would not refuse a 
 tear t" the memory of one who had loved her, not wisely, but 
 
 too well. 
 
 While my ideas flowed on in this melancholy channel, I was
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. 327 
 
 indeed an object to be pitied. I loathed society, yet, when 
 forced to mingle in it, my spirits were unnaturally high. I 
 laughed, I talked, I sang, and was perhaps, in the common accep- 
 tation of the term, delightful company. I rivalled Sir Cavendish 
 Potts in loquacity, and was as frisky, and apparently as light- 
 hearted as Lord Amersham. Lady Greystoke, it is true, called 
 me a foolish young man ; but Lady Eleanour declared me a 
 charming creature, and in the vivacity of a heavy heart I rattled 
 on. But when, after an evening thus spent, I retired to my 
 chamber, who knew, or could know, the suffering that awaited 
 me ! There, when the temporary excitement had passed away, 
 and, in the weariness of exhausted nature, I cast myself on my 
 pillow, then came the hours of dread and agony, and that dismal 
 sinking of the heart, compared with which all other pains are 
 but as dust in the balance. To such sufferings were added the 
 pangs of self-reproach. The fatal temptation had not found me, 
 I had sought it. In the pride and vanity of my heart, I had been 
 buoyed up by visionary and foolish hopes, and could I complain 
 that these had now deserted me ? 
 
 In this melancholy mood of mind, I was walking one morning 
 in one of the least frequented portions of the Park, when I met 
 Lady Melicent alone. She was going to a neighbouring cottage, 
 and invited me to accompany her. Her spirits were high, and 
 she talked of several recent occurrences in a strain of animation 
 even more vivid than usual. The cottage was at no great dis- 
 tance, and we soon reached it. On our return, the conversation 
 continued in the same strain. She rallied me on the late acces- 
 sion to my spirits. 
 
 " Since the arrival of Lady Eleanour," she said, " you have 
 Decome quite a different creature. You are no longer a moping, 
 meditative young man, like Malvolio, melancholy and gentle- 
 manlike — in manner solemn and sententious, and philosophizing 
 with the air of a cynic on all the foolish people about you. I 
 congratulate you both on the improvement and its cause." 
 
 " And you attribute this change to the presence of the Lady 
 Eleanour ? " 
 
 " Certainly. The miracle commenced the very day you first 
 met. I am pretty accurate about dates, and we women, you 
 know, are tolerably sharp-sighted in each others affairs, what- 
 ever we may be in our own." 
 
 "And yet you are mistaken. I admit the charms of Lady 
 Eleanour; but she is, and can be nothing to me. Do yam think 
 her a person calculated to inspire a deep and lasting passion ?" 
 
 " Really, I think Lady Eleanour a very loveable person indeed. 
 She is pretty, amiable, and not too clever ; and what more could 
 any reasonable man desire? As for your deep and lasting
 
 32S CYRLL THORNTON CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 passion, 1 imagine it to be altogether a thing of romance — a 
 mere fabulous creation of the poets." 
 
 " You do not, then, believe in the existence of such love?" 
 
 " Why, to say the truth, I have no settled belief on the mat- 
 ter. Such love may have been, and may be again, in some 
 strong and peculiar circumstances, just as ghosts have appeared, 
 and may, for aught I know, appear again, though, having never 
 met with the one or the other, my judgment with regard to both 
 rests in abeyance." 
 
 As she spoke, there was a violent throbbing in my bosom ; a 
 strange and unwonted energy came over me, and words mounted 
 to my lips which I could not choose but utter. 
 
 "Oh! why," I exclaimed, "is Lady Melicent so unjust at 
 once to our sex and her own ! Most of all, why is she so unjust 
 to her own noble nature, as to doubt her power of exciting, and 
 ours of feeling such love as alone is worthy of its object — love 
 deep, fervent, and eternal ; or if perishable, perishable only with 
 the heart that gave it birth ! " 
 
 I would have proceeded, but my voice here faltered, and I 
 stopped. But I had already said enough. The Rubicon was 
 passed, and I knew that I had reached the awful crisis when my 
 fate must in a few moments be decided. As I pronounced the 
 last words, I looked upon her fice, with such concentrated 
 intensity of gaze, as that with which a criminal endeavours to 
 read his chance of mercy on the countenance of his judge. 
 
 Her glance met mine, and a blush deep as crimson suffused 
 her cheek. It passed ; but as she answered, her eyes were bent 
 upon the ground, and a faint smile was on her lips. 
 
 " The love you talk of is the love not of real life, but of 
 romance. It is the love one reads of in a novel, of some high- 
 born heroine in a cottage among the Welsh mountains, or in 
 the south of France, preceded generally by something about the 
 cooing of doves, and followed by a copy of verses, or a serenade 
 from smne noble lover in disguise. This is but the fanciful 
 theory of love, not the dull and vulgar reality." 
 
 •• Oh! breathe not," 1 replied, "such treason of the human 
 heart! Yon, indeed, have never felt such love, for where is he 
 who is worthy to be its object ! But believe there is at least 
 
 one bosom" 
 
 I paused, for agitation again choked my utterance; my limbs 
 refused their office, and I stood, with every fibre quivering, 
 
 rooted to the spot. 
 
 She too stopped. 
 
 In a few moments my powers were restored, and I knelt 
 before her. 
 
 " Yes," I exclaimed, " 1 have dared to love you ! Turn from
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. 329 
 
 me with disdain — I know my crime, and I asic only for its 
 punishment. I know you are above my sphere — I know such 
 passion is folly, is madness — I know its fate, and am prepared 
 to meet it." 
 
 As I spoke, her frame, too, trembled, and she remained silent, 
 and with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Oh, speak ! " I continued ; " I ask you not to encourage a 
 passion so mad and audacious ; one word, not of anger but of 
 pity, is all — all I require." 
 
 She stood still unmoved before me ; there was no motion of 
 her lips, but in a faint and scarcely audible voice, I heard the 
 word — 
 
 " Rise." 
 
 I obeyed, and stood once more beside her. 
 
 "I know — I feel that I have given you pain, and would not 
 willingly prolong it. Command me from your presence — bid 
 me quit you for ever, and you shall be obeyed. My lips shall 
 but breathe one farewell, and henceforward I shall be to you but 
 as a dream." 
 
 She was silent. I know not what there was in her look, for 
 I saw it undergo no change ; but hope dawned suddenly on my 
 heart, and I took the hand that hung motionless by her side. 
 
 Her face, which had till now been pale, became in one instant 
 the colour of carnation. Her very fingers reddened as I raised 
 them to my lips, but they were not withdrawn. Words cannot 
 express the blessedness of that moment, for then my heart told 
 me I was beloved. 
 
 _ For some seconds, perhaps minutes, (for who in such a situa- 
 tion could take note of time ?) we stood silent and motionless. 
 No, not motionless, for the bosom of the Lady Melicent heaved 
 tumultuously, and her heart even visibly beat itself against the 
 walls of its prison, as if struggling to be free. I felt the small 
 quick pulses of her hand, which still lay passively in mine ; and 
 encircling her with my arm, I drew her to my bosom with a 
 pressure as soft and gentle as a mother's first embrace to her 
 new-born babe. 
 
 She started convulsively as she felt this, and her eyes, which 
 till then had never met mine, were raised to my face with a 
 gentle look of fear and of reproach. 
 
 It was understood. I asked for no declaration of passion, no 
 avowal of love, and releasing her from my scarcely perceptible 
 embrace, I placed her arm within my own, and we walked on 
 silently, in a path sheltered by shrubs and underwood from the 
 chance of observation. 
 
 Long did we wander that morning, and swiftly fled the 
 winged hours ; and ere the sound of the dinner-bell liad warned
 
 330 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 us of the necessity of return, I had imprinted the first kiss on 
 the glowing lips of her whom I adored. 
 
 At dinner we met again. Never did conqueror advance to a 
 triumph with lighter step, or prouder heart, than that with 
 which I entered the drawing-room. Lady Melicent was there, 
 and never had she seemed in my eyes so transcendently lovely. 
 All the radiance that elegance of adornment can lend to beauty 
 had been contributed, as if to barb the arrows of her charms, 
 and render their wounds incurable. 
 
 In every thing connected with Lady Melicent, there "was 
 something pre-eminently refined and recherche. On that day 
 she wore jewels. They were few, but rich and beautiful ; and 
 I could have exclaimed in my enthusiasm, as I gazed on her — 
 
 Dp, up, fair bride ! and call 
 Thy stars from out their several boxes; take 
 Thy rubies, pearls, and emeralds forth, and mate 
 Thyself a constellation of them all. 
 
 The colour on her cheek was more brilliant than usual, and 
 her eye, though restless and unfixed, was, if possible, brighter. 
 Once — once only, it met mine, and it was instantly withdrawn; 
 but that glance, fleeting as it was, had spoken what volumes 
 would have been insufficient to express. 
 
 For myself, though by the events of the morning my mind 
 was freed from a burden which had pressed on it almost to 
 madness, I was even less capable than formerly of entering into 
 the spirit of society. So perfect was the enjoyment I derived 
 from the concentration of my own thoughts, that I found it 
 almost impossible to divert any part of my attention to the 
 scene in which 1 mingled. 
 
 I had the misfortune again to sit next Lady Greystoke at 
 dinner, and my conduct must have certainly formed a striking 
 contrast to what it had been on a former occasion. Lady Grey- 
 stoke talked a great, deal, but not one particle of her discourse 
 did I either hear or understand; and when the expression of her 
 countenance made it palpable that an answer on my part was 
 Income necessary, it was generally so little apropos to the sub- 
 ject, as to excite in the old lady serious doubts with regard to 
 the perfect sanity of my intellects. To do her justice, I do 
 think Bhe bore with me very patiently; but patience has its 
 limits. Before the conclusion of the dinner, Lady Greystoke 
 became exhausted, and I never afterwards succeeded in recover- 
 ing her good graces. 
 
 Of what passed in the (lining-room, after the departure of 
 the ladies, | 1ki\c not the slightest recollection. Till the gentle- 
 men returned to the drawing-room, I was as completely cut oil' 
 from all communication with the external world as a new-born
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVI. 331 
 
 puppy. All the avenues of my senses were blocked up. I 
 neither saw, heard, smelt, touched, nor tasted, and partook more 
 of the nature of a pure and abstract Ens, than I recollect ever 
 to have done before or since. 
 
 Corporeal life again dawned with the presence of the ladies. 
 One look of bashful consciousness from Lady Melicent, as I 
 entered the drawing-room, recalled me once more to the mate- 
 rial world. In my then state of excited feeling, I durst not 
 trust myself to approach her. I was jealous of observation, and 
 imagined that every look and word was scrutinized by those 
 around me. I dreaded lest the secret confined to two conscious 
 bosoms might be laid open to profane eyes. 
 
 Aware as I was of the necessity of present concealment, 
 reserve towards Lady Melicent was palpably dictated by pru- 
 dence. But what weak and inconsistent creatures are we ! How 
 few of our actions are guided by reason, how many by impulse ! 
 Lord Amersham, who was fond of music, asked his daughter to 
 sing. 
 
 " Don't ask me, papa," she answered ; " indeed I cannot." 
 
 " Come, Lyndhurst, and you, Thornton, do you try your 
 influence. Two young men may succeed, when one old one 
 fails," said Lord Amersham laughingly. " Now, Lyndhurst, you 
 try first." 
 
 Lord Lyndhurst, who was lolling in any easy-chair, slightly 
 raised himself on this appeal, and in the letter — though scarcely 
 in the spirit of his instructions — languidly joined in the request 
 for music. 
 
 Lady Melicent instantly declined, even more decidedly than 
 before. 
 
 " Come, Thornton, you're our forlorn hope ; exert yourself, or 
 all's lost." 
 
 " Where the request of Lord Lyndhurst and your Lordship 
 has been denied, it were vain, indeed, to hope that mine would 
 be granted." 
 
 " Ah, who knows?" said his lordship; "make the experiment 
 at all events." 
 
 Vain and senseless as I was, I could not resist the silly and 
 dangerous triumph which I saw before me. I approached Lady 
 Melicent, who was seated alone at some distance, and in a voice 
 low and inaudible to the rest of the party, I added my entreaties 
 to those which had already been ineffectual : — she answered — 
 
 " If you ask it I will try ; but I fear I cannot." And a glance 
 of fond reproach accompanied her words. 
 
 I then, to avoid suspicion, addressed her in a louder tone. 
 
 " You have heard, Lady Melicent, that I am deputed to beg 
 of you, in the name of Lord Amersham and Lord Lyndhurst, to
 
 .332 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 oblige the company by singing. What I durst not presume to 
 ask in my own character, I now humbly solicit as their deputy." 
 
 Lady Melicent sang. Her voice was weak and tremulous, but 
 never did it sink so deeply into my heart. That, indeed, was to 
 me a moment of pride which kings might envy. 
 
 I was soon, however, awakened to a full sense of the danger I 
 had incurred, by observing the look of strong displeasure that 
 marked the countenance of Lady Greystoke. That Lady Melicent 
 should have been influenced by my entreaties to grant a favour 
 which she had already denied to her father and the man selected 
 by her family as her future husband, seemed in her eyes a flagrant 
 violation of that propriety for which she was on all occasions a 
 rigid stickler. Even Lord Amersham, I thought, was not much 
 gratified by the success of my entreaties ; but I could never dis- 
 cover that any serious suspicions had been excited by my folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Hopo is a lover's staff; walk honrp with that, 
 And manage it against despairing thoughts. 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona 
 
 I loved; and, if there be truth in woman's words, I was 
 beloved again. Yet not with the consciousness of reciprocal 
 affection ceases a lover's fear. Seldom calm and unruilled are 
 the waters of his spirit. There is a tide of dread and appre- 
 hension which is continually ebbing and flowing in his soul. 
 Even in the very excess of my good fortune, there was some- 
 thing which had a tendency to excite fear. Could I look on the 
 Lady Melicent — all that nature — all that rank and fortune had 
 Made her and at once undoubtingly believe that, being all I 
 saw and knew her to be, she was — she could be mine? 
 
 Yes, often I did so believe, and then indeed I was happy. 
 Yet how many obstacles to our union still remained? Could I 
 hope for the consent of Lord Amersham ? What had I to offer 
 whicb could serve as a counterpoise to the high rank and 
 immense fortune of Lord Lyndhurst, who had already declared 
 himself her suitor? How small, how utterly insignificant, 
 were my worldly claims when put in competition with his? If 
 I excelled him in personal qualities — and, without vanity, I felt 
 l might assume such a superiority — what was this in the calm 
 and calculating eye of a father, compared with the splendid
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVTI. 333 
 
 settlements, the influence, and the distinction, which belonged 
 to an union with my rival ? Under the circumstances, indeed, it 
 seemed as if there was something even ridiculous in my venturing 
 to make proposals to Lord Amersham for an alliance with his 
 daughter. What could I expect but that they would instantly 
 be rejected with scorn and contempt? I was too proud to 
 encounter such a rejection. A mortification so humiliating was 
 one to which I felt that all my philosophy could not enable me 
 to submit with patience. 
 
 The interviews of Lady Melicent and myself were rare, for 
 the circumstances in which we were placed rendered it necessary 
 that they should be arranged with the greatest prudence and 
 caution. Our intercourse was secret, and on that account per- 
 haps more sweet. It was seldom that we met alone, and then it 
 was with beating hearts. Oh ! these blessed but fleeting moments, 
 within whose narrow limits the delight of centuries was concen- 
 trated and compressed, it is with a throbbing pulse that I even 
 now recall them to my memory. 
 
 But at other times, I at least enjoyed the privilege of behold- 
 ing her, and though my lips were silent my eyes were free. Her 
 presence was, indeed, become as the life-blood to my heart. 
 Sometimes I would sit with a volume in my hand, one line of 
 which I never read, secretly watching her motions, and drinking 
 in even the most trifling word iier lips might syllable. Then at 
 night, when I retired to my chamber, not calmly was my head 
 laid upon my pillow ; not gently and serenely did sleep descend 
 upon my eyelids; for there was fever in my blood, and a burn- 
 ing in my limbs, and I could not rest. 
 
 Often did I rise from my sleepless couch, and throwing open 
 my window, sit for hours in the moonshine, and gaze on the 
 light that twinkled from the lattice of her chamber window. 
 And if a shadow fell but for a moment on the curtain which 
 shaded it, I knelt as in the presence of a superior being, till it 
 had passed away. Neither waking nor in sleep was she absent 
 from my thoughts. By day I gazed on her, and by night she 
 visited my dreams. 
 
 In our interviews I told her of all my hopes and fears, and of 
 the obstacles that presented themselves to our union. Our hopes, 
 indeed, were in unison, but she partook not of my fears. In her 
 glowing imagination difficulties vanished, and the horizon of 
 our future destiny contained no cloud to darken its beauty and 
 serenity. She told me, indeed, that the heart of her father was 
 bent on her union with Lord Lyndhurst, and that the latter had 
 already made an offer of his hand, which he was urgent she 
 should accept. In the present situation of affairs, therefore, it 
 was too evident that any proposals to Lord Amersham would
 
 ,334 CYRIL TUORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 have the effect of putting 1 a complete and final stop to our corre- 
 spondence, or at least of rendering its continuance a matter of 
 great and almost insurmountable difficulty. 
 
 For the present, our engagement was to be secret. It was 
 better, she thought, that in rejecting the addresses of Lord Lynd- 
 hurst, her father should not. imagine her to be influenced by any 
 previous attachment. But this done, on my return to England, 
 which would certainly be in the course of the following year, we 
 would go to Lord Amersham, and lay before him the secret of 
 our attachment. We would tell him that the happiness of both 
 depended on our union, that our troth was already plighted, and 
 in such circumstances, she who knew him well assured me he 
 could not — he would not refuse his consent. 
 
 But even if we should be deceived in these fond hopes, still, 
 still she would be mine. She loved her father — she had always 
 loved him. She was an only child, and in her had centred all 
 his hopes and his affection. But there are holier ties than even 
 those which link together the hearts of parents and their off- 
 Spring. By these she was bound to me; and she declared that 
 no exercise of paternal authority should induce her to violate 
 those vows of faithful and unswerving love, which, in the pre- 
 sence of God, we had sworn to each other. 
 
 Thus assured in those blessed and happy hours, doubt was 
 banished from my bosom. What doubt, indeed, would not the 
 sight of that countenance — the glance of that eye, have dissi- 
 pated in a moment? 
 
 But love, though the sweetener of life, cannot constitute its 
 business. In whatever relation we may stand to society, we are 
 bound to the performance of certain active duties inconsistent 
 with a life of contemplative indulgence. The world is our credi- 
 tor, and a hard one, for it will relax nothing of its claims. A 
 life devoted to love, though one of the staple fictions of poets and 
 romance writers, is incompatible both with the natural charac- 
 ter of man and his social relations. Our bodies and our minds 
 are alike framed for action ; and he who could merge his duties 
 in the indulgence even of the purest passion, would prove him- 
 self less an object of love than of contempt. 
 
 The hour which was to tear me from the presence and society 
 of her I loved, approached and came. We had met the evening 
 before my departure (for it was then summer) once more to re- 
 peal onr VOWS of constancy, and say — if our lips could speak it 
 — Farewell. 
 
 Well do I remember the spot where, seated with her head 
 
 resting on my bosom, I kissed away the bright tears that flowed 
 fast down her cheeks at the prospect of onr separation. It was 
 beneath a huge tree, whose branches spread higher and wider
 
 Cl'RIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVII. 335 
 
 than those of its surrounding brothers, and which, from some 
 ancient tradition, was known by the name of " The Wizard Oak." 
 It stood deep in the woodlands, in a solitude rarely disturbed, 
 save by the footsteps of the woodman. 
 
 Here it was that we parted. 
 
 We had met to speak, yet we spoke not. The deep silence of 
 the tranquil evening was broken by no vows or protestations of 
 fervent and unchanging love. Were they needed ? No. I 
 read her truth in the convulsive heaving of her bosom, in the 
 tears which my lips drank up as they trickled from their 
 bed. 
 
 At length we rose, and, supported by my arm, we walked to- 
 gether to the extremity of the wood, and our hearts told us that 
 the moment of the final struggle was come at last. 
 
 I cast myself on my knees before her. I invoked blessings on 
 her head for the proud gift of her love to one so unworthy. I 
 thanked her, but I felt that words could not speak my gratitude 
 — and I arose. 
 
 She leant against me, and, encircled by my arm, her head 
 rested on my bosom. Marble was not paler than her cheek : 
 and her lips were colourless. With my hand I felt the feeble 
 flutter of her heart, which ever and anon made fearful pauses, 
 and then resumed its tumult. 
 
 " Oh, grieve not thus ! " I exclaimed, for I saw she was much 
 agitated — " The pang of parting is bitter, but it is short. I go 
 happy, for if I fall I know there is one faithful heart to deplore 
 me; if I return, it will be to enjoy the unspeakable reward of 
 your love." 
 
 Lady Melicent spoke not — -she could not speak. 
 
 " I see — I feel, that my lingering here but adds to your dis- 
 tress, and I will tear myself away." 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " she exclaimed, clasping my hand between 
 both of hers, as if instinctively to prevent my departure — " Not 
 yet." 
 
 I waited silently till the paroxysm was past, then gently re- 
 leasing her from my embrace, and imprinting on her lips one 
 long last kiss, murmured, Farewell, as I sprung forward with 
 the speed of an arrow — and we saw each other no more. 
 
 On that evening Lady Melicent was visible to no eye, and 
 Lord Amersham reported that she was confined to her chamber 
 by a severe headach. I passed the night in gazing on the light 
 that shone from her chamber window, but it was crossed by no 
 shadow, nor could I detect the smallest indication that the apart- 
 ment was occupied by a living tenant. 
 
 In the morning I descended to the breakfast -room : — the party 
 had already assembled, but Lady Melicent was not there. Break-
 
 306 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 fast passed, and my carriage was at the door. My heart smote 
 me as I bade farewell to Lord Amersham. I felt as if I had 
 taken an unfair advantage of his hospitality to seduce the affec- 
 tions of his daughter. I felt that the simplicity and openness 
 of his character had not been met with reciprocal qualities in 
 mine. He had welcomed me to his house as a friend and a 
 relation : — had I acted the part of one? 
 
 A still small voice in my bosom answered, No. 
 
 Nothing, however, could exceed his kindness. " Good-bye, 
 Thornton, my boy ! " said the old nobleman — " Good-bye, and 
 may God bless you! I hope to see you come back with a rod 
 ribbon at least. Let me know if they ill use you at the Horse 
 Guards. I have not much interest there, but I'll do what I can. 
 I am sure Melicent is sorry she is unable to bid you farewell, 
 and give you assurance of her good wishes before you set out on 
 your campaigns. Take care of yourself, you know. No volun- 
 teering on out piquets or forlorn hopes, but get distinction in 
 the regular course, and then come back and marry a pretty girl, 
 and settle down as a country gentleman at Thornhill." 
 
 In reply, I thanked his lordship, and begged him to convey my 
 acknowledgments to Lady Melicent for the more than ordinary 
 kindness 1 bad experienced at Staunton, which, I assured him, 
 should never be obliterated from my memory. 
 
 My parting with Lucy (for, at the earnest request of Lady 
 Melicent, I had consented to her remaining at Staunton some 
 time longer) was melancholy, yet, compared with that of the pre- 
 ceding evening, it cost but a trilling pang. The dear and loving 
 girl clasped her arms around my neck, and hiding her face in my 
 bosom, wept bitterly. There were many spectators of the scene, 
 but poor Lucy, in yielding to her natural emotion, forgot them all. 
 She clung to me as to one from whom site would not be parted, 
 and her sobs were violent and hysterical. Nature became gra- 
 dually exhausted — I felt the grasp with which she still held me 
 relax ; and after a mental blessing] kissed her lips, and consigning 
 the almost fainting girl to the arms of Lord Amersham, I sprang 
 into the carriage, and drove off. 
 
 For the first few minutes of my journey I was confused and 
 stupefied ; then I gazed from the carriage window tocatch, in the 
 windings of the avenue, an occasional glimpse of the house, as 
 timmil rose above the trees or was visible in their intervals. 
 Within its walls v. as contained all that I most loved on earth ; and 
 my eyes were Still turned towards it. long after I had emerged 
 from the demesne, and it was no longer visible. 
 
 London was the objeel of my destination. I had lingered at 
 
 Staunton till the last moment, and there was barely time, before 
 
 spiration of my leave, to make the necessary preparations
 
 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVII. 337 
 
 for the voyage, and to equip myself for the field. In my escape 
 from Madrid I had lost all my baggage ; and rapid as London 
 tradesmen proverbially are under the excitement of the auri 
 sacra fumes, my wants coidd not be supplied in a day. 
 
 On my arrival, however, I lost no time in taking measures 
 for my full equipment. The exertions of tradesmen of every 
 denomination were put in instant requisition ; and Prosser, that 
 most facetious and urbane of accoutrement makers, promised to 
 defer the execution of an order he had just received from the 
 Prince of Wales, in order to supply me, quam primum, with 
 sash, gorget, epaulettes, hair-trigger pistols, and a sword, in 
 comparison with whose temper a Damascus blade was as 
 nothing. 
 
 While these preparations were in progress, I had a few days 
 of leisure, which I found myself at liberty to devote to certain 
 necessary arrangements in my affairs, and to entering a little 
 into the amusements of the town. By the latter, I endeavoured 
 to dissipate a certain gloom which, in spite of the brightness of 
 my prospects, hung occasionally on my spirits. 
 
 In order to prevent my being utterly forgotten at the Horse 
 Guards, 1 adopted Lord Amersham's advice, and determined, 
 before quitting town, to attend the levee of the Commander-in- 
 Chief, and personally solicit the promotion which I thought 
 was due to my services. With this view I waited on Colonel 
 Torrens, and having informed him of my claims, and their 
 object, I was directed to attend on the following Tuesday at 
 two o'clock, when I should have the honour of an interview 
 with Sir David Dundas. 
 
 I was punctual in my attendance at the appointed hour, and 
 on my arrival was ushered into a large antechamber, filled 
 with officers of all ranks and descriptions. The levee was 
 already proceeding. General after general was admitted into 
 the presence-chamber, and after a longer or a shorter audience, 
 was dismissed to make way for a successor. 
 
 Three tedious hours did I wait before my turn for admission 
 came. They passed, however, less heavily than might have 
 been expected, for in the crowd which filled the antechamber, 
 I had the good fortune to meet with an agreeable companion. 
 He was a Major O'Shauglmessy, a captain of seventeen years' 
 standing, who had only recently received a brevet majority. 
 The major was most vehement in the exposition of his wrongs. 
 He had endured all varieties of climate — he had fought in the 
 East and in the West — had been taken prisoner by Tippoo 
 Saib — and shot through the body at the capture of Guadaloupe. 
 In his return from India, the ship in which he sailed had been 
 wrecked, and his wife and two children drowned. With all
 
 338 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 this series of service and suffering, he still remained a captain ; 
 nor had even the promotion of brevet been given to him till it 
 hud become his right, from being bestowed on every other officer 
 of similar standing in the army. Still the veteran's spirit was 
 unbroken, and he that day attended the levee for the first time 
 of his life, apparently less from the hope of any beneficial con- 
 sequence to himself, than from a certain abstract pleasure 
 which he felt in the detail of his wrongs. When I compared 
 my own claims and services with his, I could scarcely help 
 feeling a little ashamed of the errand on which I had come, and 
 was even disposed to demur to my own right to advancement in 
 the service, when such officers as my grey-haired companion 
 were suffered to remain unrewarded with promotion. 
 
 While engaged in these reflections, I heard my name pro- 
 nounced by the usher in a loud voice, and starting up, I passed 
 immediately through a folding-door, and stood in the presence 
 of the Commander-in-Chief. 
 
 He was an emaciated old man, apparently in the very last 
 stage of physical debility, and evidently unequal to the arduous 
 and important duties of the office to which he had been recently 
 appointed. Still the air of a soldier had not deserted him ; age 
 had not descended lightly on his head, but he did not bend under 
 the burden of his years. His person was erect ; and one might, 
 in his gait and deportment, still discern some remnant of the 
 man who had studied discipline and tactics under the immediate 
 eye of Frederick the Great. To that monarch, indeed, as he is 
 represented in his later years, Sir David Dundas was not without 
 Some persona] resemblance. 
 
 ( )n my entrance, Sir David bowed, and requested me to inform 
 him of my claims and wishes. I did so. I stated I was now a 
 captain of nearly five years' standing. That I had served in 
 America ; that I had twice been taken prisoner in the Peninsula; 
 that I had once the cleverness and good fortune to escape ; that 
 I was now about to return to my regiment abroad; in short, that 
 he then saw before him a most excellent and praiseworthy officer, 
 whom it would be highly creditable to his own judgment, and 
 beneficial to the service, to promote. In truth, having cast off 
 the modesty which encumbered the eloquence of Othello, 1 
 prudently did every thing in my power, to 
 
 Grace mj cause In speaking of myself. 
 
 Sir David, to do him ju-tice, heard me out with the most im- 
 perturbable patience, then assured me that my claims should be 
 noted, and thai it would give him pleasure to promote my views, 
 whenever a favourable opportunity might occur. He concluded 
 by two or three bows, then ringing his bell, the door was thrown
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 339 
 
 open, another name announced, and I took my departure. Such 
 was the conclusion of the only levee I ever attended at the 
 Horse Guards. 
 
 In the course of a week, nothing further remained to detain 
 me in London, and getting into the Falmouth mail, I soon found 
 myself at my point of embarkation. A packet was about to sail 
 on the following morning, and I went on board the evening of 
 my arrival. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Thou hast talk'd 
 Of sallies and retires; of trenches, tents, 
 Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, 
 Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, 
 Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, 
 And all the currents of a heady fight. 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 Once more upon the deep. With a flowing sheet we ran 
 rapidly on our voyage, and on the fourth day had skirted the 
 mountainous waters of the Bay of Biscay, and were to the south- 
 ward of Cape Finisterre. We saw the Burlings on the evening 
 of the seventh, passed Fort St Julian in the night, and at day- 
 dawn beheld the towers of Belem gilded by the radiance of the 
 morning sun. 
 
 I have never seen Naples or Genoa, but, when viewed from 
 the sea, I can conceive nothing more beautiful than Lisbon. It 
 rises on the side of a magnificent ampitheatre of hills, gradually 
 heightening as it recedes from the shore, and widening its ex- 
 panse, till the eye, on gazing on its palaces and convents, becomes 
 almost confused in the mighty wilderness of dwellings. 
 
 I had known Lisbon before, and the eventful period which 
 intervened since I last quitted it, had produced little change on 
 the city or its inhabitants. Apparently no people could be 
 more loyal; the national cockade was in every hat; and those 
 who had formerly been peaceful citizens, now donned their 
 weapons, and went forth arrayed in the pride, the pomp, and 
 panoply of glorious war. 
 
 The grand depot of the army was at Belem. Thither were 
 sent the sick and the wounded, and, perhaps scarcely fewer in 
 number, those who found in sickness a convenient excuse for 
 avoiding the fatigues and hazards of a campaign. The streets
 
 340 CYRIJL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 were crowded with British officers, apparently in the full enjoy- 
 ment of youthful lustihood and vigour, who, though unequal to 
 encounter the duties of the field, were perfectly equal to mingle 
 in all the gayety and dissipation of Lisbon. Such characters 
 were usually contemptuously distinguished by the title of " Belem 
 loungers." I was not at all disposed to swell their number; and 
 having purchased such cattle and stores as were necessary for 
 my field equipment, no obstruction remained to delay the moment 
 of my departure. A detachment of about fifty men, belonging 
 to several regiments of the second division of the army, was 
 placed under my command ; and my hordes and baggage having 
 been sent forward by land, I embarked with the party on the 
 Tagus. 
 
 The Tagus and its golden sands ! What dull soul is he who 
 says there is no magic in a name ? It is not true that " a rose 
 by any other name would smell as sweet," if all the associations 
 connected with its fragrance be lost in the change. At all 
 events, I embarked on the Tagus, prepared to admire both the 
 river and its scenery. 
 
 When we had lost sight of Lisbon, I sat in the stern of our 
 little vessel, recalling all that history or romance had connected 
 with its waters, as the poles of the boatmen slowly and lazily 
 propelled us forward. After all, 1 have seen finer rivers than 
 the Tagus. There is seldom any thing beautiful, and never 
 any tiling grand, in its scenery. It is true, its banks are occa- 
 sionally clothed with vineyards and olive groves, and such things 
 sound well in description. But the woods of old England are 
 finer objects than the latter, and a cottager's garden quite as 
 pretty a feature in a landscape as a Portuguese vineyard. 
 
 Five weary days did we journey on the Tagus, counteracted 
 in our progress by the united influence of wind and stream, 
 running ashore on sandbanks at. least a dozen times a-day, and 
 encountering all those " moving accidents by flood," to which 
 fresh-water travellers are liable. On the fifth night we reached 
 Punhete ; and the river becoming shallower and more difficult to 
 navigate the higher we advanced, on the sixth morning we 
 quitted the boats, and commenced our march across the country, 
 towards Almeida, in the neighbourhood of which, by the latest 
 accounts before our departure, it was most probable we should 
 fall in with the army. The intelligence we received from the 
 country people with regard to the movements of Lord Welling- 
 ton, was ;it lirst vague and contradictory; but. in proportion aa 
 we approached nearer to the scene of operation it became more 
 
 definite. We learned, on testimony impossible to be doubted, 
 thai Almeida had fallen, and thai the allied forces were in full 
 retreat, closely followed by the enemy; and accordingly chan-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 341 
 
 ging our course, we endeavoured as soon as possible to intersect 
 the line of march, on which it was probable we should fall in 
 with the retiring army. 
 
 The situation of our little detachment, indeed, was not with- 
 out its difficulties. On quitting the boats, we had only four 
 days' provisions ; and had we been too late in arriving at our 
 destined point, there was every chance of our falling into the 
 hands of the enemy, who were rapidly advancing in pursuit. 
 
 Our fourth day's march brought us to Penalva. There we 
 learned that a division of the British army were retreating 
 towards us, and that we should probably fall in with them on 
 the following day. Before day-dawn we were on our march, 
 and had proceeded several leagues without being able to detect 
 any indication of the proximity of an armed force. At length, 
 upon the summit of a hill, as far distant as the eye could reach, 
 a gleam of unusual brightness was discernible, which gradually 
 extended down its side, in one long and unbroken line. It was 
 the glancing of arms, though those that bore them were yet 
 invisible. As they drew nearer, the sight of the scarlet uniform 
 put a stop to any apprehensions which might have lurked within 
 us, and we joyfully recognized friends and countrymen in the 
 advancing body. It was the division of General Hill to which 
 we belonged. On its approach I rode up to the Honourable 
 General Stewart, who led the advance, and reported my own 
 arrival and that of my party, and had once more the satisfaction 
 of joining my regiment as it passed on the line of march. 
 
 There is never any thing melancholy in the meeting of sol- 
 diers. With them, the present is every thing — the past a point 
 — the future a blank. The greeting of surviving friends is sel- 
 dom embittered by recollections of those who are no more. In 
 a life of danger and casualty this is natural. Death is too com- 
 mon an occurrence to make any very vivid or lasting impression. 
 His presence is but an everyday event. Soldiers become accus- 
 tomed to the terrors of his eye, and from frequently regarding 
 him, lose their fear in their familiarity. They love their living 
 friends not the less, that they mourn not for those who are 
 departed. 
 
 There was certainly no want of warmth in the greeting of 
 my companions. They thronged around me; and kind enquiries 
 and cordial pressure of the hands were exchanged, as my eyes 
 rested on those who had been endeared to me by communion of 
 pleasures, and perhaps still more, by the fellowship of danger 
 and privation. Some, indeed, I missed from the circle, for 
 during my absence war had claimed its victims. They were 
 gone, and a word of praise, a passing thought of regret, was all 
 the tribute offered to their memory
 
 342 CYRIL THORXTON. CHAPTER XXXVJII. 
 
 The British army continued their retreat, -without annoyance 
 from the enemy; and, after a halt of a day or two, which a 
 series of severe marches rendered almost necessary, took up 
 their position on the heights of Iiusaco. Our division, whose 
 route had hitherto heen on the left of the Mondego, crossed 
 that river on the 26th, and formed the right wing of the army. 
 
 Our position on these mountains seemed admirably chosen. 
 The ridge of which it consisted extended in a northerly direc- 
 tion about eight miles, affording a complete command of all the 
 roads to Lisbon, and the road to Coimbra, which passed on its 
 extreme left. On the low ground, in front, was collected the 
 main body of the enemy's army, whose intention of forcing our 
 position soon became evident. 
 
 Never before had I seen so large a force collected, as it were, 
 into a single focus. It was, indeed, a sight stirring to the 
 spirit. The officers stood singly, or collected in groups, on the 
 summit of the hills, gazing on the fires that blazed in the camp 
 beneath them, and the peaceful occupations of those with whom 
 they were so soon to be engaged in deadly contest. 
 
 While I was thus engaged, the sergeant of my company came 
 up, and presenting the orders of the day, I found, on reading 
 them, that I was destined that evening for the duty of out 
 piquet. I confess, that the first ideas which the knowledge of 
 this circumstance inspired, were not pleasant ones. The duty 
 of out piquet was always one of danger, but in the existing 
 situation of the armies it involved peculiar peril. It was certain 
 — next to certain, that we should be attacked and driven in 
 during the night, preparatory to a general engagement. I 
 returned the orderly-book to the sergeant in silence, and con- 
 tinued gazing on the scene around me. If possible, the interest 
 it excited had become more vivid in proportion to the increase 
 of hazard to which 1 now saw myself exposed. 
 
 Hut the hour of evening approached, and the necessity of pre- 
 paration roused me from my reverie. I returned to my tent, 
 and gave directions for the instant packing of my baggage, and 
 having finished a solitary meal, repaired to the spot appointed 
 for the parade of the piquets. As night (dosed in, we descended 
 the brow of tlic hill, and marched in deep silence to our station, 
 distant but a few hundred yards from the advanced ]H>sts of the 
 
 enemy. It was pointed out to me by the Quartermaster-gene- 
 ral, who accompanied the party; and having received the 
 necessary directions, which were spoken in a whisper scarcely 
 audible, and the expr< ssion of his good wishes for our safe return, 
 
 he retired. 
 
 I'Im' piquet under my command consisted of a subaltern, two 
 sergeants, and sixty rank and file. In our front, and on either
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 343 
 
 flunk, videttes were pushed up as closely to the enemy as Mas 
 found practicable, without occasioning a discovery of our posi- 
 tion. A short distance in rear of the videttes were placed a 
 ssrgeant and six men, and between this party and the main body 
 of the piquet, was stationed the subaltern and fifteen, thus form- 
 ing a connected chain of communication from front to rear. 
 
 Independently of the feeling of insecurity which naturally 
 attached to our situation and duty, I have seldom spent a more 
 uncomfortable night. It was dark and gu^ty, and the wind 
 came at intervals, accompanied with heavj torrents of rain. 
 We were without shelter from the inclemency of the weather ; 
 and the soldiers, wrapped in their great-coats, lay down in the 
 ranks, their hands still grasping their firelocks, and prepared, in 
 case of alarm, to spring instantly to their feet. 
 
 Heavily and slowly did the hours that night flow by. The 
 sounds of song and merriment that came by fits upon the wind 
 from the enemy's camp, by degrees died away ; and the occa- 
 sional neighing of horses and braying of mules, alone gave 
 indication of its vicinity. Aware that the safety even of the 
 whole army might be endangered by any negligence in the dis- 
 charge of my duty, I passed the night on foot, visiting occa- 
 sionally the different detachments and videttes, and endeavouring 
 to detect, by ear or eye, indication of an advancing foe. Some- 
 times I would advance on tiptoe towards a point, from which 
 some suspicious sound appeared to proceed, and then hurry back 
 on finding I was deceived. When tired by fruitless watching, 
 I would sometimes cast myself on the ground and gaze for a 
 few minutes on the dark canopy of clouds which hung lower- 
 ingly in the sky, then spring again upon my feet at the fancied 
 sound of human voices, or the approaching footfalls that rung 
 upon my ear. 
 
 Often, too, at intervals, did the thought of England — of my 
 sisters, and of one bright object even dearer than they, steal 
 unawares into my heart in the silent watches of the night. 
 Often did I see the beloved forms floating towards me, beautiful 
 in the darkness ; but when, with extended arms, I would have 
 pressed them to my bosom, I knew they were but shadows, for 
 they flitted past me, as if borne onwards by the viewless winds. 
 
 Thus did the night wear on, and at length the first streaks 
 of morn were seen dappling the edge of the horizon. No form 
 of danger had approached us, and we were already, with joyful 
 hearts, preparing to return with the dawn to our encampment. 
 
 Suddenly a shot was heard, which, after the silence of a few 
 moments, was succeeded by the irregular firing of a larger body. 
 Every instant it became more frequent, and between the inter- 
 vals was heard the tramp of many feet, and the murmur of
 
 344 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 voices. It was but the work of a moment in the men to rouse 
 themselves, and stand prepared for the impending attack, and 
 scarcely had they done so when the advanced parties appeared, 
 driven back breathless and in confusion from the front. They 
 re-formed in the rear of the main body, and were ordered 
 instantly to prime and load. Before time was afforded to effect 
 this operation, the enemy had advanced within a few yards, and 
 giving them a volley, the retreat instantly commenced. Our 
 fire was returned with interest, and it was evident the enemy 
 had attacked us in overwhelming numbers. We had now 
 retreated some distance, and were still closely pursued, when a 
 quick but desultory firing suddenly arose on our right. This 
 proceeded from a detachment of a rifle battalion of the 60th, 
 which had been thrown in advance, in order to support the 
 piquets in case of attack. The pursuit of our assailants was 
 instantly checked, and we continued to retire with little further 
 molestation from the enemy, who, in their turn, were driven 
 back on the main body of the army. In this skirmish four men 
 of the piquet were killed, and seven wounded. 
 
 My regiment, when I rejoined it, was under arms. The sound 
 of firing was yet heard occasionally from below, which showed, 
 though the enemy were still hid by the mist-wreaths of the 
 morning, that they were on the advance. As day gradually 
 brightened, general officers were seen anxiously reconnoitring 
 from the summits of the ridge the movements of the hostile 
 army ; and officers of the staff rode past at full speed, delivering 
 orders to ttie different parts of the line. The dreadful voice of 
 the artillery, which had been hitherto silent, then rent the air 
 with its thunders, and the fire of musketry became evidently 
 heavier and more continuous. 
 
 At this moment, my attention was arrested by the appearance 
 of Lord Wellington, who rode up, with foam on his bridle, in 
 front of the division. Upwards of two years had elapsed since 
 I had last seen him. These had been to him, certainly, years 
 of mental toil and anxiety ; but there was little change discern- 
 ible in his appearance. There was the same fire in his eye and 
 animation in his countenance, and his air betrayed even more of 
 that confidence and self-possession with which 1 had formerly 
 been struck. He delivered his orders to Sir Rowland Hill with 
 promptitude and rapidity, and instantly setting spurs to his 
 steed, again vanished from our view. 
 
 The point which the enemy selected for his attack was on our 
 left, in front of the station occupied by the third division. Their 
 advance up the hill had been made under a severe fire; and on 
 their attaining its summit, they were instantly charged with the 
 bayonet, and driven back witli heavy loss. Our division moved
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 345 
 
 to the left to support the part of the line thus assailed ; but our 
 assistance was unnecessary, the troops already engaged having 
 proved themselves fully adequate to the repulse of the enemy. 
 The firing, which had now ceased in our part of the line, was 
 still warmly kept up in the centre and on the left, both of which 
 points had been made the scene of formidable attack by the 
 enemy. From our station on the right little of the action was 
 discernible, and our gaze was principally directed to the large 
 masses of the French army which were now visible in the plain 
 beneath, and whose motions we watched with curiosity and inte- 
 rest. These were soon observed to be retiring, and the only 
 firing heard w r as that of the artillery and of the light division, 
 which still continued to follow the enemy, and harass them in 
 their retreat. By degrees this too died away, and all was silent. 
 
 During the remainder of the 27th, no further attack was made 
 by the French on our position. Tired with the fatigues of the 
 night, and the excitement I had since undergone, I threw myself 
 on my pallet, and slept soundly. Towards evening I awoke. 
 Willingly would I have slept again, for visions of tranquil beauty 
 had visited me in slumber, and it was painful to exchange the 
 bright world of dreams in which I had been ranging, for that 
 less lovely reality to which I was again awakened. 
 
 The night passed undisturbed, and two hours before the dawn 
 of day we were under arms. It was the general expectation of 
 the army that the attack would be again renewed. It was not. 
 The hours passed on without alarm ; and when the sun rose, 
 the enemy were observed in motion on the road leading to 
 Coimbra and Oporto, which passed on the extreme left of the 
 Sierra. In consequence of this, we were ordered instantly to 
 march ; and again crossing the Mondego, Sir Rowland Hill's 
 division continued their retreat towards Lisbon, by the road 
 leading through Thomar and Santarem. 
 
 Till our arrival at the lines of Torres Vedras, we saw nothing 
 further of the French army. Our march continued for ten days, 
 and it was indeed a melancholy one. The roads were crowded with 
 thousands of families, driven from their homes in a state of utter 
 destitution, and presenting images of squalid misery never to 
 be effaced from the memories of those who witnessed them. On 
 these I shall not enlarge. They have often been described, and, 
 I believe, never exaggerated ; and he who trusts to his imagina- 
 tion for a picture of the miseries of war, need scarcely fear, how- 
 ever dark his colouring, that his limning will exceed the truth. 
 
 I believe it was on the ninth of October that we reached 
 Alhandra, a village on the Tagus, which formed the extreme 
 right of the line we were about to occupy. On the night of our 
 arrival, one of those events occurred, which, in the eyes of
 
 346 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 foreigners, contribute more than any other to affix a tarnish on 
 the character of our arms. By some culpable negligence, the 
 •wine, of which the town contained a great quantity, had not 
 been destroyed ; the soldiers broke into the cellars, and a scene 
 of unparalleled drunkenness ensued. It was a truly fortunate 
 circumstance that the enemy did not attack us on that night, or on 
 the following morning. Had they done so, I am convinced there 
 would not have been found, in the second division, a thousand 
 men capable of bearing arms. The possession of Alhandra would 
 have afforded the means of turning our position ; and the war 
 in Portugal might thus have been brought to a sudden and abrupt 
 conclusion. 
 
 On the morning after our arrival, General Stewart harangued 
 the men on parade ; and drumhead court-marshals being in- 
 stantly assembled, several severe, but, in the circumstances, not 
 unnecessary punishments, were inflicted. 
 
 By the arrival of some French prisoners, we learned that a 
 pretty severe rencontre, between our cavalry and that of the 
 enemy, had taken place that morning at day-dawn. A trum- 
 peter of the 13th bore at his saddle-bow the spolia opima of a 
 French officer, whom he had cut down in the charge. I exa- 
 mined the helmet, which was of brass, and found that it had 
 literally been divided in two. Such a blow was not unworthy 
 the arm of Roland the Paladin, or the most stalwart knight of 
 the Round Table of our own King Arthur. 
 
 As night set in, the drum beat to arms, and we were unex- 
 pectedly ordered to march. The rain fell in torrents, and the 
 darkness was extreme. 1 know nothing of the direction in which 
 we marched, but the roads were literally knee-deep, and we pro- 
 ceeded Beveral hours before halting. The night was passed on 
 the road. It was impossible to distinguish any object a yard off; 
 and I and several of my companions remained seated till morn- 
 ing at the foot of a rock, a projecting ledge of which afforded a 
 slight shelter from the pelting of the storm. Thus on 
 
 This nii-iit, wherein the cub-drawn bear would couch, 
 Tin.' lion, and ill'- belly-pincb'd wolf, 
 Keep their fur dry, 
 
 did the division remain exposed to all the fury of the elements. 
 Even the men's knapsacks were wet through, and the rain pene- 
 trating their cartouche-boxes, nine-tenths of their ammunition 
 was destroyed. 
 
 The morning at length dawned, and the joyful order to advance 
 was sounded in our ears. A weary journey of two leagues 
 brought us to a small village in the mountains, where we 
 remained two days. Here better precautions were taken to pre- 
 \ ent the repetition of the scene which had taken place at Alhan-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 347 
 
 dra. Before the billets were issued to the soldiers, every house 
 was examined, and the wine which they contained poured out into 
 the streets. This work of destruction was carried on amid the 
 rueful looks of the natives, and the curses, not loud but deep, of 
 the shivering soldiers. 
 
 Our next movement w-as to Bucellus, famous for the wine 
 which bears its name. It is situated in a hollow, on one of the 
 principal roads to Lisbon, a short distance in the rear of the 
 second line of defence. The town, which is not a large one, was 
 crowded with soldiers, and was the station appointed for two 
 brigades of infantry, and one of cavalry. Here the chances of 
 the service threw me again in contact wnth my friend Conyers, 
 now a captain of dragoons. Those who have never met a friend 
 of their youth in similar circumstances, know nothing of the 
 glow of feeling which such a meeting excites. In seasons of 
 danger the heart is peculiarly open to the impressions of old- 
 remembered friendships. The mind delights to turn from pre- 
 sent difficulty and privation, to those who were associated with 
 our former happiness, whose voice recalls to our memory the 
 dream of former days. Conyers was delighted to see me ; for he, 
 of course, knew I had been taken prisoner, but had not heard of 
 my escape. Seated at evening, over our canteen of wretched 
 ordinaire, we told the story of our lives since we had last parted. 
 I learned that at the time of our capture he had escaped, at the 
 expense of a slight wound, by charging boldly forward, and 
 trusting afterwards to the speed and mettle of his horse. Nor 
 did we fail, wdiile we laughed at his eccentricities, to crush a 
 wine-cup to the health of the old Scotch captain, who had been 
 our leader on that occasion, and who was now paying the penalty 
 of his generalship at Verdun. 
 
 Another goblet — and it was a bumper — was crowned to the 
 health of my worthy uncle ; nor was even Girzy unremembered 
 in our potations. Then rose the memory of those days of youth- 
 ful hope, when, with panting hearts, we had longed for that 
 moment when our feet would be free to follow the career of pride 
 and honour, for which we felt ourselves to be destined. The 
 hopes of neither of us had been blighted by fortune. The path 
 we panted to pursue we had since trod. Yet we felt that our 
 boyish aspirations were yet unfulfilled, and, too probably, were 
 ever destined to remain so. 
 
 Conyers stayed but a few days at Bucellus, nor did we remain 
 much longer. The brigade went into camp about a league in 
 advance, from which, after a sojourn of about ten days, our 
 regiment was ordered to occupy the Quinta de Cunha, a large 
 and solitary chateau among the hills. It was fortified with a 
 few pieces of light artillery. Embrasures were cut in the walls
 
 348 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 for the action of musketry ; and, protected as it was by the 
 surrounding batteries, the Quinta might be considered a place 
 of some strength. 
 
 Owing to the severity of the duty to which we had hitherto 
 been exposed, I had been seized, before quitting the camp, with 
 an attack of ague. This was so violent as to render me for some 
 time unfit for duty. From a quotidian, however, it gradually 
 subsided to a tertian ; and, though considerably enfeebled by its 
 continuance, I was enabled once more to play my humble part 
 in the great game of war. 
 
 During the weeks that we remained thus stationed, nothing 
 memorable occurred. Yes, there was one occurrence, the rela- 
 tion of which may perhaps serve to diversify a little the mono- 
 tonous tissue of tins portion of my memoirs. 
 
 The gallant conduct of the Portuguese troops at the battle of 
 Busaco, had induced the ministry to confer on Marshal Beres- 
 ford the order of the Bath. The occasion of his investment 
 with the insignia, Lord Wellington determined to celebrate by a 
 grand party ; and an invitation to all the officers of the army, 
 who should be off duty on the appointed day, was inserted in 
 the general orders. 
 
 Although our Quinta was fully twenty miles distant from 
 Mafra, which was to be the scene of the destined festivity, my 
 friend Popham and myself determined to relieve the dulness of 
 our mode of life by accepting the invitation. At daylight we 
 set forward on our way, and after riding for many hours on the 
 most villanous roads that were ever trod by the foot of either 
 man or horse, sometimes ascending to the mountain-tops, and 
 at others sinking to the very bottom of the valleys, about two 
 o'clock we reached the palace of Mafra. On enquiry we found 
 there was neither stabling nor forage for our horses ; but obser- 
 ving some ruinous and deserted cottages at a short distance, we 
 selected the most weather-proof for a stable, and returned to the 
 palace. 
 
 We were ushered through a handsome suite of apartments 
 into a splendid saloon, wliieh we found already filled by a large 
 and miscellaneous assemblage. There were generals in their 
 stars anil ribands, and their staff, all tags and embroidery ; and 
 there too was the humble subaltern of a marching regiment, his 
 coal the colour of brick-dust, and patched at the elbows, staring 
 about him, as if in wonder how the devil lie got into such com- 
 pany. There too were Portuguese generals and officers of the 
 higher ranks, some with gold keys on their pocket-flaps, parad- 
 ing the apartment with an air of self-complacent dignity, and 
 grinning their little compliments whenever u El grartde lord" 
 happened to approach them. The party altogether amounted
 
 CYRII. THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXVIII. 349 
 
 to between two and three hundred, and, considering the circum- 
 stances under which it assembled, struck me on my entrance as 
 forming rather a brilliant coup (Tail. 
 
 Of course, the principal object in the group, " the observed of 
 all observers," was Lord Wellington. There was no assump- 
 tion of state or dignity in his demeanour. He wore the uniform 
 of his rank, with the star and riband of the Bath, and laughed 
 and talked with those around him in a tone of freedom and 
 familiarity, which showed his disregard of all ceremony and 
 punctilio. 
 
 We had been there about an hour before the grand ceremony 
 of the day commenced. There was nothing about it remarkably 
 imposing. Marshal Beresford advanced, supported by Sir Brent 
 Spencer and Sir Rowland Hill, and kneeling down, the cere- 
 mony of installation was performed with all due pomp and 
 solemnity. This done, the neophyte shook hands with his 
 brothers of the order, and received the congratulations of the 
 company on the acquisition of his new honours. 
 
 But however august the spectacle might have been, I believe 
 the majority of the party were in little humour to enjoy it. My 
 own appetite had been excited to an unpleasant degree by a ride 
 of twenty miles over a mountainous country, and Sir William 
 Curtis himself never looked to the hour of dinner with more 
 anxious anticipation. Our fare, indeed, had recently consisted 
 of the common rations of the army, there being no market from 
 which it was possible to derive any additional supply. The 
 prospect of this day's dinner, therefore, rose before us like a 
 green oasis in the desert, a star in the surrounding darkness, 
 on which the fancy loved to linger. 
 
 Never did lover pant more ardently for the hour of meeting 
 with his mistress, than did the hungry crowd assembled at 
 Mafra for the annunciation of dinner. " Time and the hour," 
 as the old proverb hath it, " wear out the longest day," and our 
 ears were at length greeted by the anxiously expected sounds. 
 The more distinguished portion of the guests " paced forth into 
 the hall," in the due order of their rank and seniority in the 
 service, and were followed by the profanum valgus, whose order 
 of advance was regulated by the no less intelligible principle of 
 "devil take the hindmost." The reader may conceive our con- 
 sternation when, having with difficulty obtained entrance into 
 the crowded salle-a-manger, it was evident that the table would 
 not contain one tithe of the company, and we heard it announced 
 that dinner was provided only for the general officers. 
 
 Never was blank discomfiture more forcibly depicted, than in 
 the countenances of the disappointed guests. They suifered 
 the agonies of Tantalus. A splendid dinner was before them,
 
 350 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 yet with the savoury fumes of the viands in their nostrils, the 
 sentence of famine had gone forth against them. As the unwel- 
 come sounds met their ear, a murmur of anger and disappoint- 
 ment ran through the assembly. "No dinner!" exclaimed an 
 hundred voices, in accents of indignant astonishment. " No 
 dinner ! " was pensively echoed by an hundred more. 
 
 The doctrine of passive obedience, however, was by no means 
 exemplified in the conduct of the excluded guests. Some, by 
 dint of impudence, still endeavoured to secure places at the 
 table, and others gazed around, in hopes of an opportunity of 
 securing, unobserved, some portion of the spoil. An officer of 
 the Butfs was detected in the act of taking improper liberties 
 with a turkey, and another arrested in his attempt to escape 
 with a giblet-pie. Decisive measures were evidently become 
 necessary, and the generals appeared perfectly aware that their 
 generalship was never more emphatically called for than on 
 the present occasion. Orders for our instant departure were 
 loudly vociferated, hut without effect ; and the dinner would 
 certainly have speedily disappeared from the board, but for the 
 opportune arrival of a party of the seventy-ninth Highlanders, 
 who had been introduced by General Cameron, and proceeded, 
 by his directions, to expel us from the apartment at the point of 
 the bayonet. 
 
 When the process of summary ejectment had been completed 
 by this unusual act of hospitality, we returned to the saloon, 
 where we were regaled with music by the fine band of the 
 Guards. Great as the power of music is admitted to be, its 
 soothing influence certainly did not extend to the mitigation 
 of that complaint under which Ave all so vehemently suffer- 
 ed ; and never did sweet sounds fail more completely of their 
 effect. 
 
 There is a certain brotherhood and freemasonry in misfortune; 
 we fell ourselves linked together by <me common calamity; and 
 stranger addressing stranger poured forth the most unmeasured 
 expressions of anger and invective on the subject of their com- 
 nu ii wrongs. 
 
 While thus employed, an aide-de-camp of Lord Wellington 
 entered the apartment, and apologizing for the disappointment 
 under which we suffered, announced, by way of consolation, that 
 supper would he provided for the whole party. The reaction of 
 feeling excited by the simple enunciation of the word supper, 
 was real!] a psychological phenomenon. The brows that had 
 been knitted closely together suddenly expanded, and dull, heavy, 
 and spiritless eyes were once more Lighted up with the sparkle 
 
 of animation. There were even smiles in company, though 
 these were few; and the approximation to a growl in the tone
 
 CYRIL THORNTOX. CHARTER XXXIX. 351 
 
 of our conversation was now certainly less remarkable than 
 before. 
 
 But the balmy impression, even of this welcome intelligence, 
 soon very sensibly diminished. Ten o'clock was the hour of 
 supper, and we knew from the consentaneous information of an 
 hundred watches, that four dreary hours had yet to elapse before 
 the advent of that blessed consummation. During these long- 
 hours we were still destined to receive internal evidence of 
 nature's cordial abhorrence of a vacuum. For nearly half that 
 period, indeed, we stood wedged together in one solid mass at 
 the door of the supper-room, waiting to burst in like a torrent 
 whenever it should be opened. 
 
 Opened it was at length ; but on entering the apartment I 
 found, to my inexpressible dismay, that those before me had 
 swept every dish away from the bottom of the table, leaving 
 nothing in the shape of an escident for those who followed. I 
 shall not attempt to describe the scene of wrangling and confu- 
 sion which ensued. Those who have seen a whole squadron of 
 half-starved dogs, snarling, quarrelling, and fighting for a single 
 bone, may conceive something of its character. At first, poor 
 Popham and myself were in despair. But instant action was 
 necessary, and we set out foraging in different directions, agree- 
 ing to return and share together the produce of our exertions. 
 
 With great difficulty, and a large bribe to one of the servants, 
 I at length procured a bottle of Madeira, and found Popham had 
 been equally successful in obtaining a loaf of bread. On this 
 we supped, and afterwards retired to our appointed dormitory, 
 which was in an uninhabited wing of the mansion. There, 
 wrapped in our boat-cloaks, we passed the night on the floor, 
 and, with the dawn of day, mounted our unfed horses to return 
 to our cantonments. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Her vino, the merry eheerer of the heart, 
 Unpruned dies. Her hedges even pleacht. 
 Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair, 
 Put forth disorder'd twigs. Her fallow leas, 
 The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory 
 Doth root upon; while that thy coulter rusts, 
 That should deracinate such savagery. 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 About the middle of November, Massena broke up from his 
 cantonments and retired. The English army advanced instantly
 
 352 CTBIL THORNTON. — CnAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 in pursuit. During the day of our first march the rain fell 
 heavily and without intermission, and ovir route lay through 
 villages desolate and deserted. It was not till long after dark 
 that we arrived at Villa Nova, where we halted for the night. 
 
 The filth and brutality of the French army can only be con- 
 ceived by those who saw, as we did, the state of the villages they 
 had occupied. There was something revolting and even degrad- 
 ing to human nature in the extreme uncleanness of the dwellings 
 they had just quitted. In the village where we were now to take 
 up our quarters, there was not a door or window remaining, and 
 we were left to grope our way into any house we might think 
 proper to occupy. Our baggage, owing to the badness of the 
 roads, was still far in the rear; it was therefore impossible to 
 procure any refreshment, and the night was one of almost im- 
 penetrable darkness. In selecting quarters under such circum- 
 stances, there was only one of our senses which could assist in 
 guiding our choice, and after a nasal reconnoissance, I at length 
 fixed on my residence for the night. I groped my way into a 
 room, at one end of which there was a heap of dry straw, and 
 tying up my horse at the other, I cast myself upon it, cold, wet, 
 and weary as I was, to rest till morning. 
 
 Sleep, that 
 
 upon the high and giddy mast, 
 
 Seals up the Bhipboy s eyes, and rocks bis brains 
 In cradle of the rude imperious surge, 
 
 seldom withholds his anodyne from the tired soldier. I never 
 enjoyed deeper or more tranquil slumber than on that night. 
 
 When 1 awoke in the morning, my servant (though by what 
 means he had found me out, I know not) stood beside me, with 
 a countenance on which horror was strongly depicted. As I 
 knew him to be a blockhead, 1 did not at first think it necessary 
 to enquire into the cause of his emotion, but desired him to lay 
 out my dressing things, and provide water for my toilet. Still 
 he did not move, and I more peremptorily repeated my orders. 
 
 " For the love of God," at length ejaculated the booby, "does 
 your honour know what sort of bed you're lying on ? " 
 
 "No," 1 answered, "but I find it a very comfortable one. But 
 no talk — execute my orders instantly." 
 
 "Your honour's lying," he exclaimed, "on a heap of dead 
 met ! " 
 
 lie had no sooner uttered the words than I sprang to my feet, 
 and found to my horror and consternation that his assertion was 
 true. Aii arm and a livid hand at one pari protruded from the 
 straw, and a grisly head was visible at another. After making 
 this discovery I remained not another moment in the house, but 
 run out into the street, determined to enter it no more.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIX. 353 
 
 On my departure an examination took place, and it was dis- 
 covered that I had slept on the bodies of nine dead Frenchmen, 
 which were covered by the straw. As these men had died a 
 natural death, some of them probably of contagious disorders, I 
 was not at first without some dread of infection. But my appre- 
 hensions were soon forgotten, and no bad consequences ensued. 
 
 On our arrival at Villa Nova, we had expected to march 
 again on the following morning; but in this we were deceived. 
 The morning passed and we received no order to proceed, nor 
 did we move from our quarters till the day following. While 
 we remained there, a circumstance occurred which showed how 
 little even Lord Wellington was at that time aware of the plans 
 of the French general. 
 
 I was standing engaged in conversation with some other 
 officers in the street, when Lord Wellington, accompanied by 
 Sir Brent Spencer and a numerous suite, rode past. The caval- 
 cade stopped within a yard or two of us, and I distinctly heard 
 him deliver the following order to the adjutant-general — ■ 
 
 " You will write to Admiral Berkely, and tell him that my 
 advanced-guard are to-night within a league of Santarem, and 
 they will enter it early to-morrow morning." 
 
 It was undoubtedly true that the advanced-guard of the army 
 were that night within a league of Santarem, but nearly four 
 months elapsed before they entered it. In fact, next day it was 
 generally known that Massena had established his army in a 
 strong elevated position, of which Santarem formed the left, and 
 which he had been some weeks engaged in fortifying by nume- 
 rous batteries and redoubts. This occasioned a change in the 
 destination of the second division, which was directed to cross 
 immediately to the south bank of the Tagus. For this purpose, 
 men-of-war's boats had been brought up the river from Lisbon, 
 and the passage was effected with little delay, and no difficulty. 
 
 The dismal scene of desolation on which we had lately been 
 compelled to gaze, was now changed for one more pleasing and 
 cheerful. This part of Portugal had comparatively suffered 
 nothing of the evils of war. It had been recently invaded by 
 no hostile army, and the husbandman had, undisturbed, pursued 
 his peaceful occupation, reaping where he had sown. Here all 
 was peaceful and quiet, and the war, which had for years agi- 
 tated their unhappy country, had long been to the natives of 
 the Alentejo rather a rumour than a reality. They witnessed 
 now, for the first time, the presence of a British army; and 
 soldiers who spoke a different language, and professed a differ- 
 ent religion from their own, became peaceful inmates of their 
 domestic circles. 
 
 It was evident, from the labour he had bestowed in strength-
 
 354 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ening it, that Massena contemplated more than a transient 
 occupation of his position at Santarem. Our division, therefore, 
 went into quarters for tlie winter, in a series of small towns and 
 villages, which, within the space of a few leagues, bordered upon 
 
 the Tagus. General Houghton's hrigade, of which the 
 
 formed a part, were stationed at Chamusca, where Sir Rowland 
 Hill established his headquarters. Here we led an easy and a 
 pleasant life. The inhabitants were kind and hospitable; the 
 army sutlers brought copious supplies of all the comforts, and 
 even luxuries, we could desire, and the toils and dangers of war 
 were for a time forgotten. 
 
 Near Chamusca, the Tagus was scarcely broader than the 
 Thames at Richmond. On our side, it was guarded by the 
 Portuguese Ordenenza, for whom huts were erected at conve- 
 nient distances. It was a favourite morning amusement for the 
 British officers to ride down to the banks of the river, and hold 
 parley with the French, who came for a similar purpose to the 
 opposite margin. In these dialogues offence had been taken, 
 probably at some national reflections, and the meetings in 
 question at length came to assume a more hostile form. The 
 daily routine was as follows: — A Frenchman would advance 
 close to the river, while an English officer, taking the musket of 
 tlie neighbouring sentry, deliberately took aim at him and fired. 
 The Englishman, after waiting to receive the fire of his anta- 
 gonist, then yielded his place to some other competitor for the 
 honours of the (Indium. This sort of contest was idle and 
 absurd enough, and on reaching the ears of General Hill, was 
 very judiciously put a stop to. 
 
 On the 6th of March, intelligence was received that the 
 enemy had evacuated his position on the preceding night, and 
 was in full retreat. Our brigade received instant orders to cross 
 the Tagus and join the pursuing army. 
 
 Once more we entered upon scenes which displayed the 
 ravages of war in all their darkness and atrocity. Never was a 
 country more completely devastated than that through which 
 we now passed. Not a blade of grass — nothing that could afford 
 food either to men or animals remained. It was evident that 
 the impossibility of longer procuring the supplies necessary for 
 SO large an army, had been the cause of the retreat of Massena. 
 We pursued him closely; and though our brigade formed, in 
 fact, the rear of the British army, the enemy were evidently but 
 a few leagues in advance, and we halted for Beveraldays succes- 
 sively on the very ground they had occupied on the preceding 
 lit. 
 
 The road along which we travelled, indeed, afforded abun- 
 proof of the cruel necessities to which the French army
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIX. 3.j5 
 
 had been reduced. It was literally strewed with the carcasses 
 of mules and horses, 'which had fallen on the march from famine 
 or fatigue. From many of these the French soldiers, as they 
 passed, had cut large slices of the flesh ; an expedient for satis- 
 fying hunger to which its extreme pressure could alone have 
 induced them to resort. Even the sight of human bodies, left 
 to rot unburied by the road, or form the repast of the region 
 kites, was not wanting to complete the dismal character of the 
 scene. Some of these were the bodies of French soldiers, who 
 had sunk exhausted by disease or famine, and had been left by 
 the rapacity of their comrades to perish naked and miserably. 
 But by far the greater number were those of Portuguese, who 
 had fallen victims to the gratuitous barbarity of the invaders. 
 Many of these were shockingly mutilated, some were hanging 
 from trees, others had been run through the body by the 
 bayonet. 
 
 The fourth day's march brought us to Thomar, a town of 
 considerable magnitude, and the seat of an Episcopal see. Here 
 a portion of the French army had likewise been stationed, and 
 they had left, similar proofs of their occupancy to those I have 
 already mentioned. Here, too, I was witness of a scene which 
 has left an ineffaceable impression on my memory 7 . 
 
 We had marched before daylight, and about noon we reached 
 Thomar. An hour or two after our arrival, I found I had been 
 unfortunate in the quarters I had chosen, and went out in hopes 
 of being able to provide myself with a better lodging. In pass- 
 ing through the streets my notice was attracted by a large 
 convent, which I entered, in order to ascertain what sort of 
 accommodation it afforded. The gate opened into a large court- 
 yard, from the other extremity of which ascended a stair, which 
 led into a range of cloisters. I passed through these, and sud- 
 denly found myself in a large gallery, which, it was apparent, 
 had been used by the French as an hospital. 
 
 Most striking and terrible indeed was the sight which my eye 
 then encountered. Round the apartment, some stretched on 
 wretched truckle-beds, some on a little dirty straw upon the 
 floor, lay about fifty dead soldiers. Each was in the attitude in 
 which lie had expired. On some death seemed to have fallen 
 like a tranquil sleep; in others the struggle with the death- 
 agony had evidently been strong, from the frightful contortion 
 of limb and feature into which they had been thrown. One man 
 sat bolt upright against the wall, and the hideous expression of 
 his countenance rises at this moment before me as the words flow 
 from my pen. Never, never shall I forget it. 
 
 There was something so striking to the imagination in the 
 scene, terrible as it was, that I could not immediately quit it.
 
 35G CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 I -walked slowly round the gallery, gazing with a sort of awful 
 fear on the ohjects as they successively presented themselves — 
 then the spell was broken, and by a sudden impulse of horror, 
 rushing hastily down the stair, I quitted the mansion of death, 
 scarcely venturing to breathe till I found myself once more 
 beyond its dismal precincts.* 
 
 Some indication of a change in the intentions of the enemy 
 was the occasion of our halting a day at Thomar. Early in 
 the following morning we were again in pursuit. The spectacle 
 of mortality which the roads exhibited seemed to deepen as we 
 advanced, and our marches became longer and more severe. 
 Since we commenced our advance no engagement had yet taken 
 place between the retreating and pursuing armies. But on the 
 third day's march after leaving Thomar, the distant roar of 
 cannon and volleys of musketry were heard, which became 
 evidently louder and more frequent as we advanced. An aide- 
 de-camp of Marshal Beresford shortly after came, riding at full 
 speed from the front, with orders to General Houghton to advance 
 as rapidly as possible with his brigade. 
 
 The order was instantly obeyed, and Ave hurried on with all 
 possible speed towards the scene of action. As we proceeded, 
 I remember passing a village which had that morning been the 
 theatre of an engagement, between our light troops and a party 
 of the rearguard of the enemy. The appearance of a British 
 force had been wholly unexpected, and, on their approach, the 
 French soldiers were seen running forth from the houses of the 
 village in great confusion. They were instantly fired on, and 
 charged by the English; and among the number killed was the 
 commander of the party, a colonel in the French service. 
 
 As \sc passed, his body lay naked on the road. He was a 
 young man, with a countenance, evon in death, handsome. The 
 orifice of a bullet, which had passed through his body, was 
 visible on his chest. 1 looked steadfastly on his face as we 
 passed, and read, or thought I read there, that he was a man 
 of high birth ami breeding, brave, gifted, and accomplished. 
 The hope — the only surviving one, perhaps, of some fond and 
 anxious mother — the beloved of some fair maiden in his own 
 beautiful land, who would now vainly, and in sickness of heart, 
 expect his return. Vet here he lay, an outcast in the public 
 road, his body soiled, spit upon, and trampled by the feet of 
 vulgar men. 
 
 • r once communicated this occurrence to a writer of distinguished genius, 
 who has since ma/le it the groundwork <>i a paper of singular interest and 
 power, which appeared in one of the periodical publications of the day. The 
 facts were shnph as above st.-ite.l ; tin: brilliant colouring, and striking acoes- 
 wiiii which lie Invested them, were the aii.iiti.ins of liis own fine 
 Imagination.
 
 CYRIX THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIX. 3iJ7 
 
 The firing, which had intermitted for a brief space, was again 
 renewed before we arrived at Redinha. There we halted in rear 
 of an eminence, over which the road led, and remained in readi- 
 ness to bear a part in the action, should our services be required. 
 This, however, was not the case. The firing gradually became 
 slacker and more distant, and it was evident the enemy were 
 again in full retreat I rode to the top of the ridge in our front, 
 in hopes to catch a glimpse of the French army. I succeeded; 
 but the glimpse was a distant one, as they were in march along 
 the side of a hill about a league off. The action had been 
 fought in order to cover the passage of their army across the 
 Soure. Their purpose having been effected, they instantly 
 destroyed the bridge, and continued their retreat. Our brigade 
 halted that night on the field of battle, which was covered by 
 the dying and the dead. 
 
 Never was greater generalship displayed than by Massena, in 
 the conduct of this memorable retreat. Retreating under every 
 disadvantage— unable to collect more than ten days provisions 
 for his army, and consequently debarred from risking the chances 
 of an engagement, and closely pursued by the British army, he 
 made no sacrifice, either of baggage or artillery, and reached the 
 frontier of Portugal with an army, which, though it had suffered 
 much from famine and privation, had, in fact, lost nothing from 
 hostile attack. The only place where Lord Wellington was 
 enabled to bring his army into collision with the enemy, was Red- 
 inha. There a partial engagement took place with the rear, 
 while the main body were employed in passing the river ; but 
 from that time forward his retreat was unmolested. 
 
 This praise is of course confined to his retreat. The conduct 
 of Massena in the preceding campaign was certainly not marked 
 by great military talents, and in strategy he decidedly showed 
 himself throughout inferior to his great antagonist. His policy 
 manifestly was to have immediately attacked the lines of Torres 
 Vedras. Had he done so, with his vast superiority of force, 
 there was at least a strong probability of success. In the attempt 
 he would undoubtedly have sacrificed a large portion of his army, 
 but certainly not more than afterwards fell inglorious victims to 
 famine and disease, from his wintering in the very heart of a 
 country, which he must or should have known, was unable to 
 furnish supplies for so large an army. But these are matters 
 on which it would ill become me to offer more than a very diffi- 
 dent opinion ; if, indeed, to do even this be not to diverge too 
 widely from the narrow walk of personal adventure, to which I 
 have hitherto been studious to confine my steps. 
 
 On the following day we continued our advance, and after a 
 march of five leagues again bivouacked for the night. Thirty
 
 3')8 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 thousand of the British army were here collected within the 
 space of a mile. No sight, I think, can be more picturesque 
 than the encampment of a large army by night. The blazing 
 fires— the shadowy figures moving in the red and flickering light 
 — the busy hum of a thousand voices, with which the wind is 
 loaded on its passage, lost for a moment in the sound of the 
 bugle or the trumpet, but again heard in its intervals ;— -these, 
 independent of the associations to which they are naturally linked, 
 form an aggregate of sight and sound, striking when present, 
 and when past, memorable. 
 
 This was our last night with the army. Lord Wellington, in 
 the course of it, received intelligence that Soult was advancing 
 against Badajos, intending by that route to enter the Alentejo ; 
 and General Houghton received orders on the following morning 
 to retrace his steps, and, crossing the Tagus, once more to unite 
 his brigade to the second division, which had not joined in the 
 pursuit. 
 
 Our march back was doubly dreary and disagreeable. In 
 advancing, we had the stimulus of a flying enemy, the chances 
 of a battle, the hope of victory, all floating before us. But on 
 our return, the excitement had ceased, and even the soldiers in 
 the ranks seemed dull and spiritless. The carcasses which lay 
 along the road, had, since we formerly passed, become putrid, 
 and we breathed an atmosphere tainted and redolent of cor- 
 ruption. The raven and the vulture had been busy with their 
 prey; the kites hovered over us in the air; and the eagle poised 
 himself high up among the clouds, waiting only for our depar- 
 ture, to return and finish the repast in which he had been inter- 
 rupted. It' we were formerly awestruck by the bare perception 
 of mortality, what Merc our feelings in thus beholding mortality 
 invested with all those hateful and disgusting concomitants, from 
 the sight of which nature shudderingly recoils ! 
 
 I remember nothing of note connected with our march back 
 to the Alentejo. On the eighteenth we crossed Zezere at l'un- 
 licte, and reached Abrantes on the twentieth, where a bridge of 
 boats had been established aeross the Tagus. On the twenty- 
 first, we joined our division, which we learned had only been 
 prevented by our absence from commencing active operations 
 against the enemy. It was known that Badajos had surrendered 
 withoul a siege, owing either to treachery or cowardice, and that 
 the enemy had likewise obtained possession of Campo Mayor, a 
 town, of which the works were in too dilapidated a state to be 
 capable of anj effective resistance. 
 
 Sir Rowland Hill having, to the regret of the army, been ob- 
 liged to return to England lor the recovery of his health, the 
 command of the second division, at this important juncture, when
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIX. 359 
 
 it was about to play a distinguished part in the war, had devolved 
 on Marshal Berestbrd. The fatiguing marches which our bri- 
 gade had lately undergone, rendered it necessary that, before the 
 commencement of operations on the south side of the Tagus, they 
 should be recruited by a halt. We rested for two days in the 
 neighbourhood of Arronches, and on the twenty-third commenced 
 our advance towards Badajos. 
 
 It was evident, from the slowness and caution with which we 
 proceeded, that Beresford had no very accurate intelligence with 
 regard to the enemy's movements. We advanced, when the 
 nature of the country seemed to require it, with the skirmishers 
 extended on our flanks, and the cavalry in front, engaged in what 
 is called " feeling the way." 
 
 For the first few days of our march, we proceeded without 
 any intelligence of the French army ; and we observed in the 
 appearance of the country, no marks of their having penetrated 
 " thus far into the bowels of the land." On the twenty-sixth, 
 however, a party of cavalry were observed on an eminence at some 
 distance, over which our route lay, who, after reconnoitring us, 
 instantly disappeared. The front of the division immediately 
 halted until the rear had come up ; and our advance was then 
 cautiously continued, with the cavalry and light infantry in front. 
 
 When the infantry passed the height on which the enemy had 
 been observed, the appearance of a few prisoners of the French 
 cavalry, whom a party of the thirteenth were conducting to the 
 rear, and several wounded men, who lay bleeding by the road, 
 gave us the first intelligence that a collision had taken place. 
 Wc now advanced as rapidly as possible, and the road com- 
 manded a view of Campo Mayor, which lay about half a league 
 distant, in the plain before us. The French, who had apparently 
 just received intelligence of our approach, were seen running from 
 the town, and forming hastily on the plain, in order of retreat, 
 protected by their cavalry in the rear. 
 
 Never did any army profit more by superiority of tactic, than 
 did the French on the present occasion. They certainly amounted 
 to not more than three thousand, and were commanded by 
 General Latour Maubourg. The road from Campo Mayor to 
 Badajos, which is about three leagues distant, lies over a flat and 
 sandy plain. We enjoyed, therefore, in our advance, a perfect 
 view of the operations in front. The thirteenth light dragoons 
 made a most gallant charge on the enemy's cavalry, and drove 
 them back on their infantry, which halted, formed rapidly in 
 square, and firing a volley in turn, forced their assailants to retire. 
 Their cavalry having again formed, returned once more to the 
 rear, and the infantry resumed its march. 
 
 This fine manoeuvre was frequently repeated, our cavalry
 
 360 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 displaying and maintaining an evident superiority over that of 
 the enemy, but unable to derive from it any material advantage. 
 One charge, I remember, was made by the Portuguese, who were 
 emulous of sharing the honours of the day. The issue, how- 
 ever, was not precisely that which I have described as following 
 the attacks of the British. They rode on most gallantly till 
 they came within pistol-shot of the enemy, who knowing 
 apparently with whom they had to deal, spurred on to meet 
 them, when the Portuguese, without waiting for the " tug of 
 war," retreated with even more rapidity than they had ad- 
 vanced. 
 
 It is indeed a curious fact, for which I shall not pretend to 
 account, that though the Portuguese infantry behaved on many 
 occasions with great gallantry, both charging and defeating the 
 enemy, this distinction was by no means predicable of their 
 cavalry. 
 
 In this manner the French continued their retreat, and 
 reached Badajos without sustaining any considerable loss. Cer- 
 tain! • all the honours of the day were theirs. In the face of 
 an .ny of five times their number, they effected their retreat 
 w . out suffering any loss, either of baggage or guns ; and I 
 1 leve we did not, on the whole, make twenty prisoners. The 
 fact was, that even our heavy cavalry were never engaged, and 
 the infantry, during the whole day, did not fire a shot. This 
 specimen of Marshal Beresford's talents as a general, certainly 
 did not lead to any congratulation on our good fortune in being 
 placed under his command. 
 
 When the enemy were evidently fairly beyond our reach, we 
 retrograded to Campo .Mayor, where we halted for the night. 
 We questioned the inhabitants with regard to their treatment 
 by the French, and found the conduct of the enemy, on this 
 side of the Tag us, had been less marked by atrocity than on the 
 other. 
 
 On the following day we marched to Elvas, certainly the 
 strongest and best fortified city in Portugal. Fort de Lippe, 
 which stands on the summit of a high cone-shaped hill, is, I 
 should think, nearly impregnable. It must be admitted, as a 
 practical proof of its strength, that after the English army had 
 withdrawn from the Alcntejo, and the place was defended only 
 by a Portuguese garrison, Marshal Soult never even attempted 
 t<> lay siege to it, although it is unquestionably the key to that 
 province. 
 
 From I'.lvas we advanced to Borba, where we halted for a few 
 days, while the engineers were engaged in constructing a bridge, 
 by which we crossed the Guadiana. The stream is extremely 
 rapid, though not broad, and the operation was found to be one
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXXIX. 361 
 
 of some difficulty. On the opposite bank of the Guadiana we 
 remained encamped for some days. Here the whole country 
 seemed covered with gum cistus, the fragrance of which was so 
 strong as to be absolutely oppressive. 
 
 I remember one morning, when standing on our alarm-post, 
 observing some soldiers of the thirteenth light dragoons ap- 
 proaching the camp, covered with blood, and severely wounded. 
 We soon learned that an out-piquet, belonging to that regiment, 
 had been surprised in the night, and taken prisoners by the 
 enemy. With a want of caution, certainly censurable, they 
 had unsaddled their horses ; and the French, who in their 
 advance had contrived to elude the observation of our videttes 
 and outposts, left them, by the suddenness of their attack, no 
 time for preparation. The officer in command was taken pri- 
 soner, and the lieutenant had only escaped by throwing himself 
 on his horse like a second Mazeppa, without either saddle or 
 bridle, and leaving the direction of his flight to the choice of 
 the animal. 
 
 Not satisfied, however, with this successful coup-de-mav the 
 enemy rode forward even to the village in which Marshal B s- 
 ford had his headquarters, and breaking open his house, e 
 marshal only r escaped capture by leaping out of a back-windc '■',* 
 in his shirt and cocked hat, and in this uncomfortable trim 
 making the best of his way across the fields to the camp, where 
 the unexpected and grotesque appearance of their commander 
 was beheld with merriment and wonder by the troops. 
 
 Quitting this station, we marched towards Olivenc^, a for- 
 tified town, in which the French had left a garrison. On being 
 summoned, the governor refused to surrender ; and the rest of 
 the army continuing its advance, General Cole and his division 
 were left to conduct the siege. On the following night we 
 slept at Albuera, yet a bloodless field, and not destitute of a 
 wild and romantic beauty. The ground was prettily variegated 
 by little ranges of hills, and a bright and peaceful stream mur- 
 mured on its way through banks clothed with woods. It was a 
 quiet and pastoral scene, such as one might look for rather 
 amid the green mountains of Scotland, than where we found it. 
 
 The heavy battering train had not yet arrived from Lisbon ; 
 and this circumstance occasioned a considerable delay in our 
 operations. It was impossible to begin the siege of Badajos 
 without it ; and in the mean time the army was cantoned in 
 villages a few leagues in front, covering all the roads by which 
 Soult could possibly advance to the relief of the city. Our 
 station was a town called Almandrelejo, about six leagues 
 within the Spanish frontier. Thither we accordingly marched, 
 and remained there about a month.
 
 362 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XL. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Count. Brother John Bates, is not th.at the morning which breaks yonder? 
 Bate*. I think it bo ; but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day. 
 11'://. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall never see 
 the end of it. Who goes there? 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 I have not interrupted the details of the military events, with 
 which the story of my life is naturally linked, by allusion to 
 incidents, which, although they materially affected my own hap- 
 piness, had nothing in common with the character of the narra- 
 tive in which I have been recently engaged. I would take 
 advantage, therefore, of the interval of peaceful occupation which 
 we enjoyed in our new quarters, to supply the blank which has 
 been thus occasioned. 
 
 It has been said that absence subdues passion. I have never 
 found it so. Never was she to whom my troth was plighted, the 
 object of a love more fervent and engrossing, than when seas 
 rolled between us, and the cloud of danger hung deepest and 
 most loweringly in my horizon. Then, indeed, love became not 
 a passion but a madness, and reigned in my heart a single 
 solitary despot. Like the rod of Aaron, it swallowed up all other 
 sentiments and passions. The future contained but one object, 
 for which I panted ; the past but one object of memory. 
 
 I had hitherto been fortunate. Every packet had brought 
 letters from England, and such letters as would have cheered 
 and consoled me under privations far greater than any I had 
 been yet called on to endure. My sisters were Avell, and Lady 
 Melicent — still loved me. Dear and precious to me as the light 
 of heaven were those letters. The intelligence of the arrival of 
 a packet brought with it a tumult of emotion. I calculated the 
 course of the winds, by which the voyage might be shortened or 
 prolonged, and prayed that the vessel in which so many hopes 
 were centred, might be wafted to her port with fair breezes, and 
 on a summer sea. 
 
 I also wrote frequently. Often when, jaded and overcome, my 
 companions cast themselves on the ground to rest their wearied 
 limbs, and forget in sleep their troubles and their dangers, did I 
 seize the pen, and pour forth to my beautiful betrothed all my 
 hopes, my fears, and all my love. Never, never was her image 
 absent from my thoughts. It went with me into battle — it for- 
 sook me not in pain and suffering — and when, beneath the cloudy 
 canopy of heaven, my bead rested on its stony pillow, it mingled 
 wiih the sweet slumbers that descended on my eyelids. 
 During our stay at Almandrelejo, for the first time since my
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XX. 363 
 
 arrival in Portugal, a packet came from England, and brought 
 no letter from her I loved. A thousand fears came over me, and 
 my fancy devised sad though visionary causes for this unlooked- 
 for silence. Was she not ill ? Had not some dreadful misfortune 
 happened ? Might not she whom I adored be stretched, at that 
 very moment, on a bed of sickness and suffering — the bloom 
 faded from her cheek — the lustre gone from those eyes — those 
 beautiful eyes, that, by a single glance had made my blood to 
 gush onward like a cataract through my tingling veins ? My 
 spirits were low, my heart anxious and depressed. Something 
 — I knew not what — but something of evil omen to my hap- 
 piness had befallen, and my fears, though vague, were over- 
 powering. 
 
 Such was the state of mind in which I opened the letters 
 brought me by the packet. The superscription of the first I 
 knew ; it was from Frank Willoughby. He was in London. 
 Since I quitted England he had become an M.P., and his new 
 duties demanded a residence of some months' duration in town. 
 From this letter I derived at least a partial relief from the dark 
 forebodings that oppressed me. Lady Melicent was well. Wil- 
 loughby knew she had been the object of my admiration, though 
 not of my love — for to no human ear had that holiest of secrets 
 been confided — but he had often heard me speak enthusiastically 
 of her charms, and he mentioned her in his letter as one of whom, 
 far distant as I was, he imagined it would be agreeable to receive 
 intelligence. 
 
 I learned that Lady Melicent too was in London ; that she 
 moved in the gayest circle of the metropolis, and was the star of 
 first magnitude in the hemisphere of fashion. When she appeared 
 at the opera, the box in which she was seated was that to which 
 all eyes were turned. When she mingled in the dance, grace 
 hovered round her, and she moved peerless and pre-eminent 
 amid the circle of surrounding beauty. 
 
 She was, he said, the gayest of the gay, seen every where, and 
 every where attracting homage. Lord Lyndhurst too was in 
 town ; and the world still considered him as the affianced lover 
 of the Lady Melicent. 
 
 Willoughby's letter told me all this, and had the immediate 
 effect of relieving my mind from much of that burden of anxiety 
 under which it laboured. At first something of a pang shot 
 through my heart, and I was moved by a sort of vague jealousy, 
 at the thought that Lady Melicent, during the absence of one 
 whom she loved — whom she knew to be encompassed with perils 
 in a distant land — should have felt equal to the prominent part 
 she was then playing in the great theatre of fashion. Was 
 that love, which in me was all-pervading, all-engrossing —
 
 364 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XL. 
 
 which was the very anchor of my hope, nay, almost the con- 
 dition of my being — was that love, which to me was every 
 thing, to her so little — so very little, that her heart required 
 other objects of interest and excitement, her mind other thoughts, 
 than those which the memory of him who loved her could 
 inspire ? 
 
 Such thoughts and feelings disturbed me for a while, but not 
 long. I soon brought myself to believe that the distinguished 
 part she occupied in the world's eye, was the consequence not of 
 choice but of necessity. How could Lady Melicent de Vere 
 appear in society, without stepping forward into that high sta- 
 tion for which the gifts both of nature and fortune had evidently 
 destined her ! Whose veins bounded with richer blood than Lady 
 Melicent's ! Who to so noble and extended an inheritance, united 
 so rich a dowery of beauty, grace, and talent ! How could she, 
 the synthesis of attractions so rare and numerous, cease to 
 become the cynosure of admiring eyes, unless by withdrawing 
 altogether from that world which she adorned, to solitude and 
 seclusion ? 
 
 Could I expect this? No. I had no right to claim or to 
 expect so great a sacrifice ; perhaps I scarcely wished it. I felt 
 pride in the idea, that she to whom my heart told me I was 
 bound by indissoluble links — on whose faith I rested implicitly 
 as on gospel truth, should thus stand forward to receive the 
 guerdon of the world's homage and admiration. There was 
 vanity in my thoughts, for I felt a reflected consequence and 
 honour in the remembrance, that / was the man by whom the 
 prize of this fair creature's love had been won. 
 
 While occupied in such reflections a letter from Lucy lay 
 before me unopened. From her I heard frequently ; but from 
 .lane, since I quitted England, I had only received one letter, 
 and that was of a character rather to excite than to allay appre- 
 hension on her account. It was evidently written under strong 
 feelings of depression, but it breathed nothing of the language 
 of complaint. She was ill, she said, very ill, and spoke of suf- 
 ferings acute, but indescribable — a mortal sickness of the heart, 
 for which there was no balm but death. " Tray for me, my 
 dearest brother," Bhe said ; " pray that God, who in his mercy 
 tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, may soon vouchsafe me this 
 relief. Pray, and your petition will be a kind one, that in this 
 world we may never meet again." 
 
 There was in the tone of this letter an occasional wildness and 
 incoherence, even more alarming than the intelligence it con- 
 veyed. In answer to it 1 entreated her not to give way to that 
 depression and despondency of spirit which her letter betrayed, 
 and assured her, should the conduct of her husband require her
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XL. 365 
 
 to throw herself on the protection of her family, she would find 
 my heart and hand ever warm and ready in her defence. 
 
 To these offers and assurances she had made no reply; hut 
 the letter from Lucy, which I have already mentioned, left no 
 room for doubt with regard to the nature and causes of poor 
 Jane's illness. Till now, Lucy informed me, Jane, even to her, 
 had maintained a strict reserve with regard to the conduct of her 
 husband, and the sources of her domestic disquiet. But the out- 
 rages of Hewson had at length exceeded even the bounds of Jane's 
 patience and meekness of sufferance. The very worm, when 
 trod on, will turn on its oppressor : and I knew that under any 
 ordinary, I had almost said any conceivable aggression, Jane 
 would have pined in secrecy — suffering, yet silent. The sub- 
 stance of what I learned was as follows : — 
 
 Hewson, though he had never been a kind husband, had, at 
 least for some time after his marriage, treated his wife with some 
 degree of consideration and respect. He probably felt proud of 
 her elegance and attractions ; and, gratified by the admiration 
 she excited when she appeared in public, he received the praises 
 bestowed on her beauty as an indirect compliment to his own 
 taste. But the zest of this wore off with its novelty; a man, 
 palled like Hewson by a long course of licentiousness, could 
 scarcely revert to the calm and peaceful enjoyments of domestic 
 life. He required something more poignant and racy than 
 he found in the society of the simple and retiring Jane. He 
 treated her first with neglect, then with harshness. He filled 
 his house with rude and boisterous company, who, with their 
 filthy and abominable slang, offended her ears and insulted her 
 delicacy. Females, too, who having lost the reality, thought it 
 scarcely worth while to retain even the semblance of virtue- 
 creatures from whose profligate audacity she shrunk with loath- 
 ing and disgust, were the companions with whom her husband 
 wished her to associate. But even these were not the limits of 
 his brutality. He introduced into his house a woman, taken 
 from the very lowest order of society, who was publicly known 
 to be his mistress ; and endeavoured, by a course of barbarous 
 and inhuman treatment, to make his wife submit to the daily 
 outrage of her presence. 
 
 But his tyranny and his cruelty were in vain ; Jane, meek and 
 submissive as she was, could not bend so low. She would not 
 stoop from the dignity of her virtue ; and her whole soul revolted 
 from this most cold-blooded and cruel consummation of insult. 
 In a state of despair, closely verging on insanity, she fled from his 
 hated mansion, and sought the protection of Lady Willoughby. 
 There did this wretch pursue her. There did he drag her from the 
 armsof her sister, to become again the victim of his hellish outrage.
 
 366 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XL. 
 
 My own feelings, on receiving the letter which contained 
 this intelligence, it would he impossible to describe. There was 
 fury in my soul. 1 was agitated by a tornado of conflicting 
 emotions. One moment 1 determined instantly to return to 
 England — to sacrifice my military rank, nay more, my honour, 
 for the sake of inflicting instant and signal punishment on this 
 cruel and cowardly assassin. Then, again, I shrank from my 
 resolution. To return to England a disgraced and dishonoured 
 man, what was it but to baulk the very vengeance I contem- 
 plated — to place myself on a level, in the eyes of the world, with 
 the wretch 1 was about to punish — to pluck out the sting from 
 my revenge? I knew it would be fruitless — and as we were 
 then situated, almost disgraceful, to apply for leave of absence. 
 Nine months had barely elapsed since I had joined the army ; 
 to have requested so soon to quit it, in the very middle of my 
 first campaign, I felt would be to subject my character to obser- 
 vations which I could not brook. 
 
 Here, therefore, I was chained by fetters, in comparison with 
 which the strongest iron bonds were light and frangible, and 
 from which I knew that no human power could set me free. 
 lint the fury of my passion was not diminished by my conscious- 
 ness of its present impotence. All benevolent and charitable 
 sympathies were for a time dried up within me. What would 
 I not have given at that moment to have struck the villain to 
 the earth — to have seen him slowly expiring in long and linger- 
 ing agonies — to have spit on him, as he faltered forth his vile 
 spirit, and have watched the vultures as they made their unclean 
 repast on his loathsome carcass ! 
 
 Under the influence of such feelings, I seized the pen, and 
 wrote to him as follows : — 
 
 " IllWSON, 
 
 "Think not that the hour of reckoning comes not because it 
 is delayed. 1 know your conduct to my sister; and if I live, as 
 there is a God in heaven, you shall answer it in this world as 
 well as in the next. 
 
 Cyril Thornton." 
 
 As my reason Blow ly emerged from the cloud which the receipt 
 of this melancholy intelligence had spread around it, I did not 
 led to take such inadequate means as were in my power for 
 the immediate protection of my sister. I wrote to my solicitor 
 in London, to employ any legal measures that might be condu- 
 cive to the object 01 forcing Ilowson to observe the common 
 decencies of life (from such a man I could not hope for more) 
 towards his unhappy wife; and, having done this, 1 had to en- 
 dure the mortifying reflection that I had done all.
 
 CYRIL TUORM'OX. CHAPTER XL. 367 
 
 A life of danger and activity is unfavourable to the indulgence 
 of grief. New objects and difficulties continually excite our 
 attention, and call for exertion, and produce at least the fortu- 
 nate effect of diverting the mind from dwelling too long and 
 unceasingly on hidden sorrows. A soldier cannot long abstract 
 his thoughts from the world in which he moves. In him there 
 are no slumbering energies, for his duty requires them all to be 
 in constant action. The part of II Penseroso must be played by 
 idler men. And so it was with me. My vows of vengeance 
 slept, but they were not dead. Time might yet rouse them 
 from their slumber. 
 
 We remained at Almandrelejo till the beginning of May ; and 
 Soult did not appear to disturb our repose. The army then 
 returned to invest Badajos, and the siege instantly commenced. 
 We were encamped in an olive grove, about a league from the 
 town, where we lay completely concealed from the observation 
 of the enemy. On our part, though the duty was abundantly 
 harassing to the troops, the siege was not very vigorously pro- 
 secuted. For some days, Marshal Beresford appeared undecided 
 with regard to the point against which his first advances 
 should be directed. Operations were repeatedly commenced on 
 different sides of the town, and abandoned before any effective 
 progress had been made. At length, however, he appeared to 
 have finally arrived at a decision. The covered way was com- 
 menced, and batteries were erected as the works proceeded 
 nearer the town. 
 
 There was a small fort at some distance from the walls which 
 interrupted our progress, and which it therefore became neces- 
 sary to storm. A party of two hundred men was appointed for 
 this duty, under the command of a major, whose name I have 
 forgotten. Next in command to this officer was my friend Pop- 
 ham ; and having received from him information with regard 
 to the arrangements, my curiosity made me anxious, if possible, 
 to be a witness of the attack. The hour at which the party 
 were to be assembled in readiness, was eleven o'clock. Popham 
 and myself were messmates, and before his departure a bumper 
 was crowned to his success, and we shook hands in the uncer- 
 tainty of ever meeting again. 
 
 Before the appointed hour I had stolen alone through the 
 darkness, to a neighbouring height, on which I stood, waiting 
 with quickened pulses for the issue of the impending conflict. 
 
 All external circumstances were in favour of the assailants. 
 There was no moon abroad, and not a star twinkled in the 
 murky sky. The enemy, however, were vigilant. Ever and 
 anon, blazing fireballs rose from the town, illumining the hea- 
 vens with an arch of brilliant flame, and, when quenched, leaving
 
 368 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XL. 
 
 the darkness more palpable than before. All was silent save 
 the sound of a distant drum, caught up by the night breeze as 
 it swept over the ramparts of the leaguered city. 
 
 The road by which I knew our brave party must pass, wound 
 round the base of the eminence on which I stood. I had watched 
 long and anxiously for the sound of their footsteps before it met 
 my ear. There was deep silence in the ranks as they passed 
 onward ; and even the noise of their tread would have been 
 inaudible to an ear less tremblingly awake than mine. But in 
 a minute the sound was gone, for they had already passed my 
 station, and I knew they were fast approaching the scene of 
 struggle. My heart beat quick in my bosom, as, with straining 
 eyes, I endeavoured vainly to penetrate the darkness, and waited 
 for the first signal of the attack having commenced. I knew 
 the party were yet undiscovered by the enemy, for their fireballs 
 had hitherto been fortunately thrown in a different direction 
 from that in which they were advancing. 
 
 At length, however, when they were already close to the fort, 
 a fireball fell within a few yards of them, and for a few seconds 
 they were visible as distinctly as in the glare of the noonday 
 sun. All again was darkness. The sound of drums and bugles 
 rung from the ramparts of the town, and a heavy fire of mus- 
 ketry, mingled with the roar of artillery, was heard from the 
 fort. 
 
 The excitement of my feelings at this moment had reached 
 the highest possible pitch, and 1 waited in awful suspense for 
 the result. Another fireball came blazing like a comet through 
 the air, and the English were seen scaling the walls of the fort, 
 on which the enemy were visible, some hurrying to and fro, 
 others Bringdown on their assailants, or thrusting at them with 
 their bayonets as they attempted to ascend. Again the scene 
 was hid from my view. 
 
 Jiy the lighl of a third fireball I observed the garrison were 
 under arm-, and already collected on the ramparts. It fell in 
 the very middle of the fort, and there was my interest concen- 
 trated. Our brave j'el lows had already effected their entrance, 
 and were mingled with the enemy. The contest was bayonet to 
 bayonet, and I huzzaed and waved my hat in the darkness, for 
 I then knew that our arms would be victorious. The next fire- 
 ball showed my anticipations to have been correct; and a few 
 
 of the enemy, who had escaped by springing from the walls of 
 
 tiie fori, were retreating rapidly to the town. 
 
 \ JOOD a- the fori was observed to be in our possession, a 
 tremendous fire was opened on it from the ramparts. The shot 
 and shells flew thickly, but the darkness was in our favour, and 
 they occasioned little loss. The enemy did not attempt by a
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XL. 369 
 
 sortie to deprive us of our conquest ; and before morning the 
 guns of the fort had been carried off, and its walls levelled with 
 the ground. The commander of the party was severely wounded, 
 but Popham escaped unhurt ; and most sincerely did I congratu- 
 late him, when we again met, on the issue of the truly gallant 
 attack of which I had been witness. 
 
 By the capture of the fort already mentioned, all external 
 obstacle to the progress of the siege had been removed, and it 
 was now carried on move vigorously than before. Each brigade 
 took it in turn to work by night in the trenches : and harassing 
 as the duty was, it brought with it a certain novelty and excite- 
 ment, which made us unrepiningly submit to the labour it 
 imposed. On the night of the 12th of May our brigade was on 
 duty. The Marshal's plans had apparently undergone some 
 change, for we were ordered to break ground within point-blank 
 distance of the walls, at a point considerably distant from that 
 on which the advances had hitherto been made. This was 
 indeed a service of peril. Had we been discovered by the enemy, 
 it was certain we should be swept off by his guns ; to say nothing 
 of the consequence to be apprehended from a sortie of the 
 garrison made on men who had laid aside their arms, and were 
 busy with the shovel and the pickaxe. 
 
 Luckily for us, neither of these contingencies occurred. The 
 night again was in our favour, for it was profoundly dark. 
 The attention of the enemy was principally directed to the 
 quarter which had hitherto been the scene of our operations, 
 and our advance was fortunately not detected. It was absolutely 
 necessary, however, that we should be covered before break of 
 day ; and the soldiers, conscious that their own safety depended 
 upon the progress of their labour, plied their toil unremittingly. 
 
 I was sent forward with a party of light infantry to act as 
 a corps of observation and prevent surprise. The orders I 
 received from General Hamilton, who commanded for the night, 
 were to advance as closely to the walls as possible ; to listen 
 attentively for any indication of movement in the town ; and in 
 case of observing the advance of any armed body, to despatch a 
 messenger to announce the intelligence to the general, and then, 
 by opening our fire, to delay their progress as much as was com- 
 patible with our own safety. 
 
 In pursuance of these orders, we crept forward on all fours, 
 till we came within fifty yards of the walls, where we lay flat on 
 the ground, endeavouring to catch even the smallest sounds that 
 floated in the air, and to penetrate the darkness with our gaze. 
 The night was still, and favourable in all respects for our object. 
 We heard the hours sounded by the clock of the great church 
 in the city. The sentinel on the wall above us, in his solitary
 
 370 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XL. 
 
 walk, wbiled away the time in singing snatches of a French 
 song, which he interrupted to challenge the advancing officer on 
 duty, as he passed along the rampart on his rounds. Again we 
 heard the challenge of the sentinel, and the sound of approach- 
 ing footsteps. It was the relief. Words of command were 
 given, the motion of arms heard, the very instructions of the 
 new sentinel were distinctly audible ; this passed ; the party 
 were again in motion, and the sound of their retiring footsteps 
 was soon lost in the distance. 
 
 These are, perhaps, insignificant circumstances to relate; but 
 to men in our situation they were full of interest. They gave 
 rise to a tar-extending train of fancies, which relieved the tedium 
 of our long night-watch. There was something pleasing, too, 
 in our thus becoming spies on the unconscious enemy — in being 
 so near as to hear their very whispers — and to know that the 
 smallest signal of our presence would call instantly to arms the 
 sleeping garrison, and rouse the loud thunder of their artillery. 
 
 I had been directed to return on observing the first streak of 
 daylight ; but while the darkness was yet unbroken, a messenger 
 brought orders from the general for the instant return of the 
 part}-. Marshal Beresford had become alarmed at the prospect 
 of the destructive tire which could not fail to be opened on us 
 by the besieged on the return of day ; and abandoning our works, 
 after a eight of fruitless labour, the brigade returned to the camp. 
 
 I was awakened from a sound sleep, into which 1 had fallen 
 immediately on our return from the trenches, by the sergeant of 
 mj company, who brought orders, which had just been issued 
 from headquarters, for the army to hold themselves in instant 
 readiness to march. Intelligence of this sort is the best anti- 
 soporific in the world ; and on that morning I slept no more. 
 There weic rumours in the camp that Soult was advancing with 
 a large army to the relief of Badajos, and it was evident, from 
 the order now issued, that the.se rumours were well-founded. 
 
 On the following morning we raised the leaguer of the town, 
 ami marched to Valverde, in the neighbourhood of which we 
 halted for the night. The whole army felt aware that we were 
 iinw on the eve of a battle; and the discontent which the vacil- 
 lation of our commander had caused to lower on every brow, 
 <|iiiekly vanished in the prospect of terminating by a victory 
 our hitherto inglorious campaign. 
 
 We encamped on the heights of Albuera on the fifteenth, in 
 Order of battle; and it was evident, that Marshal lieresford 
 intended here to await the approach of the enemy. The Spanish 
 army, under Blake, arrived during the night, ami occupied the 
 right of the position; in the centre were the British: and the 
 
 1'" ■ weie posted on the left.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XL. 371 
 
 Heavily rose the sun on the eventful morning of the sixteenth 
 of May 1811. Dark volumes of clouds obscured his disk, and 
 his rays lost more than half their brightness in penetrating the 
 dense masses of vapour which on all sides overspread the horizon. 
 We were under arms two hours before day-dawn ; and thou- 
 sands of eyes which that morning watched his rising, were 
 destined never to see him set. The morning, though still and 
 dark, was not misty. Objects, even at a considerable distance, 
 were distinctly visible. There was not wind to stir a leaf upon 
 the smallest spray, and the scene before us, though gloomy, was 
 peaceful. 
 
 It was seven o'clock before we returned to our tents, and at 
 that time no enemy was visible. Two of my brother-officers 
 that morning shared my breakfast ; and of the whole party, in- 
 cluding the three servants who ministered to our wants, I was 
 in the course of two hours the only individual alive. 
 
 While we were at breakfast, a few shots were fired by our 
 artillery, which did not at all influence our meal ; but that con- 
 cluded, my curiosity led me to advance a considerable distance 
 in front of the line, to observe the motions of the enemy, who 
 were reported to be fast approaching. The report was correct. 
 Their advancing masses covered the road for several miles, and 
 their cavalry, formed in column of squadrons on the plain, had 
 already menaced an attack on the bridge of Albuera. Fast as 
 their infantry came up, they halted in column on either side of 
 the road, without indicating, by any demonstration, what part 
 of our position was about to become the chief object of their 
 attack. I spent about half an hour — it might be more — in thus 
 gratifying my curiosity; and when I returned, the tents were 
 struck, the baggage sent to the rear, and the whole army drawn 
 up in line of battle. 
 
 The pain I felt at this sight was excruciating. To have been 
 absent from my post at such a moment, when the sound of the 
 artillery, which had already opened on the advancing enemy, 
 showed that the battle had even now begun, was to incur the 
 possibility of an imputation which I could brook no lips to utter. 
 I ran madly to the rear, and found with some difficulty the place 
 where my tent had stood. I was in dishabille ; and it was 
 necessary, on such an occasion, to appear in uniform. My coat, 
 hat, and sash, had been left on the ground ; but in the hurry 
 my sword had been removed with the baggage. I changed 
 my dress as speedily as possible, casting from me that which I 
 wore, for plunder either to our own soldiers or those of the 
 enemy, and having supplied the place of my own sword by that 
 of a sergeant, I joined my regiment. 
 
 My old enemy, Colonel Penleaze, was not displeased, on the
 
 372 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XL. 
 
 present occasion, to have an opportunity of venting his long- 
 suppressed resentment. 
 
 " How does it happen, Captain Thornton," he exclaimed in 
 front of the battalion, " that when the regiment has, for the last 
 half hour, been instantly expecting to be called into action, you 
 were absent from your company?" 
 
 I was proceeding to answer this question, but he interrupted 
 me. 
 
 " Make no reply, sir, for your conduct admits of no excuse. 
 Nothing can justify your absence from your duty, at a moment 
 like the present. Had you been a minute later, sir, I should 
 have sent you to the rear in arrest ; and, as it is, I may yet pos- 
 sibly think it proper to report your conduct to the general." 
 
 My blood boiled in my veins as he spoke, and had death been 
 the consequence, I must have answered. 
 
 " Colonel Penleaze, I am ready to account for my conduct 
 any where, or in any manner, and shall repel, as becomes me, 
 either in public or private, whatever charge you or any man 
 shall dare to make affecting my honour." 
 
 Just at that moment a heavy firing commenced on our right, 
 and the Adjutant-General rode up, with orders for our brigade 
 instantly to advance. 
 
 In order to render the subsequent account of this to me most 
 eventful and memorable battle, more clear and intelligible, I 
 shall here take leave to say something of the relative situation 
 of the hostile armies. 
 
 Our position was a chain of eminences, along the front of 
 which flowed the river Alhuera, a shallow stream, and in many 
 places fordable. Through the centre of it ran the road to 
 Badajos and Valverde, crossing the river by a bridge, which 
 Heresford evidently expected would have been the main object 
 of the enemy's attack. To the left of the road lay the village 
 of Alhuera, apparently deserted and in ruins. Near this was 
 Btationed our artillery. The enemy, however, merely menacing 
 this point, crossed the river about a mile higher up, where its 
 course was nearly at right angles with that which it subse- 
 quently took in front of our position. By this movement our 
 righl Hank, consisting of Blake's army, was laid completely open 
 to attaek, ami instantly driving the Spaniards from the heights 
 they occupied, Marshal Soult drew up his army in a com- 
 manding position, which completely raked the line of the allies. 
 Thus an immediate change of front, on our part, became neces- 
 sary i and the object to which our efforts were directed, of course, 
 was to dislodge the enemy from the very important heights of 
 which he had already gained possession. In truth, on the suc- 
 cess of these efforts depended the whole issue of the battle; for
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XL. 373 
 
 if the French succeeded in maintaining their position, ours 
 became untenable, and no resource was left but a retreat, which, 
 situated as we then were, could not fail to be both disgraceful 
 and calamitous. 
 
 Such were the circumstances in which both armies stood, 
 when the order, which I have already mentioned, arrived for 
 our brigade to march instantly to attack the enemy on the 
 heights he occupied. 
 
 The morning, which had been overcast, " and heavily with 
 clouds brought on the day," had now changed to one of storm 
 and rain, so heavy, that less than forty days of it would have 
 sufficed for a second deluge ; and it was with every part of our 
 apparel perfectly saturated with water that we commenced our 
 movement. The enemy soon opened on us a tremendous fire of 
 artillery, which did considerable execution in the column, and 
 dashed the earth in our faces as we advanced. One cannon- 
 ball struck close to my foot, and bounding onwards with terrific 
 velocity, passed through the body of the officer commanding the 
 company immediately in rear of my own, and killed two soldiers 
 in its further progress. 
 
 As we approached the spot where the courage of both armies 
 was about to be tested, a sight of the most dispiriting descrip- 
 tion presented itself at some distance on our right. The first 
 brigade, in the act of forming line, was charged by a large body 
 of Polish lancers, and thus taken at a disadvantage, were thrown 
 into disorder, which it was found impossible to retrieve. By 
 this attack, nearly the whole of the Buffs and second battalion 
 of the forty-eighth were made prisoners. 
 
 We had reached the bottom of the heights, which we were 
 about to ascend, and for that purpose were deploying from 
 column into line, when Sir William Stewart, the second in com- 
 mand, rode up to us at full speed. 
 
 His appearance arrested my attention. The day, as I have 
 already said, was cold and wet, but the perspiration stood in 
 large drops on his forehead, and ran down his cheeks. He was 
 always a man of martial appearance, but at that moment par- 
 ticularly so. There was strong agitation visible in his counte- 
 nance and manner, but there was a striking expression of high 
 courage in his eye, and as he spoke his utterance was quicker, 
 and his voice more animated than I had ever heard it. He 
 addressed us as follows : — 
 
 "Men of the third brigade, you are about to fight for the 
 honour of your country, and I am not afraid to tell you that the 
 fate of this army is in your hands. I have committed a great 
 and unfortunate error with the first brigade, but I am sure you 
 will repair all. You will crown the height, and then charge
 
 374 CYRIL THORNTON". CHAPTER XL. 
 
 tin.' enemy with the bayonet. Go on, my brave fellows, and 
 may God bless you!" 
 
 To tnis inspiriting address tbe men answered by a loud and 
 hearty cheer, and General Houghton, waving his hat, led the 
 way up the side of the hill. On reaching its summit, we were 
 instantly assailed by a dreadful fire, both of musketry and artil- 
 lerj . and the men fell thickly in the ranks. For a moment the 
 line first wavered, and then recoiled for a pace or two, hut 
 General Houghton, again waving his hat, spurred on to the 
 front, and we advanced once more, in double quick, to the 
 charge. 
 
 The other regiments of the brigade, being in rear, had not yet 
 taken up their position in the line, and we enjoyed the honour 
 of leading them into action. As we advanced, I remember 
 passing Marshal Beresford on the height. He was on foot, with 
 no staff near him, and in a situation of extreme exposure. His 
 look and air were those of a man perplexed and bewildered. 
 
 Our intention of charging the enemy was unfortunately de- 
 feated by the intervention of a small ravine, on the opposite 
 bank of which the French were stationed, and were enabled, by 
 the acclivity on which they stood, to fire on us eight deep. It 
 was on the edge of this ravine that we halted, and opened our 
 fire. The carnage in our ranks was dreadful. General Hough- 
 ton had been killed in the advance, and bullets flew like hail- 
 stones. I saw my friends and brother officers fall around me ; 
 and it seemed as if I bore a charmed life, and that I alone moved 
 secure and scatheless amid the surrounding havoc. 
 
 Such had been our situation for some time, when the sergeant- 
 major came to inform me that the command of the regiment 
 hail devolved on me, all the officers senior in rank having been 
 killed or wounded. In the rear I found the horse of the adju- 
 tant, who had been killed, and mounting him, I rode along the 
 ranks, and saw that 1 had indeed succeeded to a melancholy 
 command. We had taken upwards of seven hundred men into 
 action, of whom not a third remained; and it was evident, if we 
 continued much Longer in our present situation, few even of 
 
 those could expect to escape the late of their companions. 
 
 The firing, which had somewhat slackened on the part of the 
 enemy, had, from the exhaustion of ammunition, almost entirely 
 (•( ased "ti ours, yet wo had received no orders to retire. In this 
 situation, a brigade of artillery was advanced to the front, and 
 instantly opened their fire. It was charged by the French 
 ir dry, and we had the mortification to observe the artillerymen 
 driven from their post-, and the guns remain in possession of 
 thr enemy. The regiment were already retiring when this 
 Unfortunate event took place; but even destitute as we were of
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XL. 375 
 
 ammunition, I determined to make an effort to recover the 
 guns, thus disgracefully sacrificed, at the point of the bayonet. 
 Once more we faced the enemy ; and calling on the small 
 remains of the regiment to follow me, I led the charge, tramp- 
 ling as we advanced on the bodies of our dead and dying com- 
 panions. The charge was successful. The enemy were driven 
 back, and the guns were once more in our possession. 
 
 The Fusilier brigade was seen at that moment advancing to 
 our support, and every thing seemed to indicate a happy termi- 
 nation of the contest. Before the arrival, however, of this 
 seasonable reinforcement, we were charged by the Polish lancers, 
 who had already done so much execution in the commencement 
 of the action, supported by a heavy column of infantry. At this 
 moment I received a shot in the body, but did not fall from 
 my horse. I was immediately surrounded by the lancers, and 
 remember receiving a dreadful sabre-cut on the face, and a 
 pistol-shot in the left arm. 
 
 I fell to the ground, and of what passed afterwards my memory 
 gives me no intelligence. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 She is my essence, and I leave to be, 
 
 If I be not by her fair influence 
 
 Foster' d, illumined, cberish'd, kept alive. 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 How like a younker or a prodigal 
 
 The skarfed bark puts from its native bay, 
 
 Hugg'd and embraced by the strumpet wind; 
 
 How like a prodigal doth she return, 
 
 With over-weather'd ribs and ragged sails, 
 
 Lean, rent, and beggar'd by the strumpet wind ! 
 
 Merchatit of Venice 
 
 My return to consciousness was accompanied by acute bodily 
 suffering. I was in a tent, and the surgeon of the regiment, 
 with one of his assistants, stood beside the pallet on which I lay. 
 My feelings were those of a man on whom death had set his 
 gripe. I gasped convulsively for breath, yet at every respiration 
 was nearly suffocated by the blood which gurgled from my 
 throat, and obstructed the action of my lungs. Had relief not 
 been administered, it was impossible I could have survived many 
 minutes.
 
 376 CTKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 Fortunately, the surgeons, in examining my bod)-, found a 
 small protuberance below my left shoulder, which they imme- 
 diately opened ; the bullet anil a mass of coagulated blood issued 
 from the wound, and the dreadful feeling of suffocation was 
 i ntly relieved. The blood which had hitherto flowed through 
 my throat now found another channel, and from that moment I 
 date the full and unimpaired restoration of my senses. 
 
 The difficulty of breathing, that primary of the vital functions, 
 had absorbed all other sense of suffering, and that removed, I 
 awoke only to pain, of which I had hitherto been unconscious. 
 Stimulated by their first success, and the slight hope which it 
 held out of their skill being efficaciously exerted, the doctors 
 proceeded to examine my other wounds more minutely than in 
 my apparently hopeless state they hail at first deemed necessary. 
 This done, they consulted a few minutes apart ; then Ilolford 
 approached, and, taking my hand, thus addressed me : — 
 
 " Thornton," he said — and I saw the tears rise to his eyes 
 as he spoke — " you are a man of courage, arm yourself with 
 it." 
 
 " You mean to tell me my wounds are mortal. Speak — do 
 not fear me." 
 
 " Not so. There are hopes of your recovery ; and, by God's 
 blessing, we shall have you once more among us. But an opera- 
 tiiiu i- necessary You must lose your arm." 
 
 " And is tliis the only means of saving my life ?" 
 
 lie answered, in a low but decided tone of voice, pressing my 
 hand between both of his — " In our judgment it is." 
 
 On receiving this intelligence 1 at first made no answer, but 
 closing my eyes, endeavoured to collect my energies for the scene 
 of sufferance, through which it was necessary I should pass. To 
 do so was mi easy task. Weakened as I was by loss of blood, 
 
 my mind partook of the feebleness of my body. I was distracted 
 and irresolute. A cold and clammy perspiration overspread my 
 forehead, and there was fear ami shrinking in my heart. At 
 that moment 1 would have preferred death ; but I felt that to 
 
 incur death for the mere avoidance of bodily pain, would leave 
 
 an indelible imputation mi my courage: — what was it but to 
 conclude mj ahorl and hitherto not dishonourable career by 
 dyintf like a coward ? The Btruggle was long and severe, but 
 it passed, anil I told the worthy doctor that I was prepared. He 
 
 dn pressed mj hand in strong emotion, but was silent. 
 
 Sympathy for mere physical Buffering ranks in the very lowest 
 class of mental emotions, and 1 ask it not tor mine. In the 
 
 operation which followed, I bore only what thousands have borne 
 
 before me, many with greater fortitude, and a more resigned 
 
 ii : for 1 know by experience that a sick-bed may afford
 
 CYRIL THORXTOX. CHAPTER XLI. 377 
 
 occasion for the exercise of a higher courage than is required, 
 under the influence of strong extraneous excitement, to brave 
 death in the field — that the humble and inglorious sufferer 
 may display a spirit more truly heroic than his who perils 
 life, for human honour and applause, in the imminent deadly 
 breach. 
 
 A few days afterwards the march of the army, which, being 
 reinforced, returned once more to resume the siege of Badajos, 
 made the removal of the wounded a measure of necessity. I was 
 in too miserable a state to be able to bear the jolting of an hos- 
 pital waggon ; and, by the exertions of my kind doctor, a litter 
 was procured for my conveyance to Olivenga. But even the 
 slightest motion of my shattered frame made every muscle quiver 
 with agony ; and though the distance was little more than two 
 leagues, such was the accession of fever occasioned by the jour- 
 ney, that long before its conclusion I was in a state of violent 
 delirium. 
 
 At Olivenca I remained about three weeks, during a consider- 
 able part of which I was dead to every object of the external world. 
 Often, I have been told, during my madness, did I rave of the 
 Lady Melicent. Sometimes, as if bending at her feet, I poured 
 forth the most impassioned oaths of constancy and love, and 
 called on her to redeem her troth, irrevocably plighted in the 
 sight of God. Then would I accuse her of perfidy and falsehood, 
 and invoke heaven and earth, and all the unseen beings of the 
 air, to bear witness of her treachery. Sometimes, in more violent 
 mood, I made the walls to ring with the name of Hewson, and 
 with clenched teeth, and fiery eyeballs, called on him to stand 
 forth and defend his villany, heaping, when I found he came not, 
 loud and burning curses on his head. In such paroxysms of my 
 disorder, I would tear the dressings from my wounds, till the 
 very agony I occasioned found a cure in its excess, and I sank 
 fainting on my pillow. 
 
 I would not tire the reader by any account of the various 
 alternations of amendment and relapse, by which the slow pro- 
 gress of my recovery was marked or impeded. Suffice it, that 
 when intelligence arrived that the British army had raised the 
 siege of Badajos, and were about to retire from the Alentejo, it 
 found me reduced to the very lowest state of debility and exhaus- 
 tion. The wounded were immediately ordered to be removed 
 from Olivenca to Elvas, the only fortress in the province of 
 which possession was to be retained by the allies. 
 
 I heard the news with indifference, for all energy, both mental 
 and bodily, had departed from me, and I lay a helpless and a 
 passive creature, alike incapable of thought or action. A litter 
 was again procured for me, which rested on two poles, like those
 
 378 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 of a sedan-chair, and was carried by mnles. The awning which 
 covered it afforded little protection from the heat of the noon- 
 tide sun, and the air I breathed was scorching to my wounded 
 lungs. I lay gasping, and unable to move, in speechless anguish, 
 finding relief only in occasional fainting fits, for insensibility was 
 then indeed a relief. 
 
 I did, however, reach Elvas alive, and there I remained for 
 three months. Weary and dreary months they were to me. Day 
 after day passed on, and the voice of kindness never reached my 
 ear. I was without books, without a friend — nay, an acquaint- 
 ance — a sick and solitary man. Night after night came silent 
 and sleepless, another yet the same. 
 
 And yet I wished for darkness. The apartment in which I 
 lay, and every object it contained, had become odiously familiar 
 to my eyes. All around me was associated with the memory of 
 suffering. The table — chairs — the huge oak chest that occupied 
 one corner of the room — the print of the Holy Virgin that hung 
 opposite to my bed — the dark building which threw its gloom 
 across the street upon my window — the huge rafters of the roof, 
 every speck and spot on which was rooted in my memory — what 
 would I not have given to have had them blotted from my 
 6ight — to have enjoyed the privilege of even gazing on vacuity ! 
 But worse than even these was the eternal ticking of a clock 
 that hung beside my chamber-door. From the detested objects 
 of vision I enjoyed some respite in the darkness of night. But 
 this was ceaseless. By night and day its hateful voice was in 
 my ear, ever recalling to my memory how slowly the hours of 
 pain and weariness went by. 
 
 These were the feelings of a suffering body and a diseased 
 mind ; but even now that the circumstances which occasioned 
 them have passed away, I find evidence of their strength in the 
 vividness with which they, almost unbidden, present themselves 
 to my memory. 
 
 It was during my stay at Elvas that I received intelligence of 
 in v having been promoted to the majority of the regiment, which 
 became vacant by the death of Colonel Fenlcaze. I had intended, 
 on my recovery, to have noticed, even, if necessary, at the 
 expense of my commission, the insinuations which 1 considered 
 to have been east on me by that officer, before our advance at 
 Albuera. Bui death settles all differences, and Colonel Fen- 
 lcaze was on more. He had received a dangerous wound, of 
 which, about three weeks utter the battle, he (lied. 
 
 Gratifying as the intelligence of my promotion was — for even 
 in the miserable state to which 1 was reduced, there was yet 
 ambition in my heart —another and a greater pleasure awaited 
 inc. I received letters from England. But it was a pleasure,
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLI. 379 
 
 alas ! not unmixed. The letters were from Lucy — there were 
 none from the Lady Melicent. When the servant brought them 
 to my bed, vigour for a moment returned to my wounded frame, 
 and starting from my pillow, I snatched them with my only hand, 
 and pressed them to my lips. Then I fixed my eyes upon them, in 
 the hope of recognizing the hand I most panted to behold. None 
 of the superscriptions, however, were in the writing of her I loved. 
 I knew her small and beautiful characters — I was not — I could 
 not be deceived. 
 
 Three months were passed, yet I had received no letter from 
 Lady Melicent. Till now, the very hope had been sufficient to 
 buoy my sinking spirits in the moments when they had most 
 needed support. More than food or sleep to me had been thi3 
 fond — this visionary hope. The anticipations of long days and 
 nights had centred in this, and it was now broken. The dreams 
 of solitary and suffering hours had vanished in an instant. The 
 blow was a severe one. Disease for a time had conquered the 
 manliness of my spirit, and, brooding in the loneliness of sorrow, 
 I wept as a child. 
 
 Let not any one, in the palmy pride of unbroken and unbend- 
 ing manhood, sneer at this confession of my weakness. He 
 knows not — he cannot know, till tried by circumstances, that 
 which is within him. The tide with him is full, but the waters 
 may yet ebb from beneath his bark, and leave it dry upon the 
 sands. 
 
 Disappointed as I was at the silence of Lady Melicent, my 
 spirit recoiled from the idea of accounting for it by any decrease 
 of affection. It was not — it could not be. Hearts, joined as 
 ours, so short an absence could not have divided. Could I not 
 appeal to the confession of her lips — nay, to the bright tears by 
 which our parting had been hallowed, for evidence of her love ? 
 , Might she not be ill ? Might not her letters have miscarried ? 
 Might she not be in circumstances, when to write was impos- 
 sible ? Oh ! all, or any of these might be ; but not that her 
 silence proceeded from fickleness of heart. There was treason 
 even in the thought, and I cast it from me. 
 
 Poor Lucy ! little was there of her natural joyousness of heart 
 discernible in these letters. I had not written, I had been incapable 
 of writing, and she knew only that my name had appeared in the 
 Gazette among the list of the " severely wounded." But this 
 was enough to people the warm world of her bosom with terrible 
 fears. The time of Lucy's greatest trial had come. Her sister 
 and her brother, the beings she most loved on earth, had become 
 to her the sources of almost agonizing apprehension. One lay 
 wounded in a foreign land, and the other — alas, how much more 
 melancholy was her lot !
 
 3S0 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 Of Jane, Lucy gave me no information. She had received no 
 tidings of her fate from the moment when Hewson had separated 
 the sisters in their last embrace, and claimed the victim of his 
 tyranny. It was evident that Hewson was determined to pre- 
 vent all intercourse with her family — to darken the last faint 
 gleam, which, till now, had lightened the gloom of her condi- 
 tion. 
 
 Not unaccompanied with pain, therefore, was the enjoyment 
 I derived from the pernsal of Lucy's letters. With regard to 
 Jane, I had already anticipated the worst. In her case, I had 
 no ground on which to found a hope for future happiness. I 
 knew she had been sold to a demon, and was in his power ; he 
 would exact to the uttermost the penalty and forfeit of his bond. 
 But even the simple kindness and fond anxieties of Lucy, were 
 as oil poured upon the waters of my spirit. Cut oft' from the 
 world — distant from every object round which my spirit had 
 entwined itself — I felt desolate and deserted ; and there was 
 something soothing in the proof these letters afforded, that I was 
 not yet wholly forgotten — that I was still, in one kind heart at 
 least, the object of fears, hopes, prayers, tears, wishes, and regrets. 
 Oh ! this, in a situation like mine, was much to know and to 
 remember. 
 
 My wounds gradually healed, and I w r as at length pronounced 
 to be in a state when I might, without danger, be removed to 
 Lisbon. The wounds on my head and face had now cicatrized, 
 and the bandages were removed. 
 
 I remember the day, when, curious to observe the change they 
 had produced in my appearance, I ordered a looking-glass to be 
 brought, and gazed upon my countenance, as reflected on its 
 surface. Heaven and earth, what did 1 behold, ere it dropped 
 from my relaxing fingers, and I sank back half fainting on my 
 couch ! It seemed as if a frightful Oorgon had looked forth on 
 me from the mirror. The face, I thought, was not — could not 
 lia\e been my own, which had glared on me with an aspect so 
 hideous. — Alas, my doubts were shortlived ! A truth, of which 
 till then I bad been ignorant, became at. that moment the sub- 
 ject of a terrible revelation. I knew that I was thenceforth 
 destined to hi' in the eves of my fellow-creatures but an object 
 of pity or aversion. 
 
 There may exist philosophers, on whom such a change of 
 appearance might make hut a trivial impression — who, devoting 
 all their energies to brightening the jewel, care little for the 
 casket iii which it is enclosed. Such men I envy and admire. 
 They are funned to play a nobler and a better part, and they 
 will find at least one portion of their reward, in being exempted 
 from the risk of such Bufferings as those to which I was a prey.
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XLI. 381 
 
 In my constitution, however, there was hut a small leaven of 
 original* power. What I was, education and the world had 
 made me. Mine was not a mind of strong internal resources ; 
 and alike by my ambition and pursuits, I was bound closely to 
 society. In such circumstances, a sudden change had come 
 upon me. What I had been I was no longer — I could never be 
 again. The prepossessions excited by personal appearance were, 
 in future, not to be for me, but against me. I must enter society 
 under disadvantages which it was impossible to overcome. I 
 was to labour under the conviction of being an object whom 
 men, indeed, might tolerate, but from whom woman would in- 
 stinctively shrink back. 
 
 It was not the loss of mere personal advantages which excited 
 my regret ; these might have departed, uncared for and disre- 
 garded. I would have been but as thousands are, and the course 
 of my life would still have flowed on calmly and unruffled. But 
 to be different from my fellow-men, to be singled out among 
 them as an object of remarkable deformity, whom pity and 
 aversion were doomed to follow as his shadow — to be a creature 
 offensive to all — was more — far more than I could calmly 
 bear. 
 
 Several days had elapsed before I again had courage to look 
 on the reflection of my features. When I did so, the vehemence 
 of my emotion had passed, and my feelings were calmer, though 
 not less deep. Such a creature as I gazed on ! My face was 
 pale and haggard, my eyes sunk deeply in their sockets, and my 
 features were frightfully distorted by a wound reaching from the 
 temple to the mouth, by which my upper lip had been divided, 
 and the extent of which was indicated by a long red scar. The 
 whole expression of my countenance was changed, and the very 
 features I beheld seemed those of a stranger. 
 
 Happy, however — comparatively happy at least — was the 
 moment when I quitted Elvas, and found myself on the road to 
 Lisbon. Oh ! that bed which for months had been to me the 
 unchanging theatre of pain, how did my heart leap, when I 
 knew that I had quitted it for ever ! The memory of all the 
 cheerless days and weary nights I had passed in it vanished in 
 a moment, as my eye once more gazed on the blue firmament, 
 and I felt my throbbing brow bathed by the first gushing of the 
 free air. 
 
 I was obliged to be assisted, almost carried, into the cabriolet ; 
 for, reduced as my body was, it was still more than my feeble 
 limbs were equal to support. The jolting of the carriage was 
 painful to my wounds, which were yet tender, but my spirits 
 were comparatively light, when I found myself winding slowly 
 along the level but beautiful country of the Alentejo, inter-
 
 382 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 spersed with pretty villages and antique towns. The journey 
 was performed slowly, for I was unequal to length of travel ; 
 and though the distanee was only ninety miles, I did not reach 
 Lisbon till the fifth morning. 
 
 As we drove through the streets, I thought there was more of 
 bustle and business apparent than before. The citizens, con- 
 sidering themselves aow free from all danger of invasion, had 
 laid aside their arms, and returned to their peaceful avocations, 
 adorned only by the national cockade as a signal of their loyalty. 
 The number of British officers in the capital — great as it had 
 formerly appeared — had evidently increased. They were to be 
 met with in every street, some on crutches, some with an arm 
 supported by a sling, some evidently suffering from sickness ; 
 and many, in the perfect enjoyment of all bodily functions, stood 
 conversing in groups, or loitered in the shady places, endeavour- 
 ing, by demonstrations of gallantry, to win the eye and favour 
 of some fair Donna, who might be seen singing over her em- 
 broidery at a neighbouring lattice. 
 
 1 droVe to the town-major's office, and demanded a billet. It 
 was given me; and I was pleased, on arriving at the domicile of 
 mjpatrone, to find it situated in the highest and most beautiful 
 part of the city, called Buenos Ayres. 
 
 Nothing could be finer than the view commanded from my 
 windows. From one, I gazed on the suburban prospect of the 
 whole city, stretched out beneath on an inclined plane, reaching 
 down to the very margin of the Tagus, on whose quiet waters 
 laj a large fleet of British men-of-war. From another window 
 I beheld, in the near ground, the towers of Belem ; and afar off 
 the eye rested on the vast interminable ocean, with here and 
 there a distant speck seen slowly moving athwart its bosom. 
 
 Nothing, in short, could be more delightful than the situation 
 of m\ residence. While in the lower parts of the city the 
 
 intensity of the heat was scarcely endurable, in the more elevated 
 
 region in which I dwelt, the temperature of the air was cool and 
 pleasant, and the breeze came pure and untainted from the sea. 
 Here symptoms of reviving strength again visited my limbs; 
 and though I fell my constitution had received a shock too 
 violent d, admit the hope of a perfect restoration to vigour, there 
 "a- at leasl the prospect of a gradual recovery from that dis- 
 tressing state of debility under which 1 then laboured. 
 
 The only alarming Bymptoms that now remained, proceeded 
 from the wound in my chest. 1 had still a violent cough, and 
 
 Buffered much after any unusual exertion, from an extreme diffi- 
 culty of breathing. These were indications of an internal 
 disorder from u hich there was no chance of an early recovery ; 
 and. to avoid the unpleasai a long residence at Lisbon, I
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLI. 383 
 
 determined to apply to a medical board for permission to return 
 to England. 
 
 This conclave of the faculty was held once a fortnight at the 
 Estrella Convent, and thither came the sick, the wounded, and 
 the idle, soliciting - , though from very different motives, a con- 
 tinuance of exemption from military duty. I found a very large 
 party assembled on the stated day in the saloon of the convent. 
 One portion of the company — among whom I formed no uncon- 
 spicuous unit — was pretty similar to that which is recorded in 
 Scripture, to have annually assembled at the Pool of Bethesda. 
 
 It is at a meeting of this sort that one obtains a compendious 
 view of the more immediate . and direct evils of war. There 
 were men in the very pride of youth, whom nature had end wed 
 with constitutions of iron, whose bodies were maimed and 
 mangled — whose very looks told of sufferings on which their 
 lips were silent. I could not gaze on them without a feeling of 
 brotherhood and interest. We belonged to the same profession, 
 we had been animated by the same hopes, we had fallen martyrs 
 to the same cause. How many of the ties which contribute to 
 bind societies together are less strong than these ! And there 
 was, I thought, a sort of esprit de corps among us ; the Shib- 
 boleth of suffering was common to us all, and, though strangers 
 to each other, we naturally spoke in the language of friendship 
 and regard. 
 
 The medical board, after a minute examination of my case, 
 without hesitation, granted me the leave of absence it was my 
 object to obtain. 
 
 While yet at Lisbon I received a letter from Lady Melicent. 
 She at length had learned that I had been wounded, and expressed 
 many fond fears and flattering anxieties on my account. In the 
 delightful emotions which the perusal of this letter excited, all 
 other thoughts and feelings were for a time absorbed. After so 
 long a silence, the most indifferent words traced by her pen 
 could not be otherwise than precious. 
 
 Yet, when the first glow of gladness had subsided, I imagined 
 there was something in its tone and character different from that 
 by which her former letters had been marked. Why I thought 
 so I cannot tell. I could detect no coldness ; the sympathy it 
 expressed for my sufferings was deep, and apparently sincere. I 
 weighed every word of the letter; I analyzed each expression; 
 I pondered long and deeply on every sentence. Criticism lent 
 no aid to my conclusions, yet the instinctive consciousness within 
 me, though unsupported, was unshaken. It came not from rea- 
 son, nor at the voice of reason would it depart. It was some- 
 thing to be felt, not proved — a conviction — shadowy, perhaps, 
 yet firm and immovable.
 
 384 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 I felt, however, that no change of sentiment on the part of her 
 I loved, could now influence my destiny. Fortune had cast an 
 impassable barrier betwixt us. Love ! what a creature am I, I 
 exclaimed in bitterness of soul, to think of love ! As I spoke, I 
 cast my eyes on a mirror that hung in the apartment, and gazed 
 on the reflection of my own miserable form. Is this the remains 
 of the gay and gallant youth, who had won the guerdon of a 
 lady's heart, for which the proudest had striven, and in vain? 
 This poor, maimed, defaced, and wasted object, can thought of 
 passion still linger in his heart ? Where now are the strong 
 and glorious pulses with which it once beat, as if, in the full- 
 ness of passion, it would have burst its prison-bonds to have 
 throbbed in freedom ? Is this the countenance on which ladies 
 have smiled ? Are these the eyes, dim, cold, and hollow, which 
 have exchanged glances of love with the proudest and most 
 beautiful of her sex? And are these thin and distorted lips 
 those that whispered a tale of burning love in the ear of the 
 Lady Melicent ? 
 
 I dashed my clenched hand on my forehead as I turned from 
 the mirror. No ! I exclaimed, I may excite pity, my fate may 
 draw tears from her eyes ; I may be to her an object of tender — 
 nay even of fond regret, but of love — Oh, never, never, never ! 
 Farewell for ever all thought of passion. In woman's eyes I am 
 become a fearful and a loathsome thing. I will give back to the 
 Lady Melicent her vows ; I will free her from her plighted troth ; 
 I will resign my claim to the dearest blessing of Heaven. Yet 
 never shall the love I bear her pass away. It shall go down 
 with me to my grave, and her name shall be mingled in my latest 
 prayer. 
 
 These resolutions were made when my feelings were under 
 the influence of high excitement, but I did not swerve from them 
 in my calmer moments. Lady Melicent should be free, or rather 
 in justice, -he was already free. I was not the man to whom 
 her heart bad yielded. The blow that smote me to the earth 
 had widowed her first love, and she again was tree and unshackled 
 
 as the blackbird in the summer trees, or the lark upon the hill. 
 
 But even if in the constancy of her heart she still desired to unite 
 her fate to mine, never, never would 1 consent to the sacrifice of 
 SO generous and noble. It fitted not that beauty should be 
 linked t ( , the maimed and the decrepid. Such an union was 
 unnatural, it was revolting. Even to wish it, was to become 
 contemptible in my own eyes — and in the eyes of the world — no, 
 
 the world never should despise me. 
 
 Violent, however, was the effort, and long the conflict, before 
 I was able to give effect to my resolution. For hours 1 remained 
 seated at the table, the pen in my trembling fingers, but it traced
 
 CYRxL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLI. 385 
 
 no characters on the paper. A multitude of feelings were strug- 
 gling within me for expression, and struggling in vain, for they 
 were inexpressible. I wished that my heart should be under- 
 stood, yet could find no words wherewith to shadow forth its 
 emotions. I sought in language what language does not aiford, 
 the power of painting the wild tumult of vehement and con- 
 flicting passions. 
 
 Days elapsed before I could command calmness sufficient for 
 the execution of my task. But that at length came, and the 
 letter was written. Deep and poignant were my sufferings as 
 my fingers traced the words by which I renounced the hope that 
 was dearest to me on earth ; but strength came as I proceeded, 
 and the struggle passed away. I told her of the condition to 
 which the fortune of war had reduced me, and painted myself as 
 the wretched creature I was. I thanked her — fondly, fervently, 
 and gratefully thanked her — for her love. That I had been its ob- 
 ject would still be the pride, as it must now be the only consolation 
 of my heart. I absolved her from her engagement, and assured 
 her that her happiness would ever be the object of my fondest 
 prayers. Fortune had dealt me perhaps a hard measure, but I 
 was resigned. Henceforward she would think of me as one 
 severed from her for ever, but as one whose love would only be 
 exhaled in his latest gasp. Then I bade her — and there was a 
 long pause ere I could write the word — 
 Farewell ! 
 
 Such was the substance of my letter. As I wrote it, there 
 was a heavy and stupefying pressure on my brain ; yet I was 
 calm, for at the time there was an awful stillness of passion 
 within me, like the silence that intervenes between the sweeping 
 gusts of a hurricane. A casual spectator, I think, would have 
 discerned no external symptom of emotion. I addressed, sealed, 
 and dispatched the letter, locked the door of my chamber, and 
 then came the swoop of the tempest, perhaps the more violent for 
 having been so long repressed. 
 
 Such were the circumstances connected with the most severe 
 trial of my life. Nothing remained to detain me in Lisbon, and I 
 was soon prepared for my departure. I returned in the Daphne 
 frigate, and was landed at Portsmouth. 
 
 'I B
 
 386 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 Am I so changed by Buffering, so forgot, 
 That love disowns me; Zillah knows nie not? 
 
 Mo.NTGOMKUY. 
 
 Then what must woman he ? * * * 
 
 ****** * 
 
 They're like the winds upon Lapanthae's shore, 
 That still are changing. Oh, then, love no more ! 
 A woman's Love is like that Syrian flower, 
 That huds, and spreads, and withers in an hour. 
 
 Thracian Wonder. 
 
 I had never before returned to my native land without buoy- 
 ancy of spirit. It was with dull and sluggish feelings that I 
 now first beheld it looming - in the extremity of the horizon. 
 Every eye but mine sparkled with pleasure; every heart beat 
 quicker with the thought of home. What a multitude of dor- 
 mant sympathies did not the sight of old England awaken in the 
 ship! The song's that rose that night from the forecastle were 
 merrier than usual, as with outspread wings the vessel flew 
 onward amid the darkness, triumphing in her way. 
 
 The passage had been a rough one, the weather — for it was 
 w inter boisterous and cold, and it was in a state of great weak- 
 ness and exhaustion that 1 at length found myself housed in a 
 Portsmouth hotel. I remained its inmate for a week, during 
 which 1 never quitted my bed. I laboured under a general 
 sinking of the system; all energies, both mental and physical, 
 were dead within me, and life presented no object of sufficient 
 power to stimulate me to exertion. Mine was become 
 
 A grief without a pang, void, dark, and drear, 
 A heavy, drowsy, unimpassion'd grief, 
 
 Which finds no natural outlet, or relief, 
 In word, or sigh, or tear. 
 
 Even affection for my own family, which till now had ever 
 tenanted my bosom, appeared lor a. lime to have become extinct. 
 
 I wrote no Letters, and wished to receive none. The well of 
 every emotion was dried up. Earth contained no spell to rouse 
 me. The chords of feeling were slackened, and refused to vibrate; 
 and though the current of bodily life yet continued to flow, my 
 pint w as torpid and exanimate. 
 Death i-* a blessing when compared with such tin existence as 
 mine then was. I thank God it did not continue long. Green 
 
 places once more arose amid the desert, and the springs of human 
 Bympathy again bubbled up in the fountain of my heart. 1 was 
 once more a being bound by the same ties, and influenced by
 
 CYRIL THORNTON CHAPTER XLII. 387 
 
 the same motives as my fellow men. Even in the cares and 
 anxieties which assailed me I found pleasure, for any suffering 
 was preferable to the dull, cold, and deathlike torpor of the 
 soul, which had sat on me like a nightmare. I would have 
 braved the fury of the storm, to escape from the stagnation of 
 the calm. 
 
 When I reached London I wrote to Jane and Lucy, inform- 
 ing them of my return. I told them I was ill, and much changed, 
 and promised Lucy soon to visit her at Middlethorpe, where she 
 was again residing with the kind and excellent Willoughbys. 
 
 For a man who wishes to enjoy society, or for one who wishes 
 to avoid it, London is alike the place. It was my intention to 
 remain there for some time, and after visiting my sisters to retire 
 and bury myself in the solitude of Thornhill, if possible, the 
 world forgetting — very certain of soon being by the world 
 forgot. 
 
 I had scarcely been in town a week, when one morning the 
 door of my apartment was thrown open, and in a moment I 
 found myself in the arms of Frank Willoughby. He had learned 
 my address from Lucy, and had hurried up to town to welcome 
 my return, and render me any service in his power. I had 
 resolved to avoid all society, yet the meeting once passed, I felt 
 comfort in the presence of a friend. Willoughby was evidently 
 much shocked — though he endeavoured to conceal his emotion, 
 with the change in my appearance ; indeed, I knew it could not 
 be otherwise, but I had already begun to learn the hard, though 
 imperative lesson of submission to my fate. I felt it was coward- 
 ice to sink beneath a blow which human courage could surmount. 
 I was unhappy, yet resigned. 
 
 In spite of my urgent entreaties Frank would not leave me ; 
 and the continual flow of his cheerfulness, and a certain charac- 
 teristic humour which marked him, had, 1 believe, the effect of 
 preventing the return of that wretched mental depression, to 
 which, perhaps, I had an hereditary predisposition, and which 
 occasionally came like a sudden blight upon my spirit. 
 
 We were seated at breakfast a few days after his arrival, when 
 my servant, to the astonishment of both, announced " Mr 
 Lavender of Bow Street," and that gentleman entered the apart- 
 ment. After several polite bows had been interchanged, I address- 
 ed him : — 
 
 " A visit from you, Mr .Lavender, is an unexpected pleasure, 
 and has, I fear, originated on the present occasion from some 
 mistake." 
 
 " No mistake, I think, sir. I have been sent here by the 
 magistrate on a small piece of business, and shall be happy to 
 await your leisure to accompany me to Bow Street."
 
 388 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XUI. 
 
 " This, Mr Lavender, is Sir Francis Willoughby, and I am 
 
 Major Thornton of the , at your service; pray, with which 
 
 of us may your business lie?" 
 
 " With you, Major Thornton." 
 
 " Then pray be so good as to acquaint me with its nature?" 
 
 " A small warrant — that is all, sir. A gentleman has sworn 
 that you have put him in bodily fear, and it is necessary you 
 should be bound over to keep the peace." 
 
 Though at first exceedingly surprised by this intelligence, a 
 little reflection convinced me, that Hevvson must be the person 
 at whose instance this proceeding had taken place; and it served 
 to increase — if that was possible, the contempt and hatred which 
 I already entertained for his character and conduct. I, there- 
 fore, despatched a messenger instantly, desiring my solicitor to 
 meet me rjuam primum at Bow Street, whither Mr Lavender 
 accompanied us. 
 
 On my arrival in town, I had taken legal advice as to the best 
 mode of proceeding with regard to Hewson, and was strongly 
 advised to refrain from all personal violence, which could only 
 injure my sister's cause, and render the attainment of the object 
 we had in view more distant and uncertain. I had, therefore, 
 resolved to await, calmly the issue of the legal proceedings before 
 I sought any interview with Ilewson, or inflicted on him that 
 vengeance of which it was now evident he stood in awe. 
 
 ( )n arriving at Bow Street, I found the case was as I supposed. 
 Ilewson had made affidavit that he was apprehensive of personal 
 violence ; and the magistrate informed me it was necessary that 
 I should be bound over to keep the peace, myself in i.'200(), and 
 two sureties in 11000 each. This was accordingly done, and 
 we departed. 
 
 During my stay in London, I met likewise with an old friend, 
 who has been already mentioned in the early portion of these 
 memoirs. It was William Lumley, whom I had not seen for 
 many years. lie now belonged to one of the Inns of Temple, 
 and had become a barrister of considerable practice. Of course, 
 we met often. Be was still a bachelor; and in the confidence 
 of friendly disclosure, 1 found my sister Jane had been the 
 object of his youthful and ardent love. Circumstances had not 
 favoured bis passion. Lumley was poor, and had to push his 
 way in the world, and his attachment remained unknown even 
 to its objei i. The Same smouldered, but was not extinguished; 
 and amid the toilsome labours of his profession, it had served. 
 to lighl him on his path, and animate him in his efforts, with 
 the prospect Of a reward still within the pale of his ambition, 
 lint the course of true love never did run smooth. Jane married, 
 and poor Lumley's long-cherished hopes were dashed rudely to
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLII. 389 
 
 the ground. The Chateau en Espagne was gone ; but the solid 
 benefit of the exertions to which he had been roused remained, 
 and Luraley's character as a sound and able lawyer stood high. 
 
 I told him Jane's melancholy story, which deeply affected 
 him ; and I was glad to find a friend, at once so able and so 
 zealous, to whose management her cause might safely be com- 
 mitted. The good old man, his father, he informed me, now an 
 octogenarian, still lived, and felt pride in the pupils he had 
 sent into the world, stored with his instructions, several of 
 whom had already attained to distinction in their different walks 
 of life. 
 
 Before I quitted London, an incident occurred, which once 
 more stung my feelings into an agony almost insupportable. 
 One morning I had gone with Willoughby to the Exhibition of 
 Ancient Pictures, which we were engaged in examining. The 
 exhibition having been open for some time, the number of specta- 
 tors was few — so few at least, that one might look at the pictures 
 without being jostled in a crowd. I have no technical know- 
 ledge of painting ; but I have a taste — of course an uncultivated 
 one — for the art, and I was standing opposite a fine landscape 
 of Gaspar Poussin, when the noise of a party advancing from 
 the bottom of the room for a moment diverted my attention 
 from the picture. 
 
 What were my feelings when, turning round, the first object 
 that met my eye was the Lady Melicent ! She was the leading 
 star of a gay group, and advanced from the bottom of the 
 gallery, leaning on the arm of Lord Lyndhurst, whom she occa- 
 sionally addressed in that half-whispering tone, which indicated 
 a considerable change in the footing of their intimacy. It was 
 evident she was in high spirits ; I had never seen her counte- 
 nance more gay and animated, and I observed her eyes glance 
 occasionally round the apartment, as if to enjoy the homage 
 which the gaze of the bystanders paid to her beauty. Pleasure 
 was written legibly on her countenance ; no inward care dis- 
 turbed its serenity. The fabled smiles of Euphrosyne were 
 not more beautiful and joyous than those which adorned hei 
 features. 
 
 Still hanging on Lord Lyndhurst's arm, Lady Melicent 
 advanced slowly, and stood near the centre of the apartment, 
 right opposite to the spot to which, from the moment my eye 
 first rested on her, I had been rooted. Then a sudden failure 
 of strength came over me, and I sank into a chair, literally 
 gasping for breath, for there was a choking in my throat, and 
 every muscle of my frame became rigid as those of a corpse. 
 Language cannot express the agony, or, if torture be a stronger 
 word, the torture of these moments. At length her full, dark,
 
 390 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 beautiful eyes rested on my countenance. She evidently did 
 not know me, but as if willing to avoid the contemplation of a 
 disagreeable object, hastily withdrew them. 
 
 Just then my situation became such as to attract the attention 
 of the company. 
 
 " Here's a sick gentleman," cried one ; " give him air." 
 
 "ISring a glass of water directly," cried another. 
 
 " Assist the gentleman down stairs," cried a third. 
 
 "lie's dying," ejaculated another. 
 
 " Give him time, and he'll recover," exclaimed a fifth. 
 
 I heard all this, for my senses had not forsaken me. I was 
 the object of universal attention, and I believe of pity. Wil- 
 loughby, on hearing the noise, came running up, and found me 
 in the situation I have described. 
 
 "Good God, Thornton, you are ill — very ill!" he exclaimed 
 loudly, in the first paroxysm of his anxiety. 
 
 At the word "Thornton," Lady Melicent turned her face 
 towards me, witli a sudden and almost convulsive motion, and 
 again gazed for a moment on my haggard and deathlike coun- 
 tenance. I imagined she recognized me, for I saw her become 
 pale as allies ; then whispering something in the ear of Lord 
 Lyndhurst, she turned suddenly away, and I beheld her no 
 more. 
 
 One of the servants brought me a glass of water, with which 
 Willoughby bathed my temples; and accepting one of the dozen 
 smelling-bottles which the surrounding ladies offered for my 
 use, [woman is ever kind and compassionate,] \Yi Hough by held 
 it to my nose, and by slow degrees 1 recovered. 
 
 After Borne time, I was able to quit a scene in which I had 
 played ■■' part so involuntarily conspicuous. Leaning on Wil- 
 loughby's arm, 1 with difficulty staggered out of the apartment, 
 and getting into a coach, drove home to the hotel. 
 
 On our arrival I thanked him for his assistance, and entreated 
 him to leave mi'. To this he at first demurred; but on my 
 more strongly urging the request, 1 was at length left alone. 
 
 For some time I continued walking up and down the apart- 
 ment in a State of pitiable mental confusion. The elements of 
 thought and feeling within me were conglomerated into con- 
 fused and inextricable masses. Therewas anarchy in my brain 
 and chaos in my heart. All impulses of soul and sense had 
 been awakened, and in their very multitude lay the cause of 
 my disordt i , 
 
 Mure enviable, perhaps, was even this condition than that by 
 which it was succeeded. Was it possible, 1 thought, that this 
 woman bad ever loved me, when, even at the moment when she 
 most have thought that 1 lay mangled and suffering in a foreign
 
 C7RIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XI.H. 391 
 
 land, (for I bad not mentioned to her my intention of returning 
 to England,) she was thus happy, and regardless of my fate? — 
 yes, the fate of one who had received the maiden vows of her 
 eternal love, whose bosom at parting had been moistened by her 
 tears, by whose arms she had been encircled, whose lips had 
 imprinted kisses on her burning cheek ! And yet within one 
 month— one little month — this being had been forgotten. She 
 had no sorrow for his fate — no tear for his memory. His mis- 
 fortunes had not banished the smile from her lips, nor dimmed, 
 even for a season, the sparkle of her eye. No grief had paled 
 her cheek — no melancholy remembrance lingered in her heart. 
 He had been whistled down the wind, a prey to fortune, unsor- 
 rowed for, and unloved. 
 
 True, indeed, she was free. I had given back the proud pro- 
 mise of her love. That precious gift had indeed been mine, but 
 it was mine no longer. I could accuse her of no wrong ; I had 
 suffered no injustice. But to be so soon forgotten ! It was there 
 my flesh quivered, and the iron entered into my soul. 
 
 I expected not that she should pine in unblest maidenhood for 
 my sake. But I did expect — why should I conceal my vanity ? 
 — that she would have wept for my loss, and lamented, at least 
 for a season, the unhappy fate by which we had been eternally 
 divided. Surely the memory of fond and unhappy love claimed 
 more than was compatible, at such a moment, with a light heart 
 and an unclouded brow. 
 
 For the first time I felt tired and disgusted with the world. I 
 imagined myself solitary and deserted — a being cut off from all 
 human sympathy for his sorrows and sufferings. On whom did 
 I now possess any claim for commiseration ? On my sisters ? 
 Was there not one dearer than they, to whom I had been bound 
 by ties yet stronger, and by whom that claim had been denied ? 
 But what, after all, was the commiseration of sisters ? Was that 
 alone sufficient to sweeten life, and reconcile me to the weary 
 burden it imposed? Was my cup not empty, because a single 
 drop might still remain in the goblet when its contents had been 
 dashed upon the ground ? 
 
 Not by day alone was I the victim of these mournful thoughts. 
 They came to me by night, and mingled poison in my dreams. 
 I loathed society ; even that of Willoughby was a burden, but 
 he would not forsake me. What had happened he knew not, 
 but he saw that something pressed heavily on my mind, and my 
 health had become evidently worse. Every symptom under 
 which I laboured was aggravated, and all his kind endeavours to 
 relieve the oppression which weighed me to the earth were employ- 
 ed in vain. The spell that bound me was a strong one, and would 
 not for a time be broken.
 
 392 CTBIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 Willoughby urged me to accompany him to Middlethorpe ; I 
 ■was glad to flee from London, and consented. The unhappy are 
 seldom stationary, for there is some relief even in mere locomo- 
 tion, to the dull monotony of settled sorrow. Lucy, too — I 
 would again embrace my sister; and that was something. To 
 me, indeed, it was now all; for what more of pleasure had the 
 world in store for me ? 
 
 We set out for Middlethorpe, and arrived there. As we passed 
 the farm, Willoughby stopped to give some orders, and left me 
 to proceed to the house alone. I descended from the carriage, 
 and enquiring for the ladies, was ushered into the drawing-room. 
 Laura was there alone. The servant had announced my name, 
 and she was deadly pale as I entered the apartment. She rose 
 as if she would have advanced to meet me, but yet remained 
 rooted to the spot, with both her hands extended towards me, in 
 token of welcome. I could but take one of them, and I pressed 
 it warmly in mine. 
 
 It was natural that I should be considerably moved, but the 
 sight of the emotion, which all her efforts could not conceal, 
 added greatly to mine. I endeavoured to address her cheerfully, 
 but though her lips moved, she answered not. The tears which 
 had collected in her fine eyes, rolled down her cheeks slowly, 
 and in large drops, as she gazed on me. There was no sobbing, 
 or convulsive agitation of the features. The current of her 
 emotion might be strong and deep, but there was calmness on 
 the surface. 
 
 Laura Willoughby had resumed her place on the sofa, and I 
 was about to seat myself beside her, when a sound of joy was 
 heard in the apartment — a soft rushing of feet, and scarcely had 
 my eyes caught a glance of Lucy, ere I felt myself clasped in 
 her arms, and she hung about my neck. Light as was her slen- 
 der form, the burden was too great for mv strength, and I stag- 
 gered hack a pace or two. She felt this, I think, for her grasp 
 became lighter, and pushing herself gently from me, she bent 
 her eyes upon my face, then uttering a faint scream, hid hers 
 in my bosom. 
 
 The emotion of this meeting brought on an attack of that 
 suffocating oppression which my wound had occasioned, and, 
 unable longer to support it, I sank exhausted into a seat. Laura 
 Willoughby observed my condition, and approaching gently, 
 she clasped Lucy in her arms, and the tears of these two kind 
 and beautiful creatures "ere mingled in a sorrowful embrace. 
 Lucy's -"lis came loud and convulsively; Laura shed tears, but 
 they were Bilenl ones. 
 
 This Bcene was interrupted by the entrance of Lady Wil- 
 loughby and Prank. The countenance of the good old lady
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXII. 393 
 
 showed that she partook considerably of the agitation by which 
 the party on her entrance was pervaded. 
 
 " We have all suffered much on your account, Cyril," she 
 addressed me ; " but, thank God, we see you once more restored 
 to your country and friends. I have felt for you as I would for 
 my own son, and as a son you must allow me to welcome youi 
 return." So saying, the dowager bent forward, and, for the 
 first time in her life, kissed my cheek. 
 
 I looked my gratitude, but could not speak. 
 " Come, come, young ladies," cried Frank, willing to relieve 
 a little the sombre character of the scene, " don't give my friend 
 Cyril so dismal a reception. lie has brought home, you see, 
 some honourable badges of his gallantry — a few scars, for which 
 a militia officer would give a thousand pounds, in order to look 
 like a veteran. To be sure he's rather weak, but now we've 
 got him amongst us, it will go hard but we'll set him on his legs 
 again. Depend upon it, a month of your good nursing and my 
 pleasant society, will make him another man. But don't throw 
 him at first into the blue-devils, by crying, as if he had come 
 back from the wars a mere raw-head and bloody-bones ; smiles, 
 not tears, are what are wanted for his recovery. Ah ! there's 
 the dinner-bell; so run away up stairs, and mind you come 
 down with pleasant faces." 
 
 Laura and Lucy, perhaps glad of an opportunity of recover- 
 ing themselves, withdrew, the latter kissing me as she passed, 
 though, I observed, she closed her eyes as she did so. 
 
 There is something soothing and gratifying to a man to find 
 himself the object of woman's tears. It is to woman we 
 naturally look for consolation in affliction ; from her alone it is 
 not mortifying to receive compassion. Man's pity hurts our 
 pride; woman's, like oil shed upon the billows, stills the heart. 
 When the ladies descended to dinner, Lucy's eyes were still 
 red, but she had mastered the violent emotion which the unex- 
 pected change in my appearance had excited in the morning. 
 She sat beside me with her hand clasped in mine, as if desirous 
 to receive stronger evidence than her sight afforded her of the 
 reality of my presence. I saw she had resolved to be calm, and 
 made strenuous efforts to be so, yet every now and then, when 
 she thought herself unperceived, she stole a glance at my coun- 
 tenance, and I saw again that the tears were brimming in her 
 eyes. Laura Willoughby, I thought, looked paler than I had 
 seen her of old. She sat with downcast eyes; but when she 
 spoke she raised them on me with a melting expression of kind- 
 ness, melancholy yet soothing, and there was tenderness in every 
 tone of her finely-modulated voice. 
 
 At Middlethorpe I was the engrossing object of interest to all.
 
 394 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 Willoughby was partial to field -sports, in which I was too ill to 
 participate, and his pursuits led him to be much abroad. My 
 exercise did not at first extend beyond a walk in the park, or a 
 short ride on a favourite shooting- pony. Even these, however, 
 1 was not suffered to make alone. When on foot, Lucy walked 
 with me, and was unhappy if I accepted not the support of her 
 arm. When I rode, her hand was on the bridal, guiding the 
 steps of the docile animal on the smoothest path. 
 
 Nor was Laura less assiduous than Lucy in rendering me all 
 those little offices of kindness, trifling perhaps in themselves, 
 yet deeply prized, because they evidently proceeded from a warm 
 and an affectionate heart. 
 
 Cold is his spirit who feels no flattering emotion in knowing 
 himself the engrossing object of the ministering cares of two 
 young and beautiful women. Their hands were ever ready to 
 arrange the pillows on my couch; and there were moments, as 
 I beheld their graceful forms hovering around it, when my heart 
 almost ceased to be forlorn, and its pulses beat as they had once 
 been wont. Never, indeed, for a moment was I absent from 
 their thoughts. My wants required no expression, for they 
 anticipated them all. When dull and dispirited, they soothed 
 me by their kind sympathy. On our return from walking, when 
 my weary limbs required repose, Laura Willoughby would sing 
 for me to the accompaniment of her harp, or read aloud a novel 
 of Miss Austin or Miss Edgeworth, while Lucy sat at my feet, 
 watching every look, and imagining little offices of kindness. 
 
 Frank Willoughby 1 s prediction was in some measure verified. 
 Before a month elapsed, my health was, indeed, greatly improved, 
 but there was a barbed arrow in my heart that could not be 
 withdrawn. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 Bid I hut purpose (o niili.irk with thee 
 On the mm... ith surface of a Bummer's sea, 
 While gentle zephyrs play in prosperous gales, 
 A ml Fori tine's favour Alls tl»' b welling sails 1 
 An. I would forsake the ship, and make the shore, 
 When the win. is whistle, and the tempests roar? 
 
 Pbiob. 
 
 I it \d been some weeks at Middlcrhorpe, when I received the 
 following letter from Lady Melieent. It was addressed to me 
 in Lisbon, and from thence had been returned to England : —
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIII. 395 
 
 " Your last melancholy letter, my dearest Cyril, has cost me 
 many tears. The thought of all you have endured, and the 
 evident depression of your spirits when you wrote, have caused 
 me deep uneasiness, and must continue to do so till I receive 
 happy tidings of your recovery. Believe me, I deeply sym- 
 pathize in all your sufferings. Would to God that, by any 
 sacrifice of mine, I could assuage your pain, and restore you to 
 happiness ! 
 
 " I know and appreciate the generous motives that prompted 
 you to resign all thoughts of our union ; and believe me, though 
 I consent that our engagement should cease, the motives which 
 actuate me are altogether unconnected with the personal mis- 
 fortunes you describe yourself to have suffered. Oh, no ! 
 Altered as you may be, in my eyes you must ever have remained 
 unchanged; nor could any loss of personal advantages have 
 induced me to swerve from promises so solemnly plighted. 
 
 " But perhaps we were rash in forming that engagement. I 
 confess that difficulties, which appeared small at a distance, seem 
 almost insurmountable on a nearer approach. I now perceive 
 that the hope, so long and fondly cherished, of obtaining my 
 father's consent to our union, is vain ; nor, were I to marry 
 against his wishes, could I ever hope for his forgiveness. 
 
 " It is for these reasons, and these alone, my dear Cyril, that 
 I now consent to break off our correspondence. Let us no 
 longer think or write as lovers ; but, believe me, I shall never 
 cease to feel a deep interest in your happiness; and when time, 
 as I trust it will, has softened the ardour of our feelings, we 
 may yet meet as friends — warm, unchangeable, and sincere 
 ones. 
 
 " You will only do me justice in believing, that to write thus 
 has cost me a severe struggle. Alas ! that it should have been 
 a necessary one. Farewell. And believe me ever, with un- 
 changing affection, 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 " M. De Verb." 
 
 I know not that the perusal of this letter produced any new 
 feelings of bitterness and disappointment, but it certainly added 
 new pungency to those from which I already suffered. Its 
 tone, I thought, was cold, heartless, and unfeeling. It was 
 evident she had never loved me. The cords of a love, that 
 deserved the name, could not thus have been broken by a sudden 
 wrench. When I remembered the tearless agony in which my 
 last words to her had been addressed, and read the answer which 
 these words had called forth, I felt that it never could have been 
 written by one who loved as I had done. I felt that there had
 
 396 CTEIL THOBNTON. CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 been, on my part, a needless waste of unparticipated suffering. 
 I had been led to play a dangerous game, and had been a loser ; 
 for that, indeed, I had myself to blame. But the players had 
 not hazarded equal stakes. She had played but with counters ; 
 I had set my all upon a die. Love, which was to her but as a toy 
 or an amusement, had been to me the very food of life. 
 
 But to what purpose were tbese reflections ? Be her faidts 
 what they might, my heart still clung to her. To me she was 
 still destined to be the object of fond and devoted passion. Her 
 empire had been established too firmly to be reconquered ; but 
 even were it otherwise, I would have remained a voluntary 
 bondsman : I willed not to be free. 
 
 Thus did the Lady Melicent still remain the engrossing 
 object of my thoughts. I suffered unutterable pain whenever I 
 heard her name even casually uttered in conversation. In this 
 respect poor Lucy was continually inflicting pangs of which she 
 was unconscious. The kindness of Lady Melicent, during her 
 stay at Staunton, had excited warm feelings of affection ; and 
 there was no theme on which she was more eloquent than the 
 grace, the beauty, and the thousand claims to admiration, of her 
 whose very name pierced me like a dagger. Lucy had not been 
 a confidant. She knew nothing of our attachment ; she saw 
 only what lay on the surface, and had not attempted to penetrate 
 beneath it. 
 
 About a fortnight after the arrival of tbe letter, we were 
 seated one morning at the breakfast-table, when Lucy, who had 
 just taken up the newspaper, attracted the attention of the party, 
 by her exclamations of pleasure and surprise. 
 
 " Well, this is extraordinary ! " she said, half-speaking to 
 herself, and half to the company. " How blind I must have 
 been never to have observed what was going on ! Indeed, I 
 always thought she positively disliked him. The courtship must 
 have been carried od very slily to escape my notice — but I'm so 
 glad she's married — I must write her a letter of congratula- 
 tion. I daresay she has not forgot to send me gloves and 
 bridecake." 
 
 Lucy's soliloquy, of course, attracted general attention, and 
 1 : t - k »-< I whose marriage it was that had excited so strong an 
 interest ? 
 
 " Nay, guess if you can," she answered playfully; " but on 
 second thoughts [don't think you ever could guess right; so I'll 
 relieve your curiosity by reading it. 
 
 " 'Married, by special license, at Staunton Court, by his Grace 
 the Archbishop of York, the Earl of Lyndhurst to the Lady 
 Melicent <le Vere, only (lauu liter of the Karl of Amersliam. The 
 celebration of the ceremony was strictly j)rivate, none being
 
 CTRII. THORNTON. CHAPTER XLITI. 397 
 
 present but the near relatives of the two noble families thus 
 happily united. In the evening a splendid entertainment was 
 given, to which all the rank and fashion of the county were 
 invited. Nothing could be more interestingly lovely than the 
 appearance of the bride. She wore a splendid dress of Brussels 
 lace, magnificently adorned with diamonds. After the ceremony 
 the happy pair set out, in a new travelling carriage ordered for 
 the occasion, for Battiscomb Park, the seat of the noble bride- 
 groom, to spend the honeymoon.' " 
 
 This, or something similar to this, was what Lucy read. In 
 a sort of convulsive stillness, I heard it to an end. The cup, 
 which I was raising to my lips as she began to read, was still 
 held untasted when she concluded. Then in a moment a violent 
 and irresistible impulse seized my frame, and dashing it, rather 
 than dropping it, from my hand, I sprung up and ran from the 
 apartment. As I passed, the hall door stood open, and I rushed 
 forth into the park. 
 
 It was a winter's day. The snow lay upon the ground, and 
 the wind, which blew from the north-east, was accompanied by 
 violent showers of hail. There was an unaccustomed vigour in 
 my limbs ; I felt a wild desire of motion, and hurried on, I knew 
 not, cared not, whither. Often, indeed, was I obliged to stop, 
 and pant, like a dying man, for a mouthful of breath ; but then 
 the fiend from which I fled overtook me, and again I rushed on. 
 My reason, which had withstood many assaults, had yielded at 
 last. The hailstones, driven by the wind, beat painfully on my 
 face, but I thought not of this, and quitting the park I ran madly 
 for the uplands. 
 
 The hare started from my foot, and fled from me afar off; 
 and the flocks of sheep as I approached them ran in wild con- 
 fusion from their food, as if scared by the approach of some 
 unholy thing. 
 
 This could not last long. I sunk at length overpowered amid 
 the snow, and lay shivering and helpless. Then, for the first 
 time, did my anguish find vent in words. 
 
 "Oh God!" I exclaimed, "why hast thou made a thing so 
 eminently lovely, thus merciless and cruel ? Does she not know 
 that the poor, maimed, and mangled creature, on whom she 
 tramples, can feel a pang as great as she, in all her beauty and 
 her pride ? Oh, why does she thus outrage the feelings of a heart 
 that would have died for her? Yet is not her nature soft? She 
 could not plunge a dagger in my bosom — she would shrink from 
 the sight of a fellow- creature broken alive upon the wheel — and 
 yet inflicts an agony, to which such sufferings are but mercy. 
 Oh, how long must I endure the grievous burden of life, and suffer 
 under theweight of madness and misery that presses upon my soul !
 
 398 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 '• Almighty God, to whose behests all nature ministers, grant 
 that, in these eold and wintry elements, 1 may tind the only balm 
 for wounds like mine — Death. Oh ! leave me not a desolate 
 and wretched being, in the hell of this unfeeling world !" 
 
 Thus madly, impiously did I rave, and the wind, as it covered 
 me with (he snow-drift, swept on, loaded with the sound of my 
 frantic imprecations. By degrees my limbs became icy cold, 
 ami at length 1 was silent, for the muscles of my throat refused 
 their office. The numbness gradually extended to my vitals, 
 and I lay a living being, yet without the power of motion. My 
 faculties seemed to have recovered from their temporary derange- 
 ment, and were again clear. I felt as if the union between mind 
 and body had been dissolved, and my free spirit waited only for 
 a signal to take its flight. 
 
 In this state I had lain for some time dying, and wishing to 
 die, when, at the bottom of the hill, I observed Frank Wil- 
 loti^hby, and some of the servants in search of me. They had 
 tracked my footsteps to the extremity of the park, but there, 
 from the drifting, they had been lost; and, extended in a line, 
 the party were now advancing towards me, hallooing at short 
 intervals as they proceeded. 
 
 They saw me not, for I was already white with the snow, and 
 I watched their progress with an anxious eye. 1 prayed they 
 might be delayed but for a i'vw minutes, for my heart beat 
 languidly, and at long intervals, and the blood was freezing in 
 my very bosom. 
 
 •• Lei but their footsteps linger a little longer, let the snow- 
 drift blind their eve- but for a short space, and all my earthly 
 sorrows will be over." 
 
 .My petition was not granted. I was observed — and in a 
 moment Frank Willoughby had thrown himself on the ground 
 beside me, and pressed me in his arms. 1 could not return his 
 embrace, nor answer his kind words. 1 had no power to move 
 :t Bingle muscle of my frame. Never was a spirit united to a 
 body by a smaller or more fragile link. 
 
 They raised me on their shoulders, and carried me to the 
 nearest cottage, where I remained till the arrival of a carriage to 
 
 convey me to .Midilhlliorpe. Before it came, the efforts to restore 
 
 animation to my Limbs had been partially successful, and the 
 sense of feeling had been excited. When we reached Middle- 
 thorpe, Lucy's grief, al beholding me Lifted from the carriage, 
 and with difficulty supported across the hall, was violent and 
 excessive. Laura, too, was there, but Niobe was not more still. 
 
 I was put instantly to bed. The doctor, who had already 
 been sent for, BOOB arrived, and pronounced that 1 laboured under 
 
 a violent inflammation of the chest. All the progress to conva-
 
 CYRIX THORNTON. CHAPTER XLllI. 399 
 
 lescence which I had hitherto made, was in one moment gone. 
 Copious bleeding was declared necessary, and carried into effect. 
 The violence of the disease was thus conquered, but I was 
 reduced by it to a state of even more than infantine weakness. 
 
 Never were the labours of love around a sick-bed more zea- 
 lously performed. Under what different aspects, even in my 
 short experience, had I already beheld woman. I had known 
 her in the hours of elation and joy, shedding grace and beauty 
 on life, and gilding the horizon with light and splendour. But 
 clouds had gathered on the surface of the sky — and the star had 
 hid its light- 
 Then I had known her in hours of pain and anguish, soft, 
 tender, generous, loving, and compassionate, charming the eye, 
 and pouring balm into the heart. Trite, indeed — but only trite, 
 because the heart of universal man has acknowledged them to 
 be true — are the exquisite lines of our mighty minstrel : — 
 
 Oh woman ! in our hours of ease, 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
 And variable as the shade 
 By the light-quivering aspen made, 
 When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 A ministering angel thou ! 
 
 My recovery was slow, for the stamina of my constitution, 
 originally firm, had at length given way, and its elasticity was 
 gone. I was pressed down by deep and settled dejection. Hith- 
 erto, perhaps, even unconsciously, a germ of hope had lain buried 
 in my heart ; if so, it was now crushed for ever. I knew at 
 once the worst and the best that could befall me. To all the 
 future arrows of fate I was invulnerable. Henceforward, hope 
 and fear were to be eradicated from my nature. One dull unvary- 
 ing shadow hung over my future life, neither to be brightened 
 into sunshine nor darkened into deeper gloom. 
 
 Weeks wore away; and the effect of time, and the warmth of 
 the advancing summer, had restored as much of a shattered 
 frame and constitution as appeared destined ever to be restored. 
 The affection of my lungs still continued, and the doctors spoke 
 of my chance of recovery as doubtful and remote. This moved 
 me little ; for though I sought not for death, I was yet indiffer- 
 ent to life. 
 
 Another and more interesting conviction had reached my 
 heart : I knew that I was beloved by Laura. Gradually and 
 slowly had this knowledge dawned upon me. In no look or 
 gesture had her love betrayed itself: no word of passion had been 
 spoken ; no written thoughts had unconsciously told the secret 
 of her bosom, yet I knew, and felt it to be so. 
 
 The conviction was to me a sad one. It brought with it no 
 feeling of triumph, no thought of pride. The time was past
 
 400 CYRIL THORNTON — CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 when it might have goaded on the sluggish current of my hlood, 
 and have lit up the Hashes of my sunken, soulless eyes. Alas! it 
 came no welcome intruder, for it was accompanied by deep and 
 bitter self-reproach. 
 
 Hitherto, in the sad story of my love, I had been more sinned 
 against than sinning, and I had felt the dignity of suffering 
 wrong. Towards the Lady Melicent, whatever might have been 
 my errors, they had been followed by more than the full measure 
 of expiation. The love that had been sown in rapture had been 
 reaped in agony, /alone had suffered — there had been no partner 
 in my pangs — one victim only had bled. 
 
 Now it was otherwise. I had ever regarded Laura with strong 
 affection ; but she had never been to me the object of vehement 
 and engrossing passion. The love I bore her had not been 
 incompatible with the deeper and more powerful sentiment 
 inspired by another. I had lived with Laura in habits of unre- 
 strained confidence. In brighter and happier days, how many 
 sweet hours had I passed in her society ! Our regard had begun 
 almost in infancy ; and never had the shadowy chain that linked 
 us together, from childhood to maturity, been broken. Had I 
 never known Lady Melicent, she would, I think, she must have 
 been the object to attract the whole undivided strength of my 
 aii'ections. As it was, 1 had given Laura cause to think she knew 
 my heart, and I had deceived her. My lips had never breathed 
 the secret of my passion for another. I had led her, in the 
 blindness of undoubting confidence, to the brink of a precipice, 
 and I felt thai her sufferings were my guilt. 
 
 Often, in moments of incredulous depression, would I start 
 back, from the conviction that I was, or could be the object of 
 love. But not as that of the world had been the love of Laura 
 Willoughby. It had stood the ordeal of time and of misfortune; 
 and what 1 had been to her in the days of prime, I now was in 
 those of in v decay. —My star had become pale, yet her love had 
 not waned; amid the darkness of nry misery it had shone 
 shadowless and unchanged. 
 
 I felt it a paramount duty that she should no longer be 
 deceived. Tardy and inadequate as such a reparation was, it 
 was now all 1 had to offer. Il was necessary that she should at 
 length learn the story of a blighted and withered heart. To 
 speak was painful, but to be silent — guilt; audi had already 
 become too familiar with suffering to care for the retrenchment 
 of a pang. 
 
 One morning, when we were seated alone in the drawing- 
 room, 1 determined to execute my task. 
 
 '•Laura," I began, "you remember the morning when, after 
 hearing the account of Lady Lyndhurst's marriage," (the words
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIII. 401 
 
 half stuck in my throat,) " I ran from the apartment like a mad- 
 man. Did you not think me a strange and unaccountable being ? 
 I am sure you did." 
 
 She did not answer, but gently raising her eyes, cast them on 
 my face, and a smile— a faint one — passed like a sudden gleam 
 of light over her countenance. 
 
 " I am sure you must, even if your own conjectures led you 
 to divine the cause." 
 
 " Yes," she answered in a low and soft voice, " the cause of 
 your agitation could not be mistaken. I think I already 
 know all." 
 
 " No, not all, Laura, not all. God, the searcher of hearts, 
 alone can know all ; but something of my story — enough, per- 
 haps, for your kind heart to compassionate — I would, if you will 
 permit me, now tell you." 
 
 She again raised on me her moist and beautiful eyes, with a 
 look that sank into my soul. 
 
 " Nay, Cyril," she said, taking my hand as she spoke, " do 
 not now enter on a subject on which it is impossible for you to 
 speak without agitation. I, too, know that memory is painful ; 
 and it were perhaps wiser not to break the slumber of past sor- 
 rows. Think rather on the future ; that at least may be gilded 
 by the fancy ; the present and the past are beyond our power." 
 
 " To me, Laura, there is no future, or, at least, such as the pre- 
 sent is the future will be — must be. True, my eyes may gaze on 
 new scenes, and my own circumstances and those of the world 
 around me, may be changed. But that wintry world that is 
 within, no second spring can ever renovate. I feel that to be 
 changeless as the grave. For me, futurity has nothing brighter 
 or darker than the present. Such as I am, death must find me." 
 " You talk sadly, Cyril ; you ought not — you must not, indulge 
 in such gloomy presentiments. It is wrong, Cyril, very wrong 
 to despair. Even in this world there Is a balm for every wound 
 but dishonour. I speak to you as a friend, for I have ever 
 looked upon you as my best," she hesitated, " my dearest one. 
 Give not way to this sinking of the spirit, I entreat you. It 
 is ungrateful — it is sinful." 
 
 " I have, I fear, talked more sadly than I intended," I answered, 
 endeavouring as I spoke to smile, " for I meant not to distress 
 you. I will now speak calmly. — You have never, I think, seen 
 Lady Lyndhurst ; but the fame of her beauty— of her fascina- 
 tion, has of course reached you ?" 
 
 Laura bowed slightly, without raising her head, and her face 
 was hid from my gaze. 
 
 "I loved her." With what love I will not speak. You think, 
 perhaps, this was madness, but I did more than even this. I 
 
 2c
 
 402 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLI1I. 
 
 told her of my love. I will not say it was returned, but our 
 troth, at least, was mutually plighted. I quitted my country 
 bearing with me the full treasure of my happiness in the confi- 
 dence of being- loved. Her image never left me. It forsook 
 me not on sea or on land, in the tent, in the siege, or on the battle 
 field. She was the subject of my prayers, and of my dreams — 
 of all thoughts — all passions — all hopes which moved my being. 
 
 "In a liniment I became the creature you now behold me. 
 The struggle between life and death was a long one ; but in 
 pain and suffering her image was still with me, and I recovered. 
 
 " Then I released her from her promise. For worlds I would 
 not have bound her to a creature like myself. I received a cold 
 answer to my letter; 1 saw her, on my arrival in London, happy 
 and careless of my fate — and, in less than two months, she was 
 married to another. 
 
 " Tell me not to banisli her from my heart. It were but a waste 
 of words to do so. Believe me, I have striven strongly, fearfully, 
 and vainly, and 1 know it cannot be." 
 
 At first, when 1 had done speaking, Laura bent her head for- 
 wards to the table, and, pressing it with her hands, remained in 
 that posture for about a minute; then, as if suddenly acquiring 
 strength to command her emotion, she once more turned her face 
 towards me, and it was calm: — I say calm — for, although deep 
 pity and interest were never more legibly expressed, her coun- 
 tenance retained no trace of more violent emotion. 
 
 " Cyril,' - she said, "yours is indeed a melancholy tale. I know 
 — at least, 1 think I know — your character, and can imagine 
 through what sufferings you have passed. I would comfort you, 
 Cyril, but what nave I to otter but tears? You see they are 
 your-," pointing at the same time to my baud, already moistened 
 with them — "take them, they are my all." 
 
 " Yes, Laura, 1 receive them, and, believe me, with a grateful 
 heart," rai ing at tin- same time my hand to my lips, and kiss- 
 ing away the drops that lay on it. "Earth can now afford 
 nothing more precious than these tears. The wounds for which 
 they afford no balm are indeed incurable." 
 
 " Though J cannot comfort you," she resumed, "I would yet 
 entreat you, by all you hold dear on earth anil surely, Cyril, 
 there is still much to which your heart grapples — not to yield 
 yourself to despondency. You have been, and are, perhaps, yet 
 destined to be tossed on a stormy sea. To your eye no haven 
 
 may be near -no ray of hope may shine in the surrounding 
 
 dail. in- ; Imt yo -e alike called on by reason and religion, to 
 
 bullet with the waters to the last, and, at least, not to sink a 
 BUpine and willing victim in the aby-s. 
 
 "Let your trust be in that God who raised the tempest, and
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIII. 403 
 
 can again calm it. Cast yourself on him, with a full reliance 
 on his mercy, and he will not forsake you in the struggle." 
 
 I was silent, and she proceeded. 
 
 " I am a bad preacher, Cyril, and I fear I weary you. I have 
 touched on a subject, perhaps too sacred to be even alluded to 
 by one like me. Pardon me, for I have indeed spoken in the 
 fulness of my heart." 
 
 Most beautiful and benign was the expression of her counte- 
 nance at that moment. Never had her eye gleamed more 
 brightly — never had the music of her sweet voice fallen so 
 meltingly on my ear. But the tears which, as she spoke, had 
 ceased to flow, again fell fast, and bending down her forehead, 
 she covered it with her hands. 
 
 " Do not think, Laura," and I took her unresisting hand as I 
 spoke ; " do not think, Laura, though my heart be not now 
 fitted to receive them, that your words have fallen on a cold 
 and an ungrateful soil. They have been treasured here— they 
 may long - lie dormant, but they shall not die; and it may happen 
 that, like bread cast upon the waters, their consolation may be 
 found after many days. Forgive me, Laura, for the pain which 
 it is too evident I have occasioned you. There is no other being 
 on earth to whom I could have disclosed the secret that preys 
 on me. It concerns not me alone, but with you it is safe." 
 
 She answered only by a look, that spoke plainly as words, 
 "Can you doubt it?" 
 
 Much did we talk of on that morning ; and the voice of her 
 sweet soothing was not without its influence on my irritable 
 spirits. She spoke comfort to me, and I was comforted, for I 
 knew that she shared my sorrows ; and as we parted, the thought 
 stole, almost unconsciously, into my heart, that if, in my brighter 
 days, I had loved Laura Willoughby, happiness might yet have 
 been mine.
 
 404 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Though hills were set on hills, 
 And sens met seas to guard tliee, I would through ; 
 I'd plough ui> rocks Bteep as the Alps in dust, 
 And lave the Tyrrhene waters into clouds, 
 But I would reach thy head. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 Nor sleep nor sanctuary, 
 Being naked, si.-k.-. nor fane, nor Capitol, 
 The prayerB of priests, nor times of sacrifice, 
 Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up 
 Their rotten privilege and custom 'gainst 
 My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it 
 At home upon my brother's guard, even there, 
 Against the hospitable canon, would I 
 \\ ash my fierce hand in his heart. 
 
 Coriolanut. 
 
 On the morning following this conversation, the post brought 
 me two letters. The first 1 opened was from my uncle. I had 
 written to him since my return ; but as it was probable Ave might 
 never meet again, I had not thought it necessary to inflict on 
 him the pain of learning the nature and consequences of my 
 wounds. 
 
 This letter was to desire, if possible, I would again visit him. 
 lie was old, he said, and his decreasing strength told him, that 
 if we were again to see each other in this world, our meeting 
 must he a speedy one. Had his infirmities been less, he would 
 have spared me this journey, hut lie was now unequal to travel, 
 ami hoped I had still regard enough for an old man that loved 
 in.', In \isit him once more before I quitted England to rejoin 
 the army, if that indeed was my intention. 
 
 At the end of the epistle was inserted, probably by stealth, 
 the following characteristic note from Girzy: — 
 
 " Nbo, Maister Cyril, dinna be camstairy, but just pit yer lit 
 in the coach, and ionic yer ways doon, to gladden the ecu o' yrv 
 aidd uncle wf a sight o' ye, afore he gangs the way o' a' flesh. 
 Puir man, he's had a sair dooncome sin' ye parted ; but he's aye 
 toddlin 1 about, and ranna gel his heart awa' frae the coontin'- 
 QOUSe. Oh! tin' Mammon o' siller, it's an unco trial to the 
 corruption of the human heart! Hut I maun say this for Mr 
 Spreull, that there's mony o' them thai spend mair freely, wha 
 care mail- abonl it than lie does. Ye mind, ye promised to come 
 back afore ye gaed awa' ; but dinna neglecfc to gic me a day or 
 twa's notice, thai 1 may gel the carpet o'yer room weel chappit 
 b\ Sanders Macauslan, and hae yer bed aired as should hi'. — 
 Your loving servant, 
 
 " Girzy Black."
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 405 
 
 The other letter awakened feelings deeper and more -violent. 
 It was from William Lumley, to whose management I had 
 intrusted the legal measures which were in progress in Doctors' 
 Commons against Hewson for a separation. Miserable, indeed, 
 was the intelligence it conveyed. 
 
 It had been ascertained, he said, that poor Jane, under the 
 brutal treatment of her husband, had become insane, and was now 
 in confinement in a private madhouse in Gloucestershire. By 
 a sudden impulse, I crushed the letter in my hand as the words 
 met my eye, and ringing, ordered the carriage to the door as 
 soon as possible. I did not communicate this intelligence to 
 Lucy, for I wished as long as might be to spare the pangs it 
 could not but occasion ; and requesting Frank Willoughby to 
 become the partner of my journey, I told him in a whisper, that 
 my motive in making the request should be explained to him on 
 the road. He consented. All the requisite preliminaries of 
 travel were speedily arranged ; and in'less than an hour, Frank 
 Willoughby and myself were rolling rapidly on our way to 
 Feltham. 
 
 I then communicated to him the fearful tidings which had 
 occasioned this sudden journey, and my firm resolution no longer 
 to delay calling Hewson to account for his base and inhuman 
 conduct. My blood boiled as I proceeded in the narrative ; and 
 every effort of my companion to allay the tempest of my spirit 
 was in vain. 
 
 True, I was bound over to keep the peace to Hewson. What 
 then ? Had every shilling I possessed in the world, or might 
 hereafter possess, depended on my forbearance towards this 
 wretch ; nay, more, had the infliction of just punishment on his 
 head been attended with disgrace as well as beggary, it_ would 
 not at that moment have changed one iota of my resolution. _ I 
 would have sacrificed all to the gratification of this one ruling 
 purpose of my heart. Had he been separated from my vengeance 
 by a wall of fire, I would have gone through flames to reach 
 him. At the price of ages of torture, I would have bought an 
 opportunity to smite the villain to the earth — to spurn — to spit 
 on him. 
 
 Willoughby soon saw that dissuasion was hopeless, in the 
 state of extreme morbid excitement under which I laboured, and 
 limited his endeavours to moderating rather than opposing the 
 impetuous current of my feelings. Though rejected as a coun- 
 sellor, he remained with me as a friend. 
 
 We slept on the road, and on the following day reached Hew- 
 son's. I wished to have an interview with him alone, and for 
 this reason Willoughby consented to remain at a little inn a few 
 miles distant, while I proceeded unaccompanied to the house.
 
 406 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Hewson was at home. The servant announced my name, and 
 I was shown into an apartment, where I found him seated alone. 
 He rose hastily from his chair, with an air of mingled fear and 
 embarrassment, as I entered, and bowed. His salutation was 
 not returned, and an interval of silence ensued. Hewson, who 
 at first had been taken by surprise, was too much a man of the 
 world not speedily to recover sufficient self-command to ad- 
 dress me. 
 
 " Major Thornton," he said, I should be happy were I suf- 
 fered to look on this visit as a prelude to the return of that 
 good understanding between us, which I regret has ever been 
 interrupted. Pray be seated." 
 
 " No, sir — in your house, never. My business with you is 
 short, and may be settled standing. Our account has been 
 allowed to run too long, and the balance has become a large one. 
 It must now be wiped off." 
 
 " If you allude to any thing pecuniary — the fortune of your 
 sister — I am always ready" 
 
 " No. Such matters I leave to the law. I come as the bro- 
 ther of a wife whom your brutal outrage has driven to madness, 
 to bring you to a reckoning of a different sort." 
 
 Weak and irritable as I was become from long and severe ill- 
 ness, my agitation every moment increased, and 1 was acted upon 
 by impulses over which I could exercise no control. The whole 
 volume of my blood seemed sent upwards into my brain, and I 
 spake the words not of reason but of passion. Hewson saw my 
 emotion, for my whole frame shook with it. 
 
 " I do not understand you, sir," he replied. " If your inten- 
 tions are hostile towards me, you could not presume to violate 
 the sanctuary of my own house?" 
 
 " Yes, the sanctuary of God's house ; and were you snatched 
 from my living vengeance, even the sanctuary of the grave. I 
 would go there, even for the sake of trampling on the corrupt- 
 ing remains of a scoundrel." 
 
 " Sir, I will hear such language from no man, and least "of all 
 in my own house," — rising at the same time and hastily approach- 
 ing the bell, a^ if to ring for assistance. 
 
 1 intercepted him, and pushing him hack, produced a pair of 
 small pistols from the pocket of my great-coat, which, after he 
 retired, I threw upon the table. 
 
 • You will not hear it ! I congratulate you. I rejoice to be 
 spared further experiments on the limits* of your sufferance. 
 There, sir -the means of redress are before you. Take one of 
 these pistols, and use it with the spirit of a man." 
 
 The face of the craven grew pale as death. 
 
 L- Are yon aware of the consequences of such mad and blood-
 
 CYRLL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 407 
 
 thirsty conduct?" he asked, in a voice with some tremor in it. 
 " You are bound over to keep the peace in a large penalty." 
 
 "Were I bound in penalty of my salvation," I interrupted, 
 " the bond should be estreated. It is only because I know from 
 your conduct that you want courage to meet me in the field, 
 that I am forced thus to deal with you. Will you fight ? Speak 
 — is there even one dormant spark of courage in your heart?" 
 
 " I will not fight — not now, at least — not in this manner, and 
 without witnesses." 
 
 " Nay, nay," I answered, " think on it again. Do not suffer 
 yourself to be buffeted and spit upon — to be proclaimed a coward 
 in the highway. — Dastard as you are, can you encounter this, 
 when, by one momentary exercise of courage, it may be 
 avoided ? " 
 
 I took the pistols from the table, and advancing close up to 
 him, as he stood the figure of a corpse, and holding them by the 
 muzzle, extended them towards him. He shrunk back. 
 
 "Villain, miscreant, despicable coward ! you can wreak your 
 brutal ferocity on a weak and helpless icoman — outrage the 
 sanctity of her pure, and innocent, and confiding heart, and 
 goad her, till, in the very madness you have caused, she finds a 
 refuge from your inhuman persecution ! How does your dastard 
 spirit shrink before a man! How tamely and submissively do 
 you now stand trembling before me, bearing contumelies which 
 you dare not resent ! Raise my opinion of human nature, let me not 
 believe the earth holds a reptile so vile and so degraded ! Take 
 a pistol, and signalize a life of vice and meanness, by at least 
 one faint glimmering of manhood." 
 
 I a°rain extended the pistols towards him, and he took one. 
 
 " Hah, this is well ! I will cross the apartment, and the sig- 
 nal to fire shall be given by you." 
 
 I turned about for this purpose, but had scarcely gone a pace 
 or two when he fired. The bullet passed through the collar of 
 my coat, but without injuring me, and lodged in the opposite 
 wainscot. When I turned round, he had flown to the bell, and 
 was ringing furiously for assistance. 
 
 "Vile and wretched assassin ! " I exclaimed, "I will not de- 
 fraud the gibbet of its prey; I will not fire on a thing so utterly 
 despicable ;" and hurling my pistol, with all my strength, at his 
 nead, it struck him on the mouth, and dashed out several of his 
 teeth. Just then the door opened, and servants entered the 
 apartment. I lost no time in quitting the hated roof, and 
 returned to my carriage. 
 
 I found Willoughby waiting my arrival, and related to him 
 those particidars of my interview withHewson of which the reader 
 is already in possession. I had brought him with me, because
 
 408 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIT. 
 
 I foresaw that circumstances might have occurred in which the 
 presence of a friend might have been necessary. Now there was 
 no occasion to impose a further burden on his kindness, and on 
 the following morning we parted ; he to return to Middlethorpe, 
 I to proceed on a melancholy errand, in which the society even 
 of Willoughby woidd have been painful. 
 
 It was to visit the poor unhappy Jane that I now bent my 
 footsteps. A shuddering came over me at the thought of the 
 sad condition in which I was about to behold her. I, too, had 
 been unfortunate; but when I compared my situation with hers 
 — the burden under which my stronger shoulders had bent, with 
 that which had pressed her fragile frame to the earth, I felt as if 
 I had been guilty of ingratitude in repining at my fate. In 
 duration, if not in intensity, hers had far transcended mine. 
 Jane's had been the sufferings of years, mine but of months. My 
 reason had survived, hers had sunk in the conflict. 
 
 During the journey, however, I thought not of myself, I 
 remembered only Jane and her unhappy fate. Her countenance, 
 in all its lineaments of youthful beauty, rose vividly in my 
 memory. Her mild, bright, and dovelike eyes beamed on me 
 with more, if possible, than even a sister's love. I beheld her 
 fair forehead shaded with its bright ringlets of sunny hair. The 
 smile of joy was on her lips, as it had been, when in youth- 
 ful days she came to welcome the return of her brothers to their 
 home. My ear drank in the silver tones of her glad voice as I 
 pressed her in my arms. 
 
 Such was the creature on which my memory had ever dwelt. 
 Good God, what was she now! Was this the desolate and 
 deserted maniac whom I was about to behold? Oh, would that 
 she had died ! I could have laid Iter in the earth, as I had laid 
 Others as dear; but to find her thus! My own dear, loving, and 
 beloved sister, the inmate of a madhouse! There may he phi- 
 losophy enough to enable a man to bear such a thought, but I 
 did not possess it. 
 
 Engrossed bj Bad reflections, the hours passed on, and I at 
 length approached the object of my destination. It was a large 
 building, situated at some distance from the mad, gloomy, I 
 
 thought; bul perhaps this arose only from the sad associations 
 
 which were linked with it. The house was surrounded by a 
 high wall, and we drove through a massive gate, which was 
 Opened by a middle-aged man of sinister and forbidding aspect. 
 
 In a large court-yard before the house, the windows of which 
 
 were BeCUred by iron liars, like those of a prison, there was a 
 
 considerable number of men. some of them rather prepossessing 
 in appearance, playing at howls, chuckfarthing, and other games 
 of a similar description. The passing carriage, however, seemed
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 409 
 
 to arrest both the eye and attention of all; and I heard several 
 voices call out, " Here's another come" — " another poor devil, 
 to be confined as we are" — " let us see him." 
 
 We had already stopped at the door of the house, and I had 
 enquired for the head of the establishment, when a respectably 
 dressed and grave-looking personage stepped up to the door of 
 the carriage, and addressed me with those customary salutations 
 with which strangers in this country generally preface an 
 attempt at conversation. 
 
 " Good-morning, sir. 1 hope you've had a pleasant journey. 
 Have you come far to-day ? You like what you've seen of your 
 new abode, I hope; you'll find in it very pleasant society,I assure 
 you." 
 
 I answered that my stay would be too short to enable me to 
 judge of such particulars. I should probably be gone in an 
 hour. 
 
 " Ah, sir, don't believe them," answered my grave friend, with 
 an incredulous shake of the head. "They told me so too when 
 I first came, but I've already been here seven years, and I now 
 believe I shall never quit it till death." Then turning to his 
 companions, I heard him say as he retired, " Poor fellow, he tells 
 me he is not going to stay above an hour or two ;" and peals of 
 maniac laughter rang loudly from his auditors. 
 
 The servant, who had been in search of the doctor, now 
 returned, to say that he was at home ; and alighting I was shown 
 into his presence. He was a little squinting man, dressed in 
 black, with a powdered head, and received me with a profusion 
 of bows. The apartment in which I found him was in character 
 something of a nondescript. One end of it gave indication of 
 its being a library, and displayed a bookcase, the shelves of which 
 seemed tolerably filled. Another was fitted up like the shop of 
 an apothecary, with rows of glass bottles and gallipots, and 
 drawers, and compartments, all duly labelled in golden letters, 
 according to the formula of the Pharmacopeia. The sides were 
 hung with anatomical preparations, interspersed with stuffed 
 animals, and prints of John Hunter, Dr Boerhaave, and other 
 eminent professors of the healing art. The most striking object 
 on the chimneypiece was a child with two heads, preserved in 
 spirits, flanked by sundry other specimens of lusus naturm equally 
 pleasant and interesting. Over the doctor's table, suspended in 
 a cage, hung a large grey parrot, and a fat and pursy poodle 
 lay snoozing before the fire upon the rug. 
 
 On my entrance, the Doctor, after a profusion of bows, 
 requested me to be seated, displacing, at the same time for my 
 accommodation, a large brass pestle and mortar, which occupied 
 the only arm-chair in the apartment. I sat for some time silent,
 
 410 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 unable, or unwilling to make the effort necessary to enter in words 
 on so painful a subject as that which occupied my thoughts. 
 
 " May I request, sir," at length, said the polite Doctor, " that 
 you would be good enough to state to what cause I am indebted 
 for the honour of this interview." 
 
 This roused me. 
 
 " I am so unfortunate, sir, as to have a sister at present under 
 your care. I am Major Thornton of Thornhill, in the county 
 
 of , and my sister's name is Mrs Hewson. I shall feel 
 
 obliged to you to give me what information you can, with 
 regard to her present condition, and the prospect it affords of 
 recovery." 
 
 " Why, Major, she is certainly better, considerably better, 
 since she was placed under my charge," taking down at the same 
 time a large folio volume, and turning over the leaves. " I 
 always keep a record of the state of my patients. Let me see 
 — brought here by Mr Hewson's housekeeper and bailiff, on the 
 17th of November. Pulse quick and feverish, eye dilated, mind 
 high, uttered loud screams when touched, raved of her brother 
 (that's you, I suppose, Major) and family. Bled and adminis- 
 tered an anodyne. — 18th. Same state. — 19th. Symptoms the 
 same, though somewhat diminished; and so on, I see, till the 
 23d of December. Change of symptoms, great depression, eye 
 sunk and heavy, no appetite, never speaks. Prescribed change 
 of diet, fifty drops of Tinct. vol. Valer., to be taken three times 
 a-day, diluted in water. — All January no change. — 12th of 
 February, higher than usual, talks much and loud, seems fright- 
 ened at some object she imagines to be before her; let me see, 
 this continues till the 19th. — Spirits again low, rejects food, 
 was observed yesterday to shed tears, and since that time to the 
 present, no material change has taken place." 
 
 Iiaving extracted all the information I could from the Doctor 
 with regard to poor Jane's condition, I next desired to see her, 
 and thai the interview should be without witnesses. The feel- 
 ings with which I regarded the approaching meeting may be 
 conceived, but not expressed. I was conducted by a matronly 
 and respectable-looking woman through long passages, in our 
 progress along which, the loud shriek of madness, and voices 
 nideously discordant, reached my ear. 
 
 We at length entered a chamber, where, seated at the window, 
 from which she looked with a vacant gaze, I beheld Jane. She 
 was paler and thinner than when I had last seen her, and I 
 missed those beautiful ringlets, by which till now her counte- 
 nance had ever been shaded and adorned. She did not turn her 
 head as I entered, nor change the direction of her eyes; and I 
 stood some time gazing upon her before she saw me.
 
 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 41 1 
 
 At length I was observed, and with a look that betrayed 
 something of fear, she sprang from her seat. I had now a full 
 view of her face. Not a feature had lost its beauty. Even the 
 eyes were the same ; but there was resulting from the whole — 
 an indescribable change of expression, for which, from mere 
 examination of the features, it would have been difficult to 
 account. Jane looked on me, but evidently without recognition. 
 
 " Oh, Jane! " I exclaimed, approaching her as I spoke, " Do 
 you not know me?" 
 
 She started back from me with a slight scream. 
 
 " Do not fear, Jane," I went on, " it is Cyril — it is your 
 brother, who has come again to embrace you. Will you not wel- 
 come him ?" 
 
 Her eyes, which till now, notwithstanding my presence, had 
 been wandering and unsettled, were fixed steadfastly upon me, 
 as if scrutinizing the truth of my assertion, by a survey of my 
 person. At length, bursting into a laugh, every note of which 
 pierced me like a dagger, she exclaimed — 
 
 " No, no, you think I'm mad, and therefore that I'll believe 
 any thing ! You, Cyril Thornton — Ynu my brother, you, you ! " 
 and again the chamber rang with her laugh. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Jane, I am your brother — your unhappy brother ! 
 Do you not remember my voice — the happy days of our childhood 
 — how on summer evenings we roamed together in the Cromer 
 wood, and with my brother Charles, who died by my hand, we 
 knelt side by side at the knee of our angel mother, to receive 
 her blessing ere we retired to rest with innocent and happy 
 hearts?" 
 
 The scenes which I wished to recall to her memory rushed 
 back with overwhelming force upon my own. The tears fell 
 fast from my eyes, and I could not proceed. Jane looked on me 
 again, if possible, with a keener gaze than before, as if wavering 
 in her belief. 
 
 " No, no !" she at length exclaimed, " I will not — cannot believe 
 it. What a creature are you to tell me you are Cyril Thorn- 
 ton ! Well do I remember his fair face and his glad blue eyes; 
 and do you, with that scarred and hideous visage, declare you 
 are my brother ? Go. You are gaunt and haggard, and hate- 
 ful to look upon ; get from my sight, you cannot deceive me ; 
 I am not mad enough." 
 
 Her countenance flushed up with anger as she spoke, and the 
 brilliance of passion shone in her eyes. She averted her head 
 when she had done speaking, as if the sight of me aroused 
 unpleasant feelings ; but when she turned it again, and saw that 
 I still stood unmoved before her, she stamped, in vehement pas- 
 sion, with her small and beautiful foot upon the floor.
 
 412 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 " Begone, I say, why do you still haunt me with your fright- 
 ful presence ? Go — 1 am not your sister : my brother is not 
 mutilated as you are, his face is a fair and a happy one ; but I 
 shall never see him more, lie knows not that his sister is con- 
 fined in a common madhouse. No, no, he is far away, or they 
 durst not keep me here." 
 
 Clad was I to behold the tears that sprung into her eyes, for, 
 as I saw them, my heart whispered to me, " There is yet hope." 
 
 "Jane — dearest Jane, do not turn thus from a brother, to 
 whom you are dearer than his life-blood. True, I am sadly 
 changed since you last saw me. Look at this scar upon my 
 face ; it is by this — by deep sorrow, and by long and grievous sick- 
 ness, that my countenance has been changed. I have been in 
 tlic wars; you know I was a soldier— my arm, too, is gone — I 
 am but a "wreck of what you remember me ; yet believe me, 
 Jane, I have brought home a heart that loves you fondly as 
 ever ; an arm that, while life remains, will protect you. Nay. 
 doubt me not. 1 will tell you of old times — of our mother — 
 our father — Charles, and little Lucy, the delight of all our 
 hearts. I will speak to you of Thornhill — of the swans upon 
 the little lake — their nest on its woody island, and the bower 
 that Charles and I built for you on its margin. I will recall to 
 your memory the happy hours spent in the summer-house on 
 the hill, where our young eyes used to gaze with wonder and 
 delight upon the setting sun, and the sound of your sweet music 
 often mingled with the song of the nightingale. Do you see 
 those tears, Jane? Do you hear the choking utterance with 
 which I speak to you of days of happiness now long gone by? 
 Do you gee how this hand trembles, as 1 stretch it towards you, 
 and do you still doubt that I am Cyril— the brother whom you 
 love, and who swears, as there is a God in heaven, never — never 
 to forsake you ? " 
 
 •• < Mi, yes," >he exclaimed, "you are indeed Cyril! I remem- 
 ber your voice — I know you now," and she fell forwards upon 
 my bosom. I clasped her with my arm, and pressed her half- 
 lifeless form to my heart, kissing, as she lay, her pale and motion- 
 less lips. 
 
 She soon recovered, hut a long silence ensued, which I wished 
 not to interrupt. Wrong, indeed, was I, when I said there was 
 DO joy in -tore for me on earth. Never, even in my happiest 
 
 day-, did I experience a momenl of more exquisite delight, than 
 that in which Jane recognized me I'm" her brother, and fell into 
 my arms. Ii was a jo\ so pure, and unalloyed by earthly dross, 
 a- even beatified Spirits might have partaken of without con- 
 tamination of their purer nature. 
 
 When -he again opened her eyes, and cast them on the face
 
 CYRIL THORXTON CHAPTER XLIV. 413 
 
 that was bent over hers, it seemed as if doubt had again seized 
 her, for she pushed me rudely back, and recoiled from my 
 embrace. 
 
 " Nay, I am deceived ; this is not the face of Cyril ; wretch 
 that you are, thus to torture the heart of a poor mad creature ! 
 Speak — speak again, that I may hear your -voice ; but dare not 
 to impose on one so desolate and friendless — for God, who is 
 the shield of the helpless, the friend of those that have no friend 
 on earth, the husband of the widow, the father of the shivering 
 orphan, from whose protection even the poor maniac is not an 
 outcast — He will avenge my cause, and visit cruelty and false- 
 hood like yours with a terrible punishment." 
 
 Again I spoke to her of old times, and again she was cairn, 
 and knew me for her brother. She clasped me in her arms, and 
 dropping her head upon my shoulder, wet my bosom with her 
 tears. 
 
 "You will take me from this hateful house — you have not 
 come again to forsake me — you will not leave me to the care of 
 cold and heartless strangers. True, I am mad, but I am harm- 
 less—why, oh why, should I be confined in a place like this ? 
 Why am I debarred from the pure air of heaven, from the sight 
 of the clear blue skv ? Why am I not suffered to roam on the 
 green meadow, or sit by the gurgling brook, as we were wont in 
 the days of childhood, listening to the blackbird in the bush, 
 and the ringdove in the tree ? Why am I shut out from all that 
 is gay and beautiful in the world, immured by dark walls, with 
 terrible voices in my ear, and glared upon by frightful faces ? 
 Oh ! if you are my brother, you will not leave me here. Never 
 would Cyril have suffered a rude hand to touch me ; were he 
 indeed here, I should be safe — I know — I know I should." 
 
 " Be calm, my dear, my beloved Jane, and do not agitate your 
 mind with vain fears. Not all earth's treasures, or heaven's 
 blessedness, would tempt me to forsake you. Not long, believe 
 me, shall you remain an inmate of this dismal dwelling. You 
 shall return to Thornhill — you shall once more wander on the 
 meadows and in the wood, and sit by the brook that murmurs 
 through the shady glen, downwards to the fair Severn. Never 
 shall your person be profaned by the touch of rude hands, 
 and no voice, save that of kindness and of love shall meet your 
 ear. 
 
 Unused as poor Jane had been to tenderness, my words, and 
 perhaps the deep feeling that governed my voice, seemed to 
 produce a strange revulsion in her frame. I supported her to a 
 seat, and she remained pale, and with closed eyes, and motion- 
 less, save a scarcely perceptible quivering of her lips. I sat 
 at her feet, with her hand clasoed in mine, but not venturing to
 
 414 CTRUL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 interrupt by speech the current of her emotion. At length 
 she opened her eyes, and rising, yet still holding her hand, I 
 again addressed her. 
 
 " Endeavour to collect your mind, my poor Jane, and listen 
 to me. Though it is necessary that 1 quit you now, think not 
 that 1 have forsaken you. I go only to prepare for your deliver- 
 ance. Believe me, though you see him not, that your brother 
 is active in your cause. Scarcely shall these eyes know sleep, 
 or these limbs rest, till he beholds you once more in your 
 father's house. Be calm, my dearest sister ; think not you are 
 friendless and forsaken while 1 live. Farewell — and may the 
 bles-ings of a God, infinitely merciful, rest upon you." 
 
 I kissed her lips, and pressed her to my bosom as I spoke, but 
 she remained still as marble till 1 had quitted the apartment. 
 The matron, who had formerly conducted me, stood waiting at 
 the door, which she immediately locked. A loud shriek reached 
 me as I re-trod the long passage, and the words — " My God, 
 has he forsaken me ! " thrilled through the very marrow of my 
 bones. 
 
 I a^ain saw the Doctor before T departed, and directed that 
 poor Jane should be treated with every kindness till my return, 
 holding out, at the same time, a promise of reward if I found 
 my instructions were complied with. The Doctor having 
 solemnly engaged it should be so, I stepped into the carriage, 
 and quitted the melancholy mansion. 
 
 The horses' heads were turned towards Thornhill, and my 
 journey was made as rapidly as possible As I approached, the 
 house appeared deserted ; no smoke rose from the chimneys, and 
 the windows of the principal apartments were closed. 1 had 
 given no intimation of my coining, and of course was not 
 expected. In the place, too, all those little observances, and that 
 attention to minute adornment which indicates the presence of 
 a master, had been neglected. The gravel roads were overrun 
 with weeds, and as the carriage stopped, I remarked tiie steps 
 that led to the vestibule were covered with grass. The door- 
 hell was rung; and though its hollow tinkle was heard sonor- 
 ously reverberating through the empty chambers of the mansion, 
 no Bervanl came at the summons. Again and again was the 
 Bignal repeated, and with similar success. The opening and 
 closing of distanl door-, however, was ;it length heard, the 
 Bound of footsteps approached, the key grated in the lock, and 
 [stood again beneath the roof of my fathers. 
 
 The door was opened In a housemaid, who, on learning my 
 
 name, a ran oil' to spread the news in the distant apartments 
 
 occupied by the servants. The old housekeeper, who had been 
 dismissed by my stepmother, had since been restored to her
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIV. 415 
 
 office, and soon came bustling forward to welcome my arrival, 
 and offer a thousand apologies for my reception. 
 
 Thomas Jones, a greyheaded footman, was, in the present 
 case, made the scapegoat for the rest of the establishment. 
 Thomas, it seemed, was good for nothing; he was grown old 
 and stupid, and thought only of smoking and guzzling ale in 
 the public-house of the village. It was Thomas's duty, it 
 appeared, to have opened the door, but Thomas, as usual, was 
 not forthcoming, and if Marjory, the housemaid, had not acci- 
 dentally heard the bell, we might have rung till doomsday. I 
 told Mrs Parkyns, for so the good housekeeper was called, to 
 give herself no concern about a matter of so little importance ; 
 and requesting a fire in the library, and dinner to be got ready 
 as soon as possible, I crossed the park to the house of old Humph- 
 reys, with whom I wished to have a short interview. 
 
 He was at home, and 1 explained to him my views with regard 
 to the preparations that might be necessary for the reception of 
 my suffering sister at Thornhill. Poor old man ! He was shocked 
 at the change of my appearance, but more deeply so at the 
 intelligence I gave him of the melancholy condition of poor 
 Jane ; and it was with a sad though zealous heart that he entered 
 on the duties of the task assigned him. 
 
 On my return, I found the household had not been idle 
 during my absence. A huge fire blazed in the library, and old 
 Thomas gave evidence of his return to duty, by receiving me 
 in the hall. As I passed through it, my eye for a moment rested 
 on melancholy memorials. There was my father's hat hanging 
 on its accustomed peg, his gold-headed cane yet stood in the 
 corner, beside his long silver-tipped riding-whip, with which, I 
 well remembered he had once beat me when a boy. 
 
 Dinner was speedily announced, but I did not partake of it 
 till I had despatched a letter to William Lumley, requesting 
 him to meet me at Thornhill as soon as possible.' This done, 
 the shelves of the library, and my own reflections, afforded me 
 abundant occupation — if not amusement — till I retire^ to 
 rest.
 
 416 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Oh ! I have lost a sister, 
 Whose worth, if praises may go back again, 
 Stood challenger on mount of all the age, 
 Fo. - her perfections. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 It was some days before Lumley arrived. The mornings 1 
 spent partly in business, and partly in visiting the haunts of 
 my youth, and sueh of the old tenants as had survived the lapse 
 nt' years since my departure. 
 
 When Lumley came, I explained to him the particulars of 
 Jane's situation, and my own determination to take instant 
 measures for placing her definitively beyond the reach or influence 
 of Hewson. In effecting this he appeared to anticipate no diffi- 
 culty, llewson's character gave every reason to believe that he 
 would be glad of any scheme which would relieve him from the 
 future maintenance of li is wife. Bnt, in the event of his refusal, 
 Lumley advised that steps should instantly be taken to obtain, 
 both for her person and fortune, the protection of Chancery. 
 If possible, however, this step was to be avoided; and I author- 
 ized Lumley to propose, that, if Hewson would consent to give 
 up all right to the custody of his wife's person, that, not only 
 mi demand should be made on him for her support, but that 
 he should be suffered to enjoy the liferent of her fortune. In 
 case, however, of his rejecting this otter, Lumley was to apprize 
 him that a petition from her nearest relatives would immediately 
 be filed in Chancery, a step which would involve the necessity 
 of his refunding her fortune; a consequence too unpleasant to 
 B man like Hewson to he rashly incurred. 
 
 Armed with these powers, Lumley lost no time in departing 
 to seek an interview with Hewson, and I awaited his return at 
 Thornhill with the deepest anxiety for the event. All went as 
 we expected. Ilewsnn, who never lost sight of his own interest, 
 made no difficulty in accepting the proposal; and Lumley 
 brought with him the necessary Legal documents, duly executed. 
 
 Once more, and under happier circumstances, I returned to 
 my pour Bister. On my arrival I bad an interview with the 
 Doctor, settled all his demands, and did not visit poor Jane 
 until I was apprised that every preparation was made for our 
 departure. 
 
 Since I had quitted her, the Doctor informed me, the symp- 
 tom^ of her mental disorder had varied considerably, both in 
 
 character and intensity. Sometimes she had been calm and 
 
 ci Heeled, cxpi'cs ing ci infidciicc in my love, and reliance on my
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XIV. 417 
 
 promises. At others, she had been wild and violent, accusing 
 me of having forsaken her, and then sinking into the deep leth- 
 argy of despair. As we approached the door, I heard her (it was 
 impossible I could mistake her voice) singing a wild and melan- 
 choly song. 
 
 She stopped, as the sound of the key turning in the lock 
 informed her of our approach. She was at the other end of the 
 apartment when I entered, and screaming as she beheld me, 
 she rushed forward, as if to cast herself in my arms, but, ere she 
 reached me, fell senseless on the floor. 
 
 I raised her gently, and carried her to a couch, where she 
 lay, with her head resting on my bosom. All motion had ceased. 
 Once — once only, she opened her eyes, but their gaze was 
 vacant. Then closing them, she breathed one long sigh : — it 
 was her last ! 
 
 Assistance was immediately procured, and a vein opened, but 
 without effect; my beloved and unhappy sister was unhappy 
 no longer. 
 
 For some time I remained kneeling by the couch on which 
 the lifeless remains lay extended. I closed her eyes. I crossed 
 her white and delicate bands upon her bosom, and in doing so, 
 my eye rested on her marriage- ring. "Accursed symbol!" I 
 exclaimed, as I drew it from her finger and dashed it on the 
 ground; "last and only memorial of a hateful and unhappy 
 union — of chains, which death at length has rent asunder — 
 instrument of cruelty and baseness, begone ! I cast thee from 
 me to furnish food for the famishing beggar, or to be trodden 
 under foot by villains less mean than he by whose hands thou 
 wert bestowed ! " 
 
 It was with a feeling of mournful resignation that I imprinted 
 the last kiss on the lips of my departed sister, and turned to 
 behold her no more. I shed no tear. What, alas ! was there to 
 weep for in the scene I had been contemplating? Not surely 
 that a creature had been snatched from life to whom life could 
 have brought but suffering — that she, whose only refuge was 
 death, had found it. No. It was with solemn calmness of heart 
 that I departed ; and my spirit, though awed by the merciful 
 demonstration of divine power that had passed before me, was 
 untroubled by the vehemence of sorrow. 
 
 The body was conveyed to Thornhill, and I laid the head of 
 another of my family in the grave. Four had been already 
 sepulchred — two had died in my arms — and cut oft', as I felt 
 myself, from all the enjoyments of life, the prayer that /might 
 be the fifth, was addressed in earnestness and sincerity to the 
 Throne of Mercy. Yet the last solemn offices of religion were 
 not heard in a cold and repining spirit; and it was with an 
 
 2 D
 
 41S CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 humble and a chastened heart, that I turned once more from 
 tlie dead to the living. 
 
 After the funeral I remained about a month at Thornhill, in 
 solitude and comparative tranquillity. My mind, 1 think, had 
 already assumed somewhat of a healthier tone, for I was ahle 
 calmly to deliberate on my future plans. The doctors told me 
 it was necessary that I should seek a warmer climate, and my 
 own feelings told me so too. I felt convinced that to remain in 
 England was to die, yet I felt an invincible aversion to foreign 
 travel. 1 could not loiter up and down the world, sick — spirit- 
 less — forlorn — seeking health, yet carrying disease — a wandering 
 stranger in a strange land, to become at last the tenant of a 
 foreign grave. Better, I thought, than tins, it were to die at 
 home ; to mingle my ashes with those of my fathers ; to sleep in 
 death with those whom 1 loved in life, to he incorporated with 
 kindred earth. But best of all it was, to die as a soldier. If 
 death will not be cheated of his victim, rather let me fall in the 
 tield, than falter out my feeble spirit in the slow languishing of 
 a sickbed. Who so brave as lie for whom life retains no charm? 
 Where was the danger from which I would now shrink? What 
 peril was there which my heart would now flutter to encounter? 
 To such a termination of my life, 1 found pleasure in looking 
 forward. My soul revolted from the idea of dying in a corner; 
 like Ajax, I would at least perish in the light of day. 
 
 My resolution, therefore, was decidedly taken, at all events, 
 to return to the army. It was true, there was little prospect of 
 my health bcin^- sufficiently restored, to enable me successfully 
 to encounter the fatigues of a campaign; but I would at least 
 make the effort; it could cost nothing, for death, come as it 
 might, was ;i cheap remedy and an efficacious one. 
 
 Before 1 quitted England, however, 1 determined once more to 
 visit in) ancle. 1 fell that to quit England, without bidding him 
 adieu, would he unkind ungrateful The old man loved me, 
 and me alone of all his family; and there is something flatter- 
 ing- in being the sole objeel of attachment, even to the meanest 
 
 of ( rod's creatures. Little sidled as ur were to each Other, from 
 dissimilarity both of age ami pursuits, 1 felt strongly grateful 
 for the warmth of hi- regard. At first 1 thought of making 
 Lucj the companion of my journey, but, on reflection, 1 aban- 
 doned the idea. The establishment of my uncle, 1 well knew, 
 
 was nut calculated for the reception of 8 lady ; and Lucy's pre- 
 sence, I feared, might cause more bustle and derangement in the 
 
 family, than might well comport with that quiet and regular 
 
 routine to which the old gentleman was accustomed. 
 
 [laving completed mj arrangements at Thornhill, I returned 
 for a few days to Middlethorpe, to bid adieu to Lucy, and my
 
 CYRIL THORXTOX. CHAPTER XLV. 419 
 
 kind friends, before starting for the north. Since poor Jane's 
 death I had not seen her. When we met she was pale and sad. 
 The loss of her dear sister, under circumstances of misfortune 
 so peculiar, following the agitation of which I had been the 
 unhappy cause, had proved too much for her spirits — gay as they 
 naturally were — and she had sank under it. It is in a creature 
 of her happy temperament that sorrow stands out in strongest 
 relief. It shows, like a dark shadow in the sunshine, more gloomy 
 from the contrast of the surrounding light. I felt much for 
 poor Lucy ; yet I did not waste words in attempting to console 
 her. I told her not to dry her tears; for I knew, that for such 
 grief time brings the only balm. Yet my tears mingled with 
 hers ; for I remembered, as I gazed on her pale and sorrowful 
 countenance, that we were now the last of all our race. 
 
 At length I set forth upon my journey ; but, travelling by easy 
 stages, it was not until the fifth day that I beheld the high black 
 towers and spire of the cathedral, overtopping the dense volumes 
 of vapour that lay spread like a canopy above the city. Glas- 
 gow had evidently received a great increase of population since 
 my departure. The dirty and miserable suburbs by which it is 
 surrounded, now extended for a mile or two further into the 
 country, and the smoke of innumerable coalworks and factories, 
 which had sprung up on all hands, infused a new and uncalled- 
 for pollution into the atmosphere. 
 
 In the character and appearance of the city little apparent 
 change had taken place. The crowd and bustle in the streets 
 had perhaps increased; but altogether the place was precisely as 
 dirty, dingy, and detestable, as I remembered it of yore. The 
 carriage stopped at the Buck's Head ; and I remembered the 
 jolly dowager, who received me smiling on the landing-place. 
 I was shown into the very apartment I had occupied ten years 
 before, and again looked out upon the same scene of business 
 and bustle which had then arrested my attention. 
 
 With what dull uninterested feelings did I again behold it ! 
 I regarded the beings I saw moving before me as belonging to 
 a different species. I had nothing with them in common. I 
 had never felt the stimulus by which all around me were so 
 powerfully actuated. Love of gain had never been the motive 
 of any thought or action of my life. True, I had been a slave, 
 but it was not to Mammon. 
 
 I might probably have philosophized on the scene around me, 
 had not the current of my thoughts been diverted into another 
 channel, by observing the words "Cyril Thornton, 13th Septem- 
 ber 1802," scratched on a window pane, in a half schoolboy hand. 
 The characters were my own. I did not remember to have written 
 them, but there they still remained— a memorial of former days.
 
 420 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Lightly did my memory at that moment pass over the inter- 
 vening years, as it returned to call back the thoughts and feel- 
 ings of the time when these characters were traced. I had then 
 known but one sorrow, and though I had for a time bent under 
 it, the elastic spring of youth had speedily rebounded, and the 
 winds carried with them the cloud, which, in passing, had cast 
 its shadow on my spirit. Alas ! the boy of one grief had become 
 the man of many. 
 
 The train of sombre reflection, into which memory was about 
 to lead me, was perhaps seasonably interrupted by the entrance 
 of the landlady, who, politely curtsying, enquired whether I was 
 to remain her inmate for the night. Till that moment I had not 
 given the subject a thought, and, looking at my watch, I found 
 it was already evening. My uncle's dinner-hour was past; and 
 it was, I thought, on the whole, better to delay my visit till the 
 following morning. I therefore declared myself stationary in 
 the Buck's Head till the following day, and feeling at the 
 moment a more proximate and cogent want than that of sleep 
 — for during my day's journey I had tasted no refreshment — I 
 requested a sight of the bill of fare. 
 
 " Bill o' fare!" replied the jolly and facetious dowager, " troth 
 that's puttin' the cart before the horse ; for ye maun ha'e your 
 fare first, and syne it will be time enough to speer for the bill." 
 
 " Perhaps you do not understand me, or it may not be your 
 custom in Scotland to keep one." 
 
 " I understand you weel eneuch, Major, and it's what you 
 Englishmen often ca' for ; but I never trouble mysel' to put pen 
 to paper aboot the matter, for I was aye glegger at the speaking 
 than the writing; and weel I wat, a souple tongue comes better 
 speed than the hist pen that ever came out o' a goose. You'll 
 be for soup, I'sc warrant; and there's baith stot's tail and hare 
 suii]> in the bouse, besides barley broth, gin ye like that better. 
 Then, in the way o' fish, there's haddocks, partins, and herrings, 
 fresb from the Broomielaw. For meat, ye can ha'e a chop, a 
 Btake, or a nice veal cutlet, for ye'll maybe no like to wait for 
 the roasting o 1 a joint; or ye can get a spatch-cock made o' a 
 chicken in ten minutes. Thru there's game — paitricks or muir- 
 i'owl, wham o' them ye like best; and, gin ye like nane o' thae 
 things, I daursay there's mair in the house, though I canna just 
 mind them at the present moment." 
 
 1 assured her, however, there was not the smallest occasion to 
 tax her memory any further, and made my selection from the 
 numerous delicacies of which she had already satisfactorily indi- 
 cated the local habitation and the name. 
 
 This dispatched, the Loquacious matron appeared still inclined 
 to indulge in conversation, and, instead of quitting the apart-
 
 CXRLL THOKNTOX. CHAPTER XLV. 421 
 
 ment, advanced to the bell, and ringing it, issued orders to a 
 waiter for the speedy preparation of my repast. For my own 
 part I did not object to continuing the dialogue, for I was glad 
 of any resource to escape from the gloom of my own solitary 
 meditations. 
 
 " May I take the freedom to ask, Major, if ye 're going to the 
 Highlands to shoot, or if ye're come on a toorin' expedition, as 
 they ca't, to Staffa or the Trosachs, as is now a' the fashion wi' 
 you gentlemen o' the south?" 
 
 I answered, that neither of her conjectures were right, and 
 that I had no intention of proceeding further north than 
 Glasgow. 
 
 " Maybe, then, you come on a visit to some gentleman in the 
 neighbourhood ; it will be either to Pollok House, or Cumber- 
 nauld, or Blythswood, or, I daursay" 
 
 " No," interrupted I, " it is a gentleman of your city who is 
 the object of my visit. Do you know old David Spreull ? " 
 
 " That's a daft-like question, Major, to speer at ony body in 
 this town. Ken David Spreull ! I wonder wha, within thirty 
 miles o' the Heigh Kirk, doesna ken him ? He's a man o' mair 
 siller than ony in the haill coonty of Lanrick, though that's a 
 wide word, Major. But surely ye're no come on a visit to him 
 — at least ye're no thinkin' o' pittin' up at his house? It's now 
 twenty years since I came frae the Black Boy in the Gallow- 
 gate to the Buck's Head, and no yae stranger in a' that time 
 has ever found hack and manger wi' David Spreull." 
 
 "How is the old gentleman?" I asked; "hale and stout, I 
 hope, and bearing his declining years as lightly as can be 
 expected ? " 
 
 " Atweel, Major," replied my landlady, glancing, at the same 
 time, at her own portly and capacious figure, " Time tells upon 
 us a'. For my part, I think I get fatter and sonsier every year 
 o' my life, though, to be sure, I'm a hantle younger than Mr 
 Spreull; but he, puir man, seems just dwindling awa' to a per- 
 fect atomy. It's no aboon a month sin' I saw him hirple past 
 on the Trongate, for he still gangs on foot, when the weather's 
 gude, baith to the countin'-house and the coffee-room ; there he 
 was, hirplin' awa' wi' his start' in his nieve, just a leevin' spec- 
 tacle o' approaching mortality. It's easy eneuch seen he's no 
 laDg for this world." 
 
 The arrival of a carriage at length put a stop to the conver- 
 sation ; and the loquacious landlady bustled down stairs to 
 receive her new guests, with as much celerity of motion as lay 
 within the scope of her volition to communicate to the volumi- 
 nous mass of matter by which she was encumbered. 
 
 Dinner was duly served ; and, after spending a quiet and
 
 422 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 solitary evening, I retired to bed. On the following morning, 
 after breakfast, having lounged an hour or two in an arm-chair, 
 from a dread, perhaps, of a scene which would scarcely fail 
 to bring with it some painful emotion, I set out for the resi- 
 dence of my uncle. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 I am old, I am old. I love thco better than e'er a scurvy young boy of 
 them all. 
 
 Henry IV. 
 
 That is not forgot 
 Which ne'er I did remember ; to my knowledge, 
 I never in my life did look on him. 
 
 Winter's Tale. 
 
 As I walked through the well-known streets which led from 
 the Trongate to my uncle's residence, I recognized, as old 
 friends, the picturesque, dark, and somewhat venerable-looking 
 buildings by which they were flanked. The external crust of 
 smoke which coated their surface had been somewhat deepened 
 since I had last seen them; in other respects I could detect no 
 change. The names, indeed, on the large sign-boards displayed 
 in front of the houses, I thought, were generally different from 
 those which had formerly become familiar to my eye. In some 
 cases I knew this to be so, for several names which yet lingered 
 on my memory were gone. 
 
 The dwelling of my uncle, however, soon came in sight, and 
 on that alone my gaze was riveted. I paused right in front, and 
 looking up to the window-, endeavoured to catch a glimpse of 
 its inmates. There were none visible. I knew my uncle's par- 
 lour, but the window panes were so deeply embrowned by smoke 
 and dust a> to baffle the penetration of the keenest eye. 
 
 For a few minutes I stood thus occupied, then slowly crossing 
 
 the street, I ascended the well-rcniembercd stair, and reached 
 
 the landing-place. Here I again paused in a momentary (it of 
 
 irresolution, with the raised k sker in my hand, which I 
 
 wanted courage to let fall. My uncle's name was still — though 
 not without difficulty — legible on the door-plate, and bade fair 
 soon to be entirely erased by the friction of the brick-dust, 
 
 with which, for so many years, it had been daily brightened by 
 the fingers of the housemaid. No paint had touched the panels
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XI/VT. 423 
 
 since my departure, and age had told on these as it had done 
 on the living inhabitants within. 
 
 At length the knocker fell. The sound, I thought, was a 
 hollow and a mournful one, and I waited, not without some 
 palpitation, for an answer to my signal. After some time the 
 door was opened, and I bent a keen glance on the countenance 
 which presented itself to my view. It was not that of Girzy, 
 and had it even been Jenny's, it could not, I thought, have 
 escaped my memory. But the person that awaited my demands, 
 though not Jenny, was clearly another individual belonging to 
 the same variety of the species. She was dirty as her prede- 
 cessor; like her was without shoes or stockings, and wore on 
 her head a soiled and rumpled mutch, the flaps of which hung 
 down like dog's-ears on either side of a countenance evidently 
 not often washed, but to which all the cosmetics in the world 
 could have lent no charm. 
 
 The damsel, to whom my minute examination of her person 
 appeared by no means gratifying, soon lost patience, and was 
 the first to break silence, holding the door barely ajar as she 
 spoke, and eyeing me somewhat askance. 
 
 " Weel, sir, what do you want?" 
 
 " Is Mr Spreull at home ? " 
 
 " Ay, he's at hame," replied she, still guarding the aperture 
 of the door, and not at all offering to open it for rny admission. 
 
 " Then I wish to see him." 
 
 " Naebody can see him the day, for he's no weel, and in his 
 bed." 
 
 " Not seriously ill, I hope?" 
 
 " I kenna what ye ca' sariously ; but he's been laid on the 
 braid o' his back sin' last Wednesday come audit days, and 
 Doctor Cleghorn comes to veesit him aye yince, and sometimes 
 twice, i" the day." 
 
 " Is Girzy within ? I should like to speak with her." 
 
 " No, she's no in the now." 
 
 " Will she be long absent?" 
 
 " I dinna ken ; but it's no likely she'll be out lang. She's 
 gane to the market in the Candleriggs, for a howtowily for the 
 maister's denner, and to get some pheesic for him at the labor- 
 awtory." 
 
 " Then I shall wait her return; — show me into the parlour." 
 
 She whom I addressed appeared to hesitate about the pro- 
 priety of acceding to this unexpected proposal, and still remained 
 holding the door, as if unwilling to admit me. 
 
 "Ye had better gang awa' the now," was the inhospitable 
 answer; "and, gin ye' re pa«sin', ye may just gi'e anither ca' in 
 hauf an hour, for I've nae orders to admit ony body."
 
 424 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 I was not, however, thus to be rebuffed, and without more 
 parley advanced to effect an entrance. The damsel did not 
 think it necessary to carry measures of resistance so far as to 
 shut the door in my face, and she retreated slowly before me to 
 open the parlour door, muttering as she went — " I'se warrant 
 (;irzy will be the death of me for lettin' him in." I entered 
 the parlour, and the maid, sulkily slamming the door as she 
 retired, left me to my own reflections. 
 
 I looked round the well-known chamber, and remembrances 
 of the past came thick and fast upon me. There was my 
 uncle's arm-chair by the fire. That, too, was a veteran in the 
 service, and the stuffing protruded at many apertures, which 
 time and use had worn in the covering. Sofa — table, (many 
 a pood bowl of punch had I drank on it) — carpet — chairs^ — 
 look-case — grate and gardevin — there were separate memories 
 attached to all of these, and they rose upon me tumult uously, 
 and at once. 
 
 The room was cold and chilly, for winter had already set in, 
 and there was no tire. I walked to the window, and looked out 
 upon the street. There, all was bustle. There, I beheld the 
 scene of activity and business, amid which, he who now lay sick 
 and solitary in his chamber, had spent a long and anxious life. 
 Cvi bono! To accumulate wealth which he could not enjoy, 
 to die unloved, unregretted, and neglected by all but me. 
 
 I turned from the window, and approached the book-case. 
 There stood my old friends, the well- remembered volumes; but 
 his library, since I had last seen it, had received considerable 
 additions. These were chiefly religious. Among them I recog- 
 nized Leighton's Works and Halliburton's, Watts on Devotion, 
 Haxtcr's (all, and several others, which, from the hasty glance 
 I threw over the pages, appeared to contain much of mystical 
 divinity. 1 presumed, from this circumstance, that the mind of 
 my uncle had become more tinged with religion than formerly. 
 My reveries were just then interrupted by the sound of voices 
 in the passage, and 1 overheard the following dialogue: — 
 
 "There's a gentleman in the parlour wantin' to see you.' 
 
 " A. gentleman wantin* to see me! The lass is surely demented; 
 whais't?" 
 
 " I keima wh.i he is; but he speaks like the Englishers, and 
 di loa Beem very gleg ;it the uptake o' what 1 tell't him. lie 
 first speer't for the maister, hut when he found he could na see 
 him, he askit Cor you, and though 1 tell't him ye wasna at liame, 
 naething wad fen him bul waitin' in the parlour till ye cam' 
 
 hack; ami in lie gaod, in spite o' a' that I eoulil say." 
 
 "Troth, whaever he he, he's oo blate to come rampagin' in 
 folk's hooses, whether they wull or no. I daursay it's just that
 
 CTRLL THOKXTOS. CHAPTER XLVI. 425 
 
 glaikit ne'er-do-weel creature Baldy Shortridge, that they've 
 been makin' a bailie o\ Bonny on sic bailies! Ever syne he 
 married that muckle tawpy Tammy Spreull, he's been a perfect 
 torment wi' his ca' — ca' — ca'in' at a' times, and a' hours, in houp 
 o' a legacy. But he may just as weel stay at hame, I can tell 
 him that ; and I'll take care, frae this day, that he never gets his 
 ugly neb ayont the door, for a' his powthered pow and velvet 
 breeks. Let me ben to him ; Tse warrant, bailie or no bailie, 
 I'll send him awa' wi' a flea in his lug." 
 
 These last words had scarcely reached my ear, when the door 
 opened, and with a stately step, and most vinegar aspect, Girzy 
 stalked into the apartment. She was evidently somewhat put 
 out, when her eye first rested on a person very different from the 
 one she expected to encounter. She stared at me for a few 
 moments without any symptom of recognition, and while she 
 was thus engaged, I looked on her not without interest. Girzy 
 was still a hale woman, and her years sat lightly upon her; 
 though there were more wrinkles in her cheek and deeper fur- 
 rows in her brow than formerly. 
 
 I held out my hand to the old woman. 
 
 " Girzy," I said, " I am glad to see you ; do you not know 
 me?" 
 
 " It's no very likely I should ken yin I never saw in a' my 
 life till this blessed minute." 
 
 " Yes, Girzy, you have seen him often. I am Cyril Thorn- 
 ton." 
 
 " Ceeral Thornton ! It's no possible. Gin ye' re Ceeral 
 Thornton, my een's good for naething ; but ye speak like him, 
 too. Stop till I put on my specs. Wae's me, but I ken you 
 now — atweel, ye' re just him after a';" and, running up to me, 
 she threw her arms about my neck, while tears and a most dis- 
 cordant blubber, somewhat like the grunting of a pig, spoke 
 the depth of her emotion. I did my best to shorten this unplea- 
 sant part of the scene, and, after a kind expression or two, 
 enquired for my uncle, and intimated a wish to know the par- 
 ticular nature of his disorder ; but it was some time before I 
 could elicit an answer. 
 
 " Dear me," she ejaculated, " I never wad ha'e kent ye," 
 releasing her grasp, and eyeing me from top to toe. "Oh, but 
 it gi'es me a sair heart to look at ye ! Lord sauf us, but ye've 
 lost yin o' yer arms. Cuttit clean aff" by the oxter, as I am a 
 living woman!" Here the tears of the kind creature flowed 
 faster than before, and her voice became inarticulate. 
 
 "Why, Girzy," I said in a cheerful voice, "you did not 
 surely expect me to come bark the same smooth-faced boy you 
 remember me at college ? You know I've been a soldier, and.
 
 426 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 though I've lost an arm in fighting the French, I assure you I 
 have come better off than many of my companions. A man in 
 this world may meet with heavier losses than either leg or wing ; 
 so let me pass as you find me, and tell me of my poor uncle, 
 who, I am sorry to hear, is unwell." 
 
 " Ay, he's unweel : but waes me, ye' re sair hashed about the 
 chafts. It's a sorrowfu' sight to me to see ye come back sic 
 an object. As I live by bread — and there's a lang scaur frae 
 yer gab to the corner o' yer ee, just as if ye had gotten a claut 
 wi" the haggin' knife. Bless and preserve me, was that done wi' 
 aswurd? Thae French maun be perfect deevils incarnate — 
 did ever leevin' woman see or hear tell o' the like o't, for them 
 to daur to ser' ye that gait, and you sic a douce and weel-faur'd 
 laddie — Oh, it gars me gnie to think o't !" 
 
 There was no stopping the overwhelming torrent of Girzy's 
 affectionate regrets; and after several ineffectual efforts, I gave 
 up the attempt, and waited patiently till its strength had become 
 somewhat exhausted. 
 
 " I aye kent," she proceeded, " thae Frenchmen were a set o' 
 salvages, though I find now, I aye thought ower weel o' them. 
 Foul fa' baith them and the mithers that bore them, and the 
 howdies that brought them into the warld, Satan's limbs as they 
 are! Oh, that I had twa or three o' them here, and a good 
 Scotch rung in my hand ! Little wad I care for their swurds — 
 ay, or their bagnets either; and gin 1 didna crack their crowns, 
 and giY sonic wark for the doctor, my name's no Girzy Black. 
 They're a ne'er-do-weel race a'thegither; and when Belzebub 
 gets a grip o' them, as he's sure to do at the hinder end, gin he 
 doesna hand them baith tight and fast, he's a deil no worth a 
 button. And there's some o' them in this toon, too," continued 
 Bhe, with the air of a person who suddenly recalls to memory an 
 important fact; "there's some of them — think o' their impu- 
 dence in this very toon ! There's that Degveal the dancing- 
 maister, an emigrant they ca' him, that comes loupin' down the 
 Street every day like a puddock, wi' his wee coekit hat on his 
 head, and silk stockings on his \\ indlcstrae shanks ; my certy, 
 but he shall ha'e a jaw o' dirty water on his green coat and his 
 powdered pow, the very neist time he passes this hoose! Oh, 
 Maister Ceeral, but it's a sight o' doul to sec ye come back in 
 giccan a sair condition ! What for did ye no stay at hame, 
 instead o' gaun Btravaigin' outower the warld, fechtin' wi' thae 
 French deevils; for deevils they are. and naething less?" 
 
 " But Girzy, don't you think it would be better to let my 
 uncle know of my arrival? he may think it unkind that I 
 Bbould have been so long ill the house without his knowledge." 
 
 •• There's maybe something in that," replied Girzy, "for he's
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XLVI. 427 
 
 geyan fanciful sometimes aboot sma' tilings, and, I daursay, it 
 will be as weel to let him ken ; but, poor man ! there's a heavy 
 heart waitin' on him, and I'm sure the sight o' you will gar him 
 grue maist as muckle as mysel'. Hech ! this world is f'u' o' sair 
 trials! But just tell me, afore I gang, how ye are in yer health. 
 Oh ! but there's a hantle o' hills and hows in yer chowks. Ye' re 
 poor in the flesh, and look as if ye were but silly. I'm fear't 
 yer stamach's no that gude, sae just tell me what ye wad like 
 for yer denner, and I'll get it, gin it's to be had in the county o' 
 Lanrick." 
 
 I assured her that I was an old campaigner, and begged that, 
 in the matter of catering, she would consult my uncle's taste or 
 her own, without reference to mine. 
 
 " Weel," replied Girzy, " gin ye leave't a' to me, ye see, I'll 
 just get what I think's best for ye in yer present weakly con- 
 dition; sae, for yae thing, ye shall ha'e the day, a gude dish o' 
 cocky-leeky, than which, Doctor Cleghorn assured me, there 
 was naething mair digestable to the stamach, or mair" 
 
 Here I interrupted her ; for, to say the truth, my patience 
 began to be somewhat exhausted, and I dreaded the prolixity of 
 the dissertation on the medicinal virtues of cocky-leeky, on 
 which she was apparently about to enter. " Now, do go, Girzy, 
 to my uncle, like a good woman as you are, and inform him of 
 my arrival. Tell him too, Girzy, the creature you have fpund 
 me," pointing as I spoke to the remains of my dilapidated arm; 
 " tell him I am not as I was ; for I know he loves me, and the 
 surprize of finding me so changed, may have evil influence on 
 his health." 
 
 "Weel, I'll gang," rejoined Girzy; "but it's a sair task ye've 
 pitten on my shouthers;" and, uttering something between a 
 sigh and a groan, she left the apartment, casting a sorrowful 
 and retrospective glance on me as she departed. 
 
 I was again left alone, but my sobtude was not long, for in 
 the course of a few minutes Girzy re-entered the room. 
 
 "I've tell't Mr Spreull ye' re here; but I'm thinkin' I've no 
 succeeded in gettin' him to understand ony thing mair; for the 
 moment he heard your name, and kent ye were here, he ordered 
 me to haud my peace, and tell ye he wad be glad to see ye 
 direckly ; and when I insisted, as ye wushed, on gangin' on to 
 tell him a' aboot ye, he up wi' a volume o' Erskine's Sermons, 
 an' swore he wad ding it at my head, gin I didna leave the 
 chaumer instantly, and deliver his message to you." 
 
 On hearing this account of matters, I desired Girzy to lead 
 the way, and followed her to my uncle's chamber. 
 
 It was with some internal trepidation that I entered it. I 
 found the old gentleman sitting up in bed, with his head enve-
 
 428 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 loped in a red Kilmarnock nightcap, the colour of which 
 contrasted strongly with the sallowness of his countenance. 
 I lis body was clothed in a flannel jerkin, or shirt, somewhat 
 like those worn by sailors, which reached about halfway up his 
 scraggy throat, leaving the upper part bare. As I approached 
 him, I could detect no change of expression, no lightening up 
 of the countenance, but he regarded me with the same grim and 
 saturnine look which had remained for long years imprinted on 
 my memory. lie did not at first speak; but when I approached 
 he stretched out his long and bony arms, somewhat like lobster 
 claws; and seizing the hand I extended towards him, drew me 
 to the bed. 
 
 I sat down on it beside him. The old gentleman continued 
 to gaze on me for some time in silence, with one hand placed 
 on the crown of my head, with which he gently turned it, first 
 to one side then to the other, as if hesitating with regard to my 
 identity, or anxious to ascertain the full extent of the metamor- 
 phosis I had undergone. At length he broke silence. 
 
 " Cyril, I'm glad — no, God forgi'e me, there's nae gladness in 
 my heart, to see you even beneath my ain roof-tree, sae maimed 
 anil broken down." 
 
 This was spoken hurriedly, and, but for a single convulsive 
 twinge of the features, with a calm countenance. I answered 
 by expressing my sincere regret that the state of his health 
 should be such as to render necessary so close a confinement. 
 This, however, had not the effect of changing the current of his 
 thoughts, of which 1 was the engrossing object. 
 
 •■ Sneak na o' me, Cyril, for little matters it what, becomes o' 
 a withered and a barren trunk, the seasons of whose flower and 
 fruit (alas! when were they?) are gone forever. Uut this is a 
 sad welcome to my poor laddie; I'm grown weak, I fear, in 
 mind, as weel as body ; leave me a minute in silence to niystT, 
 and I'll be better then." 
 
 I did as he desired, and remained seated on the bed sonic 
 minutes, silent and motionless. The old man threw himself 
 hack on lii^ pillow, and lay with closed eyes. His features were 
 still as those of death, bul his hands afforded evidence of the 
 working of his spirit, by being alternately clenched and opened. 
 After some interval, he once more raised himself in the bed, and 
 
 turned his face towards me. 
 
 •• This jaw o' sorrow, 1 find," said he, once more taking me 
 by the hand, "is the heaviest I have lone,' felt, and will not pass 
 
 away sae soon as I though! it would ha'e <l \ frae a heart sae 
 
 worn and cauldrife as mine. I look upon this, Cyril, as Cod's 
 last, :h Burely it iv his Bairest judgment upon me, in this warld. 
 I bad hoped to see you and it has Lang been to me a solitary
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XLVI. 429 
 
 hope, standing, as I now do, wi' yae fit in the grave— blythe and 
 happy as you ance was — kind and affectionate as I still ken ye 
 to be. It's lang since we parted, yet, often sin' syne, ha'e I seen 
 your black pow and laughing countenance, baith by night and 
 day, floatin' like an airy vision before my een, rising like a thing 
 o* glamour, and then vanishing awa'. Like a father for an only 
 son ha'e I petitioned the Almighty for your happiness and wel- 
 fare. Ay, I ha'e prayed for you when I couldna pray for mysel' ; 
 but the wind scatters the prayers o' a sinner, and I see now that 
 mine ha'e never reached the throne o 1 divine grace. I maun bear 
 in my auld age the punishment o' the sins of my youth." 
 
 There were tears in the old man's eyes as he spoke, and deep 
 dejection might be read in his countenance and voice. 
 
 " Why, my dear uncle," I said, endeavouring to throw vivacity 
 into my tones, " this is more like mourning for a dead nephew 
 than welcoming a living one. I have come to see you — to be 
 happy with you, as I was wont in days of old. Pray, do not 
 look on me as an absolute memento mori. Mine is something of 
 a Death's head to be sure; but though the husk be changed, you 
 will find the kernel the same. But you — I hope you are not 
 seriously ill, and that, before I have been here long, you will be 
 able to take my arm, (for I have still one at your service,) and 
 walk as we used to do in the Green, or down by the sunny banks 
 of Clyde." 
 
 I was pleased to see that the melancholy impression which 
 my first appearance had made on him, in some degree wore off, 
 and that his spirits were slowly remounting from the extreme 
 pitch of depression to which they had fallen. The conversation 
 had continued about an hour, and I had told something of my 
 own history, and something of that of my family, when we were 
 interrupted by the entrance of Girzy. 
 
 " I ken naething o' the ways o' you red-coated offishers," she 
 said, addressing herself to me, " sae I just came to speer at what 
 hour ye wad like yer denner. It's nae great matter about the 
 cocky-leeky, for that will keep het by the fire-lug as lang as ye 
 like ; but I maun ken afore I put on the saumon, for that's a 
 raair kittle commodity, and wad a' drap to pieces if left five 
 minutes ower lang in the pat." 
 
 " What cares he, ye auld gowk," answered my uncle, " about 
 either yer saumon or yer cocky-leeky ? Get them at the usual 
 hour ; and, do ye hear, lay plates for twa, and rax ouer my 
 claes afore ye gang, for I'm gaun to get up directly." 
 
 " Bless me," replied Girzy, "but the man's gane clean wud 
 a'thegether ! Doctor Cleghorn, when he was here on Tuesday, 
 tell't baith you and me too, that ye was to keep your bed, and 
 no think o' gettin' up for the neist week at soonest. And ' noo,
 
 430 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 Girzy, 1 said he to me, in his ain coothy way, as he gaed down 
 the stair, 'dinna Let that maister o' yours be gettin' oot o' his 
 bed till the weather's warmer, or ye'll be ha'ein' him laid up on 
 yer hands a' the lave o' the winter, and what's waur, he may 
 be a lameter a' his life wi' the rheumateeze.' — ' Weel, doctor,' 
 said I, as he raxed his leg oot ouer the back o' his horse, 'depend 
 upon't, that deil a fit shall he pit ouer the door o* his chaumer 
 till ye come back.' — Sae ye'll just lie still where ye are, and I'll 
 get Maister Ceeral his denner in the parlour by himsei'." 
 
 •• Do ye offer to contradict me?" rejoined her master, with 
 somewhat more exasperation than the occasion required ; " Doc- 
 tor C leghorn may ride to the deevil gin he likes, and if the beast 
 carries double, he may take you on a pillion ahint him; but up 
 I shall get this moment ; so steek your gab, and lay my claes 
 directly on the chair by the bedside." 
 
 •• Vc'sc get nae claes to pit on the day," answered Girzy reso- 
 lutely ; "sae just lie still where ye are, and be content." 
 
 The words were no sooner out of her mouth, than, after an 
 ejaculation of anger, which 1 do not deem it necessary to record, 
 one of my uncle's long and bony legs was seen to be protruded 
 from the bed, and he was obviously in the act of rising, to pro- 
 vide himself with those habiliments which the contumacy of his 
 attendant refused to supply. It seemed as if Girzy "s maidenly 
 delicacy was somewhat outraged by this summary proceeding 
 of the old gentleman; but whether this was so or not, it was at 
 least evident, that further opposition on her part, to the resolute 
 determination of her master, was hopeless. Like a prudent 
 general, therefore, she thought it better to capitulate with a 
 good "race. 
 
 " Weel, weel," said she, " it's easy kent that a wilfu' man 
 maun ha'e his ain way; sae lie still where ye are, and I'll get 
 yer claes frae the kist." 
 
 .My uncle, though bis eyes still glittered with passion, com- 
 plied with this de-ire, and slowly withdrew the gaunt and 
 unshapely limb, winch had thus succeeded in frighting (Jirzy 
 into her propriety. She was clearly determined, however, to 
 
 have al least the privilege of a little talk, as she performed the 
 
 unwelcome ollice of arranging her master's habiliments by the 
 bed. 
 
 1 Hech, sirs," Baid she, addressing me, " saw ye ever the like o' 
 this, Maister Ceeral r there's nae use in ihrecpin' wi' him; for he's 
 
 just as deaf as Ailsa ( Iraig to ony thing that copes his ain whig- 
 maleeries." Then turning to my uncle, " He that will to Cupar 
 maun to Cupar; whether will ye ha'e your velveteens or cordu- 
 roys? mind it's do my faut, gin ye're keepit grainin' on the 
 
 braid o' yer back for the neisl twa months — ye'll surely clap a
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVII. 431 
 
 pair o' gamashins on your cuits ? — Hech, but there's thrawn 
 folk in this warld — nae doot yell wear yer flannin wrapper — 
 I'll ha'e a sair time o't wi' ye — Ye'll be the better o' twa couls 
 on yer pow, for the room's cauld — Little wad I be surprised to 
 ha'e the straikin o' yer corp afore lang, frae this daft-like pro- 
 ceeding." 
 
 The caloric of my uncle's wrath, which, during the last few 
 minutes, had been every moment increasing in intensity, now 
 burst forth with the vehemence of a volcano ; and Girzy, as if 
 aware of the coming explosion, prudently desisted from further 
 irritating remark, and hastily quitted the apartment. Notwith- 
 standing this, however, the choler of the old gentleman vented 
 itself, in objurgation, loud and long, on the impudence of his 
 attendant. Having experienced some relief from this discharge, 
 he requested to be left alone, to perform the duties of the toilet, 
 and I returned to the parlour. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 ilncbeth. How does your patient, doctor? 
 Doctor. Not so sick, my lord, 
 As he is troubled with thick-coming fancies. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Ox entering the sitting-chamber, I found the maid, under the 
 superintendence of Girzy, engaged in the preparatory decoration 
 of the dinner-table, which, on my account, was destined per- 
 haps to display somewhat more than its usual bravery. The 
 latter, on my entrance, desisted from her occupation, in order to 
 adjust what she called the cod in the easy-chair, for my com- 
 fortable accommodation. 
 
 " Come yer ways," said the matron, as I entered ; " come yer 
 ■ways, and crook yer hough in the chair by the chimley-lug. 
 Oh, but ye look silly, after a' the sair troubles ye ha'e gane 
 through in foreign parts ! Weel I wat, Maister Ceeral, ye ha'e lost 
 a hantle o' yer birr sin' ye last sat in that chair. Weel, weel do 
 I mind the time when you and that funny callant they ca'd Con- 
 yers cam' to tak' yer kail wi' us, the day before ye gaed awa'. 
 An' what's become o' him noo ? Ha'e thae French deevils been 
 cuttin' and hashin' him as they have din you ? Oh, ye a' gang 
 out wi' light hearts, and fa' o' smeddum ; but, wae's me, what do 
 ye come hame ! " 
 
 Here the increasing huskiness of Girzy's voice gave notice
 
 432 CYRIT, TIIORNTOX. — CHAPTER XIA'II. 
 
 that she was fast sinking into the melting mood, and unwilling 
 again to become the subject of her pathetic lamentations, I 
 endeavoured, by the cheerfulness of my reply, to direct the cur- 
 rent of her ideas into another channel. 
 
 " I believe Conyers is well, Girzy. He is now a dashing 
 major of dragoons; and I have no reason to fear that, since I 
 last saw him, he bas either been hashed by the French, or lost 
 any of the smeddum of his younger days." 
 
 "A major o' dragoons, ca' ye him ! and what, I wonder, were 
 he and his dragoons aboot, that they alloo'd thae rampaugin' ido- 
 laters the French — for I'm tell't they worship graven images in 
 spite o' the commandments — to ser' you in sic a fashion as they 
 ha'e done ? Had they nae swurds to help ye ? What for did 
 he no come wi' his gallopin' dragoons to lend ye a helpin' haun' 
 when he saw ye in the grup o' the Philistines ? Hech ! I fear 
 he's but a ne'er-do-weel, after a', though I am loath to think it, 
 o' him." 
 
 I had some difficulty in vindicating Conyers from these 
 unmerited imputations of Girzy, and in making her comprehend, 
 that being, as he was, about a hundred miles distant with 
 another branch of the army, it was scarcely reasonable to blame 
 him for not having seasonably appeared to the rescue of his 
 friend. 
 
 Our conversation, however, was soon interrupted by the 
 approach of my uncle. A clattering was heard along the floor 
 of the passage, and Girzy, who was still engaged in venting her 
 indignation against the authors of my disfigurement, left her 
 diatribe unfinished, and running to the door of the apartment, 
 hastily opened it, and the old gentleman entered, lie could 
 walk with difficulty, and only by the assistance of a staff". His 
 limbs were stiff and feeble, partly, perhaps, from the remains of 
 an attack of acute rheumatism, under which lie had recently 
 suffered, but principally, I thought, from that most incurable of 
 all diseases — old age. His progress was slow, and some time 
 elapsed before he reached the easy-chair, set apart for his pecu- 
 liar use, and still more before, by the aid of the sedulous Girzy, 
 who arranged the cushions for his accommodation, he was com- 
 fortably settled in it. During this operation, the activity of her 
 other members was at least equalled by that of her tongue. 
 
 " Weel, ye've ta'en yer ail) way o't," exclaimed she; "but mind, 
 whatever comes o't, ye've naebody to blame but yoursel'. Yo 
 care uae mair what I say till ye than if I was as big a tawpy as 
 Meg there, thai canna pit the denner down right on the table. 
 
 I'it the kail at the tap, ye negleckfu' limmer that ye are, and 
 the satmion at the lit, as I tell't ye. — Ay, ye may grain awa'," 
 continued blie, taking advantage, with true oratorical prompti-
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHATTER XLVII. 433 
 
 tude, of an expression of pain to which my uncle at that moment 
 gave utterance ; " I'se warrant, ye'll get sma' pity frae me, grain 
 and pech as ye like. — The deevil's in the woman, I declare, can 
 ye no clap the sparrowgrass down forenent the howtowdy ? And 
 I'll tell Doctor Cleghorn the morn, that this daft-like proceeding 
 was nane o' my doing; but I'm done, and in a' time comin' I'se 
 neither mak' nor meddle. — What for are ye stravaigin' about 
 the room wi' that mustard-pat in your nieve ? Set it doon, I say, 
 direckly, and draw the porter there by the fire-lug, and then 
 gang ben to the kitchen, and comena back here without I ring 
 for ye." 
 
 While such a continuous volume of sound was produced by 
 Girzy, the double object of her cares and her invectives appeared 
 to be suffering considerable pain from the motion which the 
 change of his apartment had rendered necessary ; but the expres- 
 sion of his countenance showed that he was by no means so 
 entirely engrossed by it as to be unconscious either of the mean- 
 ing or the prolixity of her oratorical display. At first, his 
 rheumatic twinges appeared to follow in such rapid succession 
 as to leave no time, in the short intervals which divided them, 
 for any thing more than the application of a single emphatic 
 expletive to the object of his wrath ; but these, considered 
 abstractedly from all ideas of decorum and propriety, as vivid 
 though unconnected vehicles of the mental emotions of the 
 speaker, could not have been more happily chosen. They were 
 indeed of a character so little complimentary, that even the 
 chariest maiden might have pardonably found ground of offence 
 in being made the object of their personal application. 
 
 Nothing, however, could be more philosophical than the spirit 
 with which Girzy appeared to listen to the approbria of her mas- 
 ter. They evidently passed by her as the idle wind ; and when, 
 by his satisfactory adjustment in the large high-backed arm- 
 chair, the decrease of his pain enabled him to pour forth a more 
 connected though not less fervid strain of vituperation, she 
 interrupted him by pushing forward his chair towards the 
 dinner-table, exclaiming as she did so — 
 
 " Come, just haud yer bow-wowin', and tak' yer denner, that's 
 gettin' cauid on the brod wi' waitin' for ye. It's a bonny-like 
 swatch o' yer discretion ye've been gi'ein' Maister Ceeral the day. 
 Weel I wat, better things might lia'e been expeckit frae a man 
 o' your years. — Come awa', Maister Ceeral, and tak' yer place 
 forenent him. And noo," she continued, again addressing her 
 master, and at the same moment pulling off' his nightcap, there's 
 your coul aff yer pow, sae just ask a blessin' and fa' to." 
 
 The suddenness of both Girzy's words and motions had evi- 
 dently taken the old gentleman by surprize. He at first gazed 
 
 2 E
 
 434 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 on her with an expression which seemed to indicate that he was 
 about to pour forth on her head the whole vials of his wrath in 
 one relentless and unmitigated discharge; but I was already 
 seated opposite to him, and when his eyes rested for a moment 
 on my countenance, a change seemed suddenly to have taken 
 place in the whole character of his emotions. Girzy and her 
 impudence were forgotten, and mournful memories connected 
 with myself, appeared to have become the engrossing sub- 
 ject of his thoughts. A minute or two elapsed, during which 
 the old man did not speak, and Girzy, who was already engaged 
 in decanting a bottle of Madeira at the sideboard, by a some- 
 what unusual coincidence, did not interrupt the silence into 
 which the late storm had thus unexpectedly subsided. 
 
 Whatever my uncle's feelings might have been, he did not 
 express them. " Cyril," he at length said, " let us ask 'a bless- 
 ing ;" then closing his eyes, he again was silent for a few 
 seconds, as if collecting his thoughts for the duty of prayer and 
 thanksgiving. The consequent grace, though long, and some- 
 what miscellaneous in its petitions, was pronounced in a low 
 and almost inaudible voice, and, at its conclusion, having again 
 adorned his head with its former covering, we commenced our 
 meal. 
 
 I leave the pressing cares and hospitable anxieties, with which 
 it was attended on the part of Girzy and my uncle, to be sha- 
 dowed forth by the imagination of the reader. It passed as 
 such a meal may be supposed to pass, and the departure of the 
 viands was followed, in due order of succession, by the introduc- 
 tion of the punch-bowl. 
 
 To a native of Glasgow, there is, even in the sight of a punch- 
 bowl, something of exhilaration and excitement. It brings with 
 it no mournful associations. It is linked to a thousand bright 
 and pleasing remembrances of youthful and joyous revelry, and 
 cif the graver intoxications of maturer years. Within its beau- 
 tiful and hallowed sphere are buried no "thoughts that do lie 
 too deep for tears.'' In its very name there is delightful music, 
 and its comes o'er his ear 
 
 Like (In- BWeet south, 
 Thai breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 Stealing and giving odours ' 
 
 There was -or at least I imagined there was — something of all 
 this discernible in my uncle, lie regarded Girzy with a molli- 
 fied look, as she placed it on the table, and issued his directions 
 in an accent somewhat softened. In his tone of addressing me, 
 too, there was more of vivacity than lie had yet displayed since 
 our meeting ; and that dull heaviness of heart, by which hitherto
 
 CYRIL THORXTOX. — CHAPTER XLVII. 435 
 
 he had been evidently oppressed, seemed to have become lighter, 
 and at least not utterly overpowering. 
 
 The punch was made, and Girzy appeared glass in hand, 
 claiming from her master a bumper " to the health of Maister 
 Ceeral." The toast, indeed, as drank by the venerable virgin, 
 was somewhat prolix ; for, though in part dedicated to its pro- 
 fessed purpose, it concluded by an imprecation on those worship- 
 pers of Baal, the ne'er-do-weel French landloupers, who had 
 been the occasion of my thus returning to my uncle's house the 
 mutilated object she beheld. 
 
 Girzy departed, and we were left alone. Then it was, for the 
 first time, that the old gentleman gave expression to that torrent 
 of warm and affectionate feeling which had hitherto been pent 
 up in his bosom. He was desirous of learning the story of my 
 not uneventful life. Much of it I told him, but there was much 
 likewise which he could not have understood — which / could 
 not tell. In my nature, circumstances had awakened sympa- 
 thies into strong and terrible action, which in him, during a 
 long life, had lain in torpid slumber, from which they could not 
 now be awakened. In all my physical sufferings his kind heart 
 was ready to participate ; of my mental ones, he knew, and 
 could know nothing. 
 
 We did not, however, long enjoy an uninterrupted colloquy. 
 While in the act of detailing to him such portions of my life as 
 I imagined might be most interesting, the door opened, and 
 Girzy came bustling into the apartment, followed by a gentleman 
 of somewhat portly presence, and canonical appearance. 
 
 " Here's Doctor Balfour come to see you ! " exclaimed she, 
 drawing another chair towards the table, and dusting it with 
 her apron as she spoke. " Come yer ways, doctor," she con- 
 tinued, addressing the stranger, who had stopped on finding Mr 
 Spreull was not alone, as he had expected ! — " there's naebody 
 wi' him but Maister Ceeral, andabonny-like sight he's comehame 
 frae the wars, as ye may see. Wae's me ! Little wad the mither 
 that bore him ken him, honest woman ! were she to clap een on 
 him the now. Just come ben, and crook yer legs aneath the 
 mahogany, and tak' a preein' o' the bowl." 
 
 My uncle, being seated with his back to the door, and unable 
 to rise from the rheumatism which still affected his limbs, having 
 learned the name and cmality of his guest, now added his invita- 
 tion to that of Girzy, for the worthy doctor to come forward and 
 be seated. The stranger accordingly advanced ; and having 
 shaken hands very cordially with the old gentleman, seated him- 
 self without further ceremony in the chair which "Girzy had 
 provided for his accommodation. 
 
 Doctor Balfour (for by such title was the respectable divine
 
 436 CYRIL THORKTON. — CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 distinguished) was one of the leading members of the High or 
 Calvinistic party of the Scottish Church, and certainly one of 
 the most powerful and energetic preachers of his day. From 
 the period of the French Revolution, deistical principles, or at 
 least a general lukewarmness and indifference to religious obser- 
 vances, had, I think, become more peculiarly endemic in Glas- 
 gow than in most places in the kingdom. During my former 
 residence in the city, gentlemen were not much in the hahit of 
 frequenting public worship, and the congregations, which were 
 always thin, consisted chiefly of ladies. In such a state of 
 things, to have succeeded in riveting the attention, and exciting 
 strong religious emotions, in those so little prepared for their 
 reception, was certainly indicative of some power in the preacher. 
 In truth, Dr Balfour was a man of considerable mental energy 
 and shrewdness, and possessed a native though somewhat homely 
 eloquence, which he exerted with much salutary efficacy in his 
 vocation. In the present day it requires perhaps some courage 
 to preach the stern and uncompromising doctrines of Calvin, 
 without veiling their consequences with somewhat of varnish 
 and disguise. Doctor Balfour, however, did this. He followed 
 the tenets of his founder to their legitimate conclusion — was 
 startled by no difficulties that met him in his path — and would, 
 I believe, have died a martyr at the stake, for the doctrine of 
 supralapsarian election, and irrespective decrees. Perhaps, some 
 such strong and spirit-stirring medicaments were necessary to 
 rouse his hearers from that state of torpid indifference to reli- 
 gion into which they had fallen. Certainly something more 
 powerful, than the gentle anodynes hebdomadally poured forth 
 by his weaker brethren, was required to rouse them from the 
 deep sleep into which their eyelids had been lulled. This, Doctor 
 Balfour provided ; and even those whom mere curiosity had 
 brought together to listen to the preaching of this great cannon 
 of the city, generally returned with less zesl than usual to their 
 Sunday's slicep's-lieud, and found that on that day the contents 
 of the punch-bowl had lust something of their savour. 
 
 Such was the person who formed the unlooked-for, and to 
 me unwelcome, addition to our party. My uncle, I found, had 
 become one of the Bock of this zealous pastor, who frequently 
 "dropped in," to administer spiritual consolation to the old 
 gentleman, or to enjoy the exercise of a little theological dispu- 
 tation on questions of polemical divinity. In person, the divine 
 was stout, and somewhat inclining to obesity, and his face was 
 marked by a certain ruddiness, which liespoke no ascetic absti- 
 nence from the -nod things of the world. His head was covered 
 — certainly not adorned — by an unpowdercd SCratch-wig, which 
 in many places had become threadbare from age, and displayed
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVI1. 437 
 
 here and there considerable portions of the doctor's skull, shin- 
 ing through the network from beneath. 
 
 Having shaken hands with my uncle, the reverend gentleman 
 proceeded to compliment him on the change for the better which 
 had evidently taken place since their last meeting. 
 
 " I was just passing, Mr Spreull," he continued, " and thought 
 I couldna do less than give you a ca', to see how you was getting 
 on in your tough warsle wi' your sair fleshly enemy the rheuma- 
 tism. Troth, I didna expect you would have gotten so soon 
 clear of his thraw. I'm really glad to see you so far recovered." 
 
 This address elicited a cheerful reply from my uncle, who 
 concluded, by requesting his spiritual comforter to push in his 
 glass, and become a participator in the nectareous contents of 
 the bowl. With this request the doctor instantly complied, 
 while his entertainer, in the act of dealing forth with scrupulous 
 exactitude the stated measure of liquor to his guest, thus pro- 
 ceeded : — " Cyril and mysel' have already taken a glass or twa 
 frae the bowl ; but it will no taste the waur, if you, doctor, would 
 ask a blessing on this our sober enjoyment of the present 
 mercy." 
 
 To the desire thus expressed, a cheerful acquiesence was 
 yielded by his guest, who, closing his eyes, and holding up his 
 right hand, pronounced a long grace, or rather prayer, to which 
 my uncle, having again divested himself of his nightcap, listened 
 apparently with reverent attention. 
 
 The interruption which this devotional exercise gave to the 
 cheerfulness of the conversation was only temporary. It was no 
 sooner over, than the meeting resumed its former character, and 
 the doctor proceeded obligingly to congratulate me on my return 
 to my native country, from the dangerous service in which I 
 had recently been engaged. He asked many questions concern- 
 ing what he termed " the idolatry of the poor benighted race," 
 in whose land I had been a sojourner; and when I spoke of the 
 splendour of the Catholic ritual, its penances and absolutions, its 
 magnificent altars and altar-pieces, its images and gorgeous pro- 
 cessions, he expressed infinite astonishment at the details of such 
 heathenish proceedings, and turning to my uncle, " Surely, Mr 
 Spreull," he said, " we canna be thankfu' enough to divine Pro- 
 vidence that has cast our lot in a land in which the pure waters 
 of the gospel trickle, though maybe but in a sma' stream, rather 
 than in one where the folk get naething to drink but the puddles 
 o' corruption that come frae the dirty jawholes o' idolatry, the 
 Popish priests." 
 
 This sentiment, of course, met with a cordial acquiescence 
 from my uncle, and the conversation gradually diverged to such 
 clerical matters as came more immediately home to the business
 
 438 CYRIL TUOKXTON. — CIIAPTKR XLVII. 
 
 and bosoms of the interlocutors than those already mentioned. 
 There was much discourse anent Presbyteries, and'Synods, and 
 Elders, and Overtures to the General Assembly, and parochial 
 occurrences, which were considerably beyond my fathom to 
 understand. 
 
 The dialogue, however, was interrupted by the entrance of 
 Girzy and Meg, the former of whom advanced to the table, and 
 placing before the divine a large quarto Bible and Psalm-Book, 
 again retreated towards the sideboard, where she took possession 
 of a chair, near that which Meg already occupied, as if waiting 
 for the commencement of family worship. 
 
 The doctor, having adjusted his spectacles, began by reading 
 a chapter of the Bible ; at the conclusion of which, the whole 
 partv, with the exception of my uncle, stood up during the 
 delivery of an extemporary prayer of at least half an hour's 
 duration, in several of the petitions of which, the present circum- 
 stances of the family were specially noticed, and thanksgiving 
 duly offered in their name, for my safe return from the idolatrous 
 country of the Cushites, and the Amoritcs, and the Gergashites, 
 to the land in which the God of Judah was worshipped in purity 
 and peace. 
 
 Both in the substance of the prayer itself, and in its singu- 
 larity of style and delivery, I found something moving and 
 impressive. In my uncle's countenance there was every external 
 demonstration of sincere devotion. He sat with closed eyes and 
 clasped hands, and at those petitions which came particularly 
 home to his own bosom and condition, he bent his head down- 
 wards towards the table, in token of his deep and fervent 
 participation in the supplication thus put up on his behalf to the 
 Throne of Divine Grace. Had a stranger entered the apartment 
 at that moment, he might at first, perhaps, have found something 
 ludicrous in the appearance of the party; and it must be con- 
 fessed that the unfinished punch-bowl on the table, surrounded 
 by the other instruments of carousal, did not exactly harmonize 
 in the imagination with the devotional exercises in which they 
 were engaged. But all ludicrous associations, I think, must have 
 speedily subsided, and in the energetic words of the pastor — in 
 the spirii of bumble and pious supplication, legible in the look 
 
 and manner of the aged and infirm old man— perhaps even in my 
 
 own melancholy countenance, and mutilated form, he mighl have 
 
 found matter for other thoughts; and he that came to BCOff, 
 might have remained to pray. 
 
 Hut the solemnity of the worship certainly ceased with the 
 prayer. In the psalm which succeeded it, it was with difficulty 
 that even I could prevent the indulgence of a smile. Girzy, 
 who apparently had some ta te, if not talent, for music, enacted
 
 CYRIL THORKTON. — CHAPTER XLVII. 439 
 
 the part of precentor to the household, and led the tune in a 
 voice, to say the least of it, not remarkably melodious. My 
 uncle joined in this with apparently as much sincerity and fer- 
 vour as he had done in the preceding part of the service, sending 
 forth, with the full force of his lungs, a stentorian cacophony, 
 which certainly left Girzy no cause of apology for the vocife- 
 rous discordance of her psalmody. The doctor sung well, and 
 evidently did his best to reduce the discord of the party into 
 something bearing at least a faint and distant resemblance to 
 music. In this, it is almost needless to say, he was eminently 
 unsuccessful. Had Mozart or Rossini been present, neither 
 could have gone alive from the apartment. Physic could not 
 have saved them — they must have died on the spot. 
 
 For myself, having an ear by no means remarkably sensitive, 
 I did not suffer any material inconvenience from the prevailing 
 want of harmony ; but my constitutional gravity did suffer some 
 involuntary derangement by the interjections in which Girzy, 
 during the' intervals of the tune, deemed it necessary to address 
 her fellow- servant. Of the tenor of these, the following speci- 
 men may give the reader some idea: — " Ye' re ouer heigh, Meg." 
 — " What for do ye skirl that gate — ha'e ye nae lug for the 
 tune?"—" No sae loud, ye limmer." — " Mak' less sough wi' yer 
 skreighin." — " Haud yer timmer-tuned thrapple." From the 
 moment these sentences reached my ear, I confess I found it 
 impossible again to join my voice in the exercise of praise. 
 
 At the conclusion of the psalm, the worthy doctor pronounced 
 a benediction on the family, and the servants having retired, the 
 glasses were again replenished, and the conversation proceeded 
 as before. The compotation, however, did not extend beyond 
 due limits, and the bowl being finished, Girzy and Meg, bear- 
 ing the apparatus for tea, again entered the apartment. The 
 former, who possessed but a small share of the national talent 
 for silence, took advantage of the privilege of entre, which her 
 occupation afforded her, to address the doctor in a strain of 
 familiarity, at which a dignitary of the English Church would 
 certainly have been somewhat astonished. 
 
 " Weel, doctor, yon was a bonny-like chiel ye got to preach 
 
 for ye last Sabbath's afternoon. What ca' ye him, now ? Hech, 
 
 but he was a puir fizzionless stick, as ever 1 heard in a' my life." 
 
 Here my uncle imperiously ordered her to be silent, but 
 
 without effect. 
 
 " He's but a preacher, I ettle," continued the incorrigible 
 Girzy, " for he had nae bands on ; and weel I wat sic a smed- 
 dumless tike is no very likely to get a kirk in a hurry. He 
 wasna like yersel', doctor, and drave nane o' the dust frae out 
 the cushions o' the poopit wi' the true birr o' the gospel."
 
 440 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Girzy would probably have proceeded yet further with her 
 animadversions, had she not been again interrupted by her 
 master, who, in a tone which showed that his anger was now 
 fairly roused, commanded silence. 
 
 " Haud yer peace, ye impudent and misleart limmer that ye 
 are ; is that a way to speak o' ony friend o' the doctor's in my 
 house? Gang butt the house immediately, and learn when ye 
 come back to keep a calm sough and a steekit gab." 
 
 " Ye needna set up yer birses at me, Mr Spreull," rejoined 
 Girzy ; " for the doctor kens weel enough I meant nae offence ; 
 and gin a's true that's said, waur folk ha'e preacht for him 
 afore now ; for it's weel kent in the town that 
 
 The ilril fj a t power, for half an hour, 
 To preach in the poopil o' Kab Balfour; 
 lint sim, u the L'i>s]n'l bepan to fail, 
 And the elders pookit him out by the tail. 
 
 And had that windlestrae creatur that preached last Sunday 
 been ser't as he deserved" 
 
 Here my uncle became too indignant for further sufferance, 
 and reaching out his staff, aimed a blow at his attendant across 
 the portly person of the divine, which fortunately prevented it 
 from taking effect; and Girzy, finding matters had put on so 
 serious an aspect, prudently retired, without affording any 
 further cause of provocation. 
 
 The doctor, who had felt something of the weight of the blow 
 intended by my uncle for his contumacious handmaiden, deemed 
 this a suitable occasion for a little ghostly remonstrance on the 
 subject of those ungoverned fits of passion to which the old 
 gentleman was constitutionally subject. 
 
 "There's nae doubt, Mr Spreull," observed he, "that Girzy 
 has maybe gotten somewhat mair of the gift of the gab than 
 might just ha'e been desired; but ye ken she's a clever, managin', 
 and faithfu' servant, and her extraordinary gift of speech was 
 likely ordained by Providence to afford you occasion for the 
 exercise of ( Christian patience — a virtue, Mr Spreull, ye'll excuse 
 my freedom in telling you, wi' which you are no overly stocked. 
 I was really quite sorry to see you BO wrathfu' and put out wi' 
 her rampaugious tongue, instead of just letting her words gang 
 in at the tae lug and out at the tither, like a wise man, as the 
 
 World ken- you to be. 'I ak.' my WOlti for't, had ye been mar- 
 ried ye would afore this time o' day hae learned to bear better 
 wi' the clatter o' a woman's gab." 
 
 '• It's very true what you observe, doctor," meekly answered 
 my uncle; "and I ken weel I'm to blame; but the sound o' her 
 voicejusl gaes through me like a knife, and it's no to tell what 
 1 hae Buffered lor the last thrce-aud-thirty years frae the tongue
 
 CTKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVITI. 441 
 
 o' that woman. Yet, as you say, doctor, it ought to be more 
 patiently tholed, as an ordinance— though it's a sair yin — o' 
 divine Providence, intended for my edification." 
 
 At length the divine took his departure, and afraid of the 
 effects which the unusual excitements and exertions of the day 
 might produce on the enfeebled health of my uncle, I, too, soon 
 intimated my intention of returning for the night to my quarters 
 in the Buck v s Head. Though this proposal met with vehement 
 and indignant opposition, I was so well aware that my residence 
 in my uncle's house would necessarily involve the complete 
 sacrifice of my own privacy and comfort, without proportionally 
 contributing to his, that, in spite of all opposition, I remained 
 resolutely fixed in my determination. 
 
 " Isna this bonny-like behaviour, Maister Ceeral," exclaimed 
 the irate Girzy, " no to sleep in yer ain uncles hoose, when 
 ye've come sae far to see him ? There, I've had yer sheets hang- 
 ing a' day by the fire, and I've gart Meg sleep in the bed for 
 the last fortnight to keep it weel aired for you ; and after a', to 
 think o' you gaun awa' stravaigin' at this time o' night, to 
 waste yer siller at an inn. Yin wad ha'e expeckit better things 
 frae you, Maister Ceeral, than the like o' that." 
 
 I had never before observed in my uncle any symptom of 
 approbation of the eloquence of his loquacious functionary; but, 
 on the present occasion, he evidently listened to her strenuous 
 endeavours to revolutionize my intended project, with compla- 
 cency and satisfaction. He had sufficient tact, however, soon 
 to discover that I was obstinately bent on adhering to my plan 
 of returning to the inn; and addressing Girzy, under whose 
 troublesome though kind importunities I was still suffering— 
 "Weel, weel," he said, "it's nae use plaguing him ony mair 
 about the matter; ye ken he has some o' the blood o' the Spreulls 
 in him, and likes as weel as ony o' us to ha'e his ain way; and 
 after a', it's maybe but reasonable he should ; sae ha'e done at 
 yince wi' yer deavin'." 
 
 Even when the main point of my return to the inn had been 
 carried, some difficulties still arose with regard to the mode in 
 which it was to be effected. I proposed walking. 
 
 " Atweel, ye'll no walk the night, without Mr Spreull's big- 
 coat ; but ye had better let Meg rin for a noddy," exclaimed 
 Girzy. 
 
 And with this latter request, in order to avoid a repetition 
 of the penance I had endured on a former occasion, I thought 
 it more prudent to acquiesce. 
 
 Shortly afterwards, the noddy was reported to be in wait- 
 ing for my conveyance, and having faithfully promised an
 
 442 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 early visit on the following morning, I wished the worthy 
 couple good-night. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 Thou old and true Menenius, 
 
 Thy tears are Salter than a younger man's, 
 And venomous to thine eyes. 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 From the details — given, I fear, with somewhat too much 
 prolixity — in the preceding chapter, the reader will, I imagine, 
 have acquired sufficient insight into the circumstances and 
 domestic relations of my uncle, at the period of my visit. In 
 appearance, he was considerably changed by the years which 
 had elapsed since my former visit. He was no longer the hale 
 and vigorous septagenarian my memory depicted him; his frame 
 had suffered much from the inroads of time, as well as of disease, 
 but the stamina of his naturally strong constitution were not 
 yet utterly broken down, and I rejoiced in the hope, that years 
 — if not of happiness, at least of tranquillity and comfort — 
 might yet he in store for the kind and warm -hearted old man. 
 In contributing to his recovery, indeed, I believe my presence 
 and society did more than all the medicines of the doctors. 
 After my arrival, his complaints gradually subsided, and lean- 
 ing on my arm, with the assistance of his staff, he was soon 
 able to repair to that place where merchants most do congregate 
 — the Exchange Coffee-room. There, seated in an arm-chair, 
 he every day spent several hours, transacting business with his 
 usual acuteness, or with spectacled nose poring over the news- 
 papers of the day, or, when interrupted in his occupation, listen- 
 ing for a few moments, with contemptuous gravity, to the 
 political speculations ut'some communicative quidnunc. 
 
 1 generally dined with the old gentleman, and, over a bowl 
 of his favourite beverage, the evenings went by more rapidly 
 and pleasantly than might have been expected from the appa- 
 rently impassable gulf which utter dissimilarity of age, habits, 
 and pursuits had set between us. But the mornings were my 
 own: these my uncle divided between the counting-house and 
 the Exchange, and my society, at such times, was regarded only 
 ns an idle interruption to business. The intervals of liberty 
 thus afforded me were gladly welcomed. I took advantage of 
 hi to escape from the Bmoky atmosphere of the city, and
 
 CYRLL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVHI. 443 
 
 sallied forth into the country to inhale the balmy air of spring 
 — to gladden my eye, wearied by the dismal monotony of the 
 town, with the sight of the bursting blossoms, and my ear with 
 the melodious rejoicings of bird and insect. 
 
 Once, and once only, were my steps directed to the College. 
 Effacing and barbarous hands had been at work since I had 
 last beheld it, and much of that antique grace which had lin- 
 gered over and around it was gone. One side of the venerable 
 Gothic quadrangle had been pulled down — and a detestable 
 building, utterly anomalous in point of architecture, now occu- 
 pied its site. Behind, too, my eye was shocked by the appear- 
 ance of a large Grecian edifice, erected since my departure for 
 the reception of the Hunterian Museum. Abstractedly consi- 
 dered, there was little in the building to excite admiration ; but, 
 situated as it was, nothing more barbarously discordant with 
 the prevailing character of the place can well be imagined. It 
 almost seemed to have dropped from the clouds, and stood 
 staring on the dark and time-honoured masses by which it was 
 surrounded, as if wondering by what extraordinary chance it 
 had been thrown into such company. "Verily," I thought, as 
 with feelings of regret and disappointment my eye rested on 
 the confused architectural jumble, by which the remains of 
 venerable antiquity had been defaced — "Verily, this university 
 may be the seat of learning, but too surely it is not the recep- 
 tacle of taste." 
 
 Occupied with such thoughts, I passed onwards, and entered 
 the once beautiful pleasure grounds, which, in my younger 
 days, had been the scene of healthful recreation, and manly 
 exercise to the students. These, too, had been curtailed and 
 disfigured. Streets now covered the ground, where beneath 
 the shade of venerable trees I had wandered, buried in the 
 dreams of young philosophy, or meditating on the prospects 
 of my future life, as they rose bright and unclouded to my 
 ardent imagination. As I beheld the havoc which the auri 
 sacra fani"s had carried even into these academical retreats, 
 unpleasant feelings were awakened, and willing to escape from 
 them, I turned hastily, and retraced my steps. As I re-trode 
 the courts, they were filled, as of yore, with students, and the 
 loud voice of gayety and merriment rang from the aged echoes, 
 as it had done in the days of my youth. Since then, years had 
 gone by ; many of the excellent and estimable men to whose 
 instructions I had been indebted, were no more. The flood of 
 generations was rolling on its eternal course, and I, a waif upon 
 its waters, had already been carried far onward to the grave. 
 Once, in these very courts, I had mingled in a crowd of joyous 
 and happy beings, such as I beheld around me. Now I stood
 
 444 CYHIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 unknown and a stranger ; ray very existence had passed from 
 all hearts and memories; and when I asked the aged janitor, 
 with whom I had been an especial favourite, if he remembered 
 Cyril Thornton, who, about ten years before, formed an unit in 
 the youthful throng? he answered in the negative. 
 
 " There may ha'e been sic a yin," he said, "for aught I ken, 
 but I really canna say that I mind ony thing about him." 
 
 My steps did not linger long in the College, and never were 
 they again planted within its precints. 
 
 Though in the external aspect of Glasgow, little change was 
 apparent from the lapse of years which had intervened since my 
 former visit, yet a great change was certainly observable in the 
 manners and mode of life of its inhabitants. Wealth had 
 evidently increased, and exotic luxuries and fashions had taken 
 root in the soil. At the epoch of my former visit the city boasted 
 but one carriage; now gay equipages, with servants in gaudy 
 liveries, were to be met with in every street. Formerly a few 
 clumsy and quaker-like buggies, drawn by horses better fitted 
 for the plough than the shafts, might be seen lumbering along, 
 conveying a physician on his rounds, or an elderly gentleman 
 and his wife to their cottage in the suburbs ; now vehicles of 
 the smartest and most fashionable description, whether desig- 
 nated in the nomenclature of the day as Dennet, Stanhope, 
 Whiskey, Tilbury, or Drosky, glittered past with almost meteor- 
 like velocity, in all the great avenues of the city. The ideas 
 of the generation which had been springing up during my 
 absence, evidently differed widely from those of their fathers; 
 and least of all did they seem disposed to imitate them in those 
 habits of parsimony and frugality, in which, perhaps, the chief 
 source of their increasing prosperity was to be sought. Several 
 new and elegant streets had sprung up to the westward of the 
 city, and the gayer and more wealthy part of the population 
 had deserted their former small and smoky residences, for the 
 more elegant and commodious mansions which these afforded. 
 Nothing, in short, could be more striking than the almost total 
 revolution which a few years had effected in the tastes and 
 habits of the community. The spirit of improvement was 
 evidently abroad. There was less of that, narrowness of mind 
 with which, young as I was, I had formerly been struck. Their 
 wants ami id. -is had evidently been enlarged; and of the truth 
 of the axiom, that wealth and civilization arc indissoluble con- 
 nected, Glasgow might he cited as a striking and irrefragable 
 instance. 
 
 In other circumstances, perhaps, these changes mi^ht have 
 attracted little of my attention. But separated from the world, 
 a- 1 fell mvself to he, during my sojourn with my uncle, 1 was
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVIII. 445 
 
 glad to find in external objects, any thing to withdraw my mind 
 from brooding on its own solitary griefs. On the whole, I think 
 there was something in the entire novelty of scene and objects 
 in which I moved, and by which I was surrounded, favourable 
 to the restoration of my mental tranquillity. The storm of vio- 
 lent emotion, by which the very foundations of life and reason 
 had been shaken to their centre, found there no mournful asso- 
 ciation, to excite its dormant fury into action. Memory, indeed, 
 was not idle; yet the keenness of the agony it occasioned had 
 been somewhat diminished. The meridian of glowing passion 
 had already subsided into twilight, and the shadows of time and 
 distance had already partially shrouded the poignant sources of 
 my sorrow. 
 
 "The morbid sensibility with which I had at first regarded 
 my personal disfigurement, had now been displaced by sounder 
 and more reasonable thoughts. It was — or at least I imagined 
 it was — more trifling than I had at first supposed. Those whose 
 love I still valued, loved me not the less for my misfortunes. 
 What then had it cost me? The love of the Lady Melicent ? 
 Oh, no. My calmer judgment told me it could not be. There 
 were other and deeper causes of alienation, of which I could 
 scarcely be unconscious, but on which I wanted courage to 
 reflect. 
 
 The impression I might make on the inhabitants of Glasgow, 
 at all events, cost me no uneasiness. I was nothing to them, 
 and they to me were as nothing. I went abroad — I mingled in 
 the crowded assembly of the Exchange — I daily encountered 
 the stare of rude and vulgar men with the most philosophical 
 indifference. I wished not to attract, I cared not to repel. I 
 was as a star moving onward in its own erratic orbit, uninflu- 
 enced in its course or its velocity by the constellations of the 
 surrounding firmament. 
 
 One day, in walking the Trongate, I was accosted by a very 
 grave and dignified-looking personage, who had often before 
 attracted my notice, from the singularity of his air and appear- 
 ance, though unaccompanied by any personal recognition. He 
 was dressed in a suit of sables, wore knee and shoe-buckles of 
 Bristol stones, and walked the streets with an air of magisterial 
 authority, with one hand buried in the folds of a black satin 
 waistcoat, over which hung a massive gold chain, indicative of 
 his rank as a bailie, and the other flourishing a large bamboo 
 cane with somewhat of the grace of a drum-major. His hair, 
 which was highly powdered, and gathered behind into a pigtail, 
 was surmounted by a large three-cornered cocked hat, not unlike 
 those worn on field-days by Scottish doctors of divinity. The 
 reader will not probably be surprised that, in this imposing per-
 
 446 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XI.VIII. 
 
 sonage, I did not at first recognize my old acquaintance, Mr 
 Archibald Shortridge. Yet he it was. Since I had seen him 
 at Bath, he had been joined in holy wedlock to Miss Thomasina 
 Spreull, and having returned to his native city, had there become 
 a person of sufficient prominence and consequence to be elected 
 to the honours of the magistracy. 
 
 Under a metamorphosis so complete, some seconds elapsed, 
 during which there remained in my mind some lurking doubts 
 as to his identity ; but his voice was not to be mistaken, and he 
 had not articulated a sentence ere hesitation, though not wonder, 
 was at once banished. In his manner of addressing me, and in 
 the tone of his voice, there was an expression of conscious dig- 
 nity, which amalgamated harmoniously with his official gravity 
 and importance. Vulgar and unprepossessing he still was, yet 
 by no means so in a degree unsuitable to the character of a 
 Glasgow bailie. 
 
 " All, major, how's a' wi' you?" exclaimed he, extending at 
 the same time towards me one of his ungloved hands; " I heard 
 of your being in town some time ago, but really the official 
 duties of the magistracy — take a pinch, major," producing his 
 snuff-box as he spoke — " really the official duties of the magis- 
 tracy have been so weighty lately, that I have never yet been 
 able to snatch a moment to call on you. I met Meg yesterday 
 on the street, who told me you put up at the Buck's Head ; and 
 you may depend on it, I shall seize the first leisure moment I can 
 command to call upon you." 
 
 I answered merely by an enquiry for the health of Mrs Short - 
 ridge and her family 
 
 " Thank you — Mrs Shortridge is keepin' pretty well; but 
 I'm sorry to see you in sic a changed condition. 1 daresay you 
 thought it very odd I should pass you in the street, as I have 
 done several times, without speaking, and I houp ye'll no attri- 
 bute it to any pride on my part; for I really did not ken you 
 from that ugly slash on your chowk, which has gi'en you a 
 thrawo l<»>k about the mouth really far from becoming." 
 
 I assured him, in reply, that I had by no means attributed his 
 silence to any such cause, and was in the act of passing on, 
 when he seized me by the coat, and compelled me unwillingly 
 to continue a listener to his conversation. 
 
 " And how's our worthy uncle? We called on him several 
 times lately, but that Girzy always takes care that I never get 
 
 a right <>' him. I was glad to hear that he has lately been 
 recoverin' frae his trouble. Honesl man! drapaffwhen he may 
 — ami in the course 1 nature lie canna be expected to hand out 
 much langer he will be a sair loss to a' his relations, but mair 
 • pecially to Mrs Shortridge — to say naething o' the town o'
 
 CYRIL THORNTON". CHAPTER XLVIII. 447 
 
 Glasgow, that canna houp to look on his like again in a hurry. 
 You may tell him what I say, for it will maybe be a consola- 
 tion to him in his illness to ken he's sae weel loved and respected 
 by us a . 
 
 I here made a second effort to depart, but the bailie still kept 
 firm hold of my coat, and my intention was defeated. 
 
 " And, major, could ye no induce him, do ye think, to get a 
 decenter housekeeper than that Girzy ? She's really no to be 
 trusted wi' sae much in her power as she has. She seems to me 
 naething better than a randy, and I warrant a puir account o' 
 things will be gotten at the old man's death. She's taken care 
 to feather her ain nest brawly, I'll be bound. Ye might just 
 drap a hint or twa in the auld man's lug, though not from me — 
 for I would neither be seen to make nor meddle in the matter — 
 but just as if it came from yourself." 
 
 I declined the task thus assigned me rather peremptorily and 
 briefly ; and bidding the magistrate good-morning, we parted, 
 with reiterated assurances on his part, that his first leisure 
 moment should be devoted to calling on me at the Buck's Head. 
 
 In a few days the projected visit of the bailie was carried into 
 effect, and though I took all necessary precautions to prevent his 
 admission, it became, of course, incumbent on me to return the 
 unwelcome civility. The house of the magistrate, to which my 
 steps were accordingly directed, I found to be situated in a new 
 and elegant street, which had sprung up since my former resi- 
 dence in Glasgow. Every thing in its external appearance gave 
 evidence of an opulent proprietor. My application to the door- 
 bell was not at first attended to, nor were my second and third 
 attempts to attract the notice of the family more fortunate. At 
 length, after waiting about a quarter of an hour, I lost patience 
 and departed ; but I had not proceeded further than a few yards 
 from the door, when I was arrested in my progress by a voice 
 calling after me from the vestibule — " I say, you gentleman, 
 wha was ye wantin' ?" and turning round, I observed that the 
 door had been at length opened by a foot-boy, from whom this 
 somewhat free and unceremonious address proceeded. A more 
 complete lout can hardly be conceived. He wore a dirty apron, 
 his stockings, which were of grey worsted, hung down in large 
 folds about his ankles, and his shoes, which betrayed no traces 
 of either brush or blacking, were without latchets. Above the 
 dress I have already described, he wore a coat of pea-green 
 livery, with scarlet facings, which had evidently but a moment 
 before been donned for the nonce. 
 
 Of this hopeful scion of the establishment I enquired for Mrs 
 Shortridge, and being informed she was at home, I was ushered 
 up a splendid staircase to the drawing-room, which was with-
 
 448 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 out fire, and betrayed no sign of recent habitation. The furni- 
 ture of this apartment was handsome and costly; yet there was 
 something in the assortment of colours it displayed, glaring and 
 unpleasant to the eye. On one side of the apartment, stood a 
 harp and a piano-forte, and confronting each other, at either 
 end, hung full-length portraits of the master and the mistress of 
 the mansion, displaying all that stiffness of figure and stariness 
 of look which bad artists generally contrive to infuse into their 
 resemblances. 
 
 I had been several minutes in the drawing-room, when a ser- 
 vant entered and requested my name. The request was com- 
 plied with, and I was again left to my own solitary meditations. 
 
 These were at length broken by the appearance of Mrs Short- 
 ridge, who entered the apartment evidently fresh from the toilet, 
 in all the splendour of feathers and gros-de-Naples. 
 
 In her air and manner there was, as might have been expect- 
 ed, something more sedate and matronly than in the days of her 
 maidenhood, when her unparalleled agility in dancing had been 
 the admiration, if not the envy, of the fashionable assemblies in 
 Bath. ' 
 
 The render will perhaps excuse me for not affording him the 
 minute details of a conversation, which consisted chiefly of feli- 
 citations on her own change of condition, and condolences on 
 mine. I learned that two of her sisters were married since we 
 last met — one to a respectable country curate of the English 
 church, the other to a gigantic kettle-drummer of a regiment of 
 dragoons, with whom she had eloped, to the great grief and scan- 
 dal of her family. 
 
 While still engaged in conversation, a nurse entered, bearing 
 in her arms a little earroty-headed boy, with a snub nose, and a 
 most insufferable squint. The appearance of this heir of the 
 accumulating honours of the Shortridges, of course diverted our 
 colloquy into the channel must agreeable t<> the feelings of a 
 mother. I was told the story of all his infantine pranks, and 
 
 preternatural pre -ity of talent; and having heard him repeat. 
 
 Ids letters, and siiiLc a song, of which the tune was somewhat 
 indistinguishable, 1 did nut neglect to take advantage of the 
 earliesl opportunity id' escape. From the bailie and his lady I 
 afterwards received Beveral invitations to dinner, but these I 
 declined. 
 
 The time now approached when I was about to quit Glasgow. 
 I hesitated long before I conld bring myself to state my intcn- 
 ti"o of departure to my uncle. I knew it would give him pain, 
 and I I'elt a sort of nervous anxiety to delay the intimation of its 
 necessity as longas possible. 1 did so; but the moment at length 
 came when it was accessary to speak, and I told him that a few
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER XI/VTTI. 449 
 
 days were destined to be the limit of my stay. While I spoke, 
 the old man listened in silence ; but a sigh broke from him as 
 he stretched out his long and bony hand, and grasped mine, with 
 an intensity of pressure indicative of the warmth of his feelings. 
 
 " What you have now tell't me, Cyril," he at length said, 
 " hasna ta'en me by surprise. I kent ye couldna bide here long, 
 wasting the prime o' your days wi' an auld and feckless man, 
 waiting to see him hirple by inches into his grave. O' that 
 fearsome journey, Cyril, I ha'e little left to gang ; for frae what 
 I feel within," here he laid his hand upon his breast, " I ken the 
 spade's already bought, and the mattock in the gravedigger's 
 hand, that's to howk my bed in the kirkyard. Great as the com- 
 fort of your presence would be to me in the struggle that is fast 
 approaching, I dinna ask ye to bide ; for when the spirit's gane, 
 it matters little by what hand the een may be closed. Yes, gang 
 your ways, Cyril, and though my body's ouer auld to move, my 
 spirit will gang with you." 
 
 I returned the pressure of his hand, but spoke not. He 
 resumed. 
 
 " Cyril, rax down the Bible frae the skelf, and read out a psalm 
 and a chapter. It's good, when the shadowy and fading objects 
 of this world are engrossing ouer much of our thoughts and our 
 affections, to turn them on God — the God whose Almighty hand 
 has upheld us in times past — on whose saving grace alone all 
 our hopes for the future can rest for their completion." 
 
 I did as the old man desired ; and not with heedless ear did 
 he drink in the words of holy inspiration. They calmed the 
 tremor of his spirit, and he became again tranquil. 
 
 I did not tell my uncle the particular day fixed for my depar- 
 ture, for I had not courage to take leave of him. I dreaded too 
 much the effect of strong agitation on his enfeebled frame, not 
 to feel anxious to spare him every pang of which our separation 
 — too probably an eternal one — could be divested. The evening 
 preceding my departure came, and I at length rose to depart. 
 I advanced towards the old man, who, unconscious that he then 
 gazed on me for the last time, stretched forth his hand, and 
 wished me, in a calm and untroubled voice — Good-night. 
 
 At that moment, the gush of feeling overpowered me, and I 
 wept — I confess it — like a child. His hand was bedewed with 
 my tears, and, surprized at this unexpected ebullition of feeling, 
 he addressed me in an anxious, yet a soothing voice. 
 
 " Wae's me, Cyril, your spirits have been low the night, and 
 I fear ye' re no weel. Gang to your bed, and I hope you'll get 
 a good sleep, and be better the morn." 
 
 " Yes, uncle," I replied, " I am well, but my spirits are indeed 
 
 2 p
 
 450 CYRIL TUORNTON. CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 tow. Give mo your blessing; I shall then feel calmer, and 
 sleep, when it descends on my eyelids, will be more refreshing." 
 
 " My good laddie, the blessing o' a sinfu' man like mysel' is 
 but little worth — yet ye shall hae't." 
 
 I knelt down before him much moved, and he proceeded : — 
 
 " May the blessing of an all-merciful God be ever on you and 
 around you. May his grace be a lamp unto your feet, and a 
 light unto your path. May it guide, strengthen, and support 
 you in all the troubles and adversities of this life, and bring you, 
 through faith in our Redeemer, to eternal blessedness in that 
 which is to come. Amen." 
 
 With a sad and softened spirit, did I reverently listen to the 
 affecting benediction which he had poured forth in the fulness 
 of his heart ; and I rose not from my knees without a mental 
 prayer, that grace might descend abundantly on his grey and 
 aged head — that all his errors and his frailties might be merci- 
 fully forgiven — and that the last days of his earthly pilgrimage 
 might be hallowed by a blessing. No word passed my lips; but, 
 pressing the hand of the old man in one last and almost con- 
 vulsive grasp, I hurried from the apartment. 
 
 When I returned to my hotel, I did not retire to rest, but 
 seizing a pen, wrote a letter to my uncle, in which I bade him 
 farewell, and gave utterance to the feelings of affectionate regard 
 with which bis kindness had inspired me. On the following 
 morning I quitted Glasgow. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 \\ Inn I said T would die ,-i bachelor, I did not think I should live till I were 
 married. Much Ado about Wothing, 
 
 II souls guide vows, If vows arc sanctimony 
 
 nctlmony be the god's delight, 
 li there !»• rule in an] \ its. it. 
 Thru this i-, she. 
 
 Troika and Crauida. 
 
 ( >\< i: more my steps were turned southward, and having 
 ed the border, in a low hours 1 found myself in the green 
 and sunny land of my nativity. My sojourn in Scotland had 
 certainly, by abstracting my mind from those objects which 
 might nave retarded the restoration of its composure, been 
 favourable to my health. 1 had regained strength; and my
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIX. 451 
 
 spirits -were firmer and less variable than they had been since 
 niy return from abroad. 
 
 As I approached Middlethorpe, it was not without some pal- 
 pitation of the heart that I reflected on the painful task which 
 there awaited me. My resolution of again joining the army 
 remained unshaken, and I was about to bid farewell — an eternal 
 farewell — to Lucy, who had ever regarded me with fond affec- 
 tion, and to Laura, by whom, I knew, that I had, at least, once 
 been beloved. I was about to break the last links that bound 
 me to earth : to gaze once on the beings to whom my heart still 
 clung, and then to behold them no more. 
 
 Laura Willoughby ! How often, since we last parted, had 
 her image started up, like a thing of light and life, amid the 
 darkness of my memory ! With how many dear associations, 
 tranquil, yet serenely beautiful in their tranquillity, was not 
 her image in my imagination, indissolubly connected ! From 
 her fair eyes it was, that my heart had first learned its rudi- 
 ments of love. It was when breathed from her soft voice, that 
 the spirit of sweet music had first sunk meltingly into my soul. 
 Not from the painter's or the sculptor's art, but from Laura, 
 young, beautiful, and joyous, as I remembered her, had I drawn 
 my first conceptions of female beauty, which time had never 
 afterwards obliterated from my heart and fancy. And yet I 
 had loved another ! I had been false and recreant to all the 
 finest and the holiest impulses of my nature. Why was this ? 
 Why had I suffered 1 j heart to be led astray, from its alle- 
 giance to one, on whom, I now felt, it might have rested, and 
 been happy ? In which of the ennobling and peculiar attri- 
 butes of woman, was Laura Willoughby inferior to the highest 
 and proudest of her sex? Had I not, in forsaking her for 
 another, been misled by ambition ? Were all the sufferings 
 I had incurred — all the torture and the anguish which had 
 brought me to the brink of the grave — more than a just retri- 
 bution for my offence ? She had loved me. I had sacrificed 
 her peace of mind, but had not secured my own. The victims 
 had indeed bled, but the demon had not been propitiated. 
 
 What a multitude of tender sympathies and affections lingered 
 over and around her ! Often did I think of her bathed in tears, 
 as at the moment of our parting, when, with marble cheek and 
 closed eyes, she stood before me, and I knew only by the tremu- 
 lous motion of her lips, that she strove, though in vain, to 
 pronounce the word — Farewell. Oh, that in my happier days, 
 I had made her the object of my love ! But, alas! 1 thought, it 
 is now too late. Lould I now offer her — would she stoop to 
 receive, the homage of a heart, which had already been rejected 
 by another ? Could I, who in my days of prime had worshipped
 
 452 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 at another shrine — could I now, maimed and hroken down, 
 widowed in heart, and bankrupt in affection, presume to speak 
 of love to Laura Willoughby ? Could I, indeed, love at all ? 
 Was in v heart not seared and callous ? Had my feelings towards 
 the Lady Melicent been changed ? I knew not ; she was still 
 to me an object of emotion ; yet pride mingled with my pain, 
 when I thought of those days of almost more than mortal bea- 
 titude, in which I had won and worn the high guerdon of her 
 love. I had suffered ; I had been miserable ; I was still unhappy. 
 There was poison mixed with the intoxicating contents of the 
 goblet, and I had drained it to the dregs. Fortune had done 
 her worst. Physical and mental anguish had wrung my body 
 and my soul. Yet fortune could alone influence the present and 
 the future — it could not obliterate the past. 
 
 Of such a character were the confused and multitudinous 
 thoughts that stirred, and were stirring within me when I reached 
 Middlethorpe. It was night. The carriage had been rolling 
 on for several hours amid the darkness, before I was awakened 
 from my reveries by the sudden stopping of the vehicle. In a 
 moment I had sprung into the hall, and rushed onward unan- 
 nounced into the drawing-room. The family were assembled 
 there, and I appeared suddenly in the midst of them, an unex- 
 pected guest. 
 
 I leave my reception to the imagination of the reader. Let 
 it shadow forth for him all that is warm, kind, and aft'ectionate, 
 and he will not exceed the truth. Lucy had recovered her looks 
 since my departure. Never on maiden's cheek was seen a richer 
 bloom, never did maiden's eyes dart brighter efl'ulgence, than 
 Lucy's as she gazed once more upon her brother. It was not 
 so with Laura. She was paler and thinner than I had ever seen 
 her. Sadness was on her brow, which the smile of her colour- 
 less lips could not obscure from observation. No joyful light 
 came dancing from her eve, and in the expression of her coun- 
 tenance, there was an indefinable something that told of secret 
 Buffering and sorrow. Laura was not now, as I remembered 
 
 her; yet iin ray of loveliness that had lingered round her was 
 gone. The character of her beauty was indeed changed — but it 
 was beauty .--till. 
 
 My heart smote me as I gazed on her ; for I entertained a 
 vague consciousness that, but for me, she had been happy. When 
 1 enquired anxiously about her health, she answered she was 
 well ; set I learned from Lady Willoughby and Lucy, that, from 
 some withering impulse, for which medicine afforded no cure, 
 they saw her, with deep anxiety and alarm, gradually fading. 
 
 During my stay at Middlethorpe, Laura, in such sad circum- 
 stances, was the engrossing object of my cares and anxieties. In
 
 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIX. 453 
 
 her presence, all sadness was banished from my brow ; I endea- 
 voured to raise her spirits by a forced elevation of my own. 
 The effort was seldom successful ; and yet I believe a melancholy 
 and dreamy happiness — a calm, not bright, but untroubled — a 
 waveless stillness of all painful emotion — a soothing and tranquil 
 quiescence of heart and mind, frequently stole over her in my 
 society. 
 
 The week which I intended to pass at Middlethorpe carried 
 with it much of sadness of spirit ; for it was felt by all to be the 
 prelude of a parting, and that parting — an eternal one. In the 
 course of it, Frank Willoughby, who had been in town on my 
 arrival, came to accompany me to the place of embarkation, and 
 bid me farewell. The week soon passed, and I was still at Mid- 
 dlethorpe. When I talked of departure, Lucy, with streaming 
 eyes, would throw her arms about my neck, and implore me not 
 to leave England in the feeble and precarious state to which I 
 had been reduced, and call on Laura to join in her entreaties. 
 Laura was silent, yet raised her eyes on me, with a look of pity 
 and of kindness, which spoke more than words could have con- 
 veyed. But my resolution was taken, and I would not be moved. 
 
 " Nay, Lucy," I answered, " why should I remain in a country 
 in which life has lost for me all charm ? In the excitement of 
 the field, I may yet find something to stir my sluggish spirit 
 into action ; and if I die — alas! what loss do I create to any one 
 but you?" 
 
 Laura bent down, and hid her face as I spoke, that I might 
 not read her emotion. 
 
 Though my determination was unshaken, it was difficult to 
 be carried into effect. Lucy, in the fulness of her heart, would 
 beg me to delay my departure but for a single day, and could I 
 refuse her ? No. Yet this could not last for ever ; and, delay 
 it as I might, I knew that the moment of the final struggle must 
 come at last. 
 
 At length it came. I had made my arrangements unknown 
 to any of the family, and the carriage was at the door before I 
 had announced my intention. Then I sought Laura, for with 
 her I felt it necessary to my happiness to have a short interview 
 before my departure, to tell her on the eve of an eternal separa- 
 tion, that I did not part from her in cold indifference of heart. 
 She was not in the house. I learned she had gone out an hour 
 or two before, and had not yet returned. I went forth into the 
 park in search of her ; I visited her favourite walk, beneath the 
 spreading arms of the gigantic beeches, and I called aloud upon 
 her name, but received no answer. Then I sought her in her 
 flower garden, but that had long been neglected, and she was 
 not there. I remembered her favourite bower, on the banks of
 
 454 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 a shady dell, in which she delighted to seek retirement, when the 
 sun was high. This bower was peculiarly her own ; and here, 
 even by her own family, her solitude was held sacred from intru- 
 sion. Thither my steps were bent. As I approached, no sound 
 was heard but the murmuring of the brook beneath, and the 
 caroling of the birds from the branches of the leaty wilderness, 
 in which it stood embowered. When I came within a few yards 
 I stopped, unwilling to intrude suddenly on her privacy, and in 
 a low, but audible voice, I pronounced her name. No answer 
 was returned ; and uncertain whether it contained the object of 
 my search, I at length approached the door. 
 
 When I entered, she was seated at a rustic table, with her 
 face buried in her hands. A bunch of wild-flowers was before 
 her, and a bock lay open upon the table. She did not move on 
 my entrance, and I again addressed her. 
 
 " Laura," I said, " 1 am come to bid you farewell." 
 
 She raised her head quickly and suddenly, as if surprized by 
 my presence. She rose as she beheld me. 
 
 " You are going," she said, and extending her hand towards 
 me, she sunk back upon her seat as if exhausted by the effort. 
 Iler fkee was pale as death, and her eyes in a moment became 
 lustreless and glassy. 
 
 " Oh, Laura, you are ill ! excuse me for having thus intruded 
 on your privacy, but I felt I could not depart without seeing 
 you once more." 
 
 I saw she was struggling to speak, but could not, for her lips 
 moved, yet they produced no sound. At length the word fare- 
 well, in deep and sutt'ocating tones, was faltered from her lips. 
 
 '• Kre 1 bid you farewell, Laura, I have something to Bay, 
 which I could not be happy were I to leave unspoken. I would 
 not have you believe me unkind — ungrateful. Alas, could you 
 read my heart, you would know I am neither!" 
 
 As 1 Bpoke, I seated myself beside her on the mossy bench ; 
 her head fell upon my shoulder, and in a few minutes the power 
 of Utterance was restored to her lips. 
 
 What passed at that, interview words shall never tell. 
 
 The carriage was countermanded. I did not return to the 
 army.
 
 CTKIL THORNTON. CHAPTER L. 455 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 "Whither is he vanish'd ? — 
 Into the air, and what seem'd corporal 
 Melted as breath into the wind. 
 
 Macbeth. 
 
 But where is he, the pilgrim of my song, 
 The being that upheld it through the past ? 
 Methinks he cometh late, and tarries long. 
 He is no more. These breathings are his last. 
 His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, 
 And he himself is nothing. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 Once again, in spite of all my sufferings, my mind was happy 
 and at rest. The man who says, " I will sorrow, and will not be 
 comforted," is ignorant of the laws of his own nature — he knows 
 not that which is within him. He cannot dedicate his days to 
 unavailing regrets. Comfort will visit him in a thousand un- 
 known shapes, and unsuspected forms. Sometimes it will steal 
 unawares into his soul, and, brooding like the halcyon on the 
 billowy waters of his spirit, they will become calm. Sometimes, 
 like a thing of life and beauty, it will start up before him in his 
 path, and he will welcome it to his arms. If joy is transient, so 
 is sorrow. The chariot of Time, though its wheels be noiseless, 
 is ever rolling onward in its course. The world may remain 
 unmoved, but to us it is ever changing. The mountain, which 
 in the morning hid half the firmament from the eye of the 
 mariner, when seen at eventide from the deck of his receding 
 vessel, seems to have shrunk into a molehill. 
 
 Hitherto, gentle reader, I have made you the depositary of 
 my confidence. I have laid bare to your view my actions and 
 my motives. You know my errors ; — I have told you the secrets 
 of my life. These were my own ; I had a right to reveal them, 
 and I have done so. The time has at length come — I write it 
 with regret — when this confidence must cease. I married ; and 
 from the moment I did so, the secrets of another became indis- 
 solubly connected with my own. A barrier has sprung up 
 between us, which cannot be overpassed. I would not deceive 
 you; thenceforward the workings of my bosom can be known 
 but to God, and one only of his creatures. 
 
 Yet, separated as we are, I would willingly indulge the hope 
 that there are some kind natures, at least, who are not utterly 
 indifferent to the future fate of one, whose career through infancy 
 and in manhood they have already followed. To such — if such 
 there be — the few and brief particulars I have yet to relate may 
 not be without interest.
 
 456 CYRLL THORNTON. CHAPTER L. 
 
 In a few months from the period referred to in the last chapter, 
 bloom had again visited the cheek of Laura Willoughby, and she 
 became my wife. Never, perhaps, was there a more complete 
 and sudden revolution in a human heart, than the conviction 
 that 1 was still to one fair being the object of fervent and devoted 
 love, created in mine. The discordant jarring of its elements 
 was in a moment hushed, and the chords of my spirit, when 
 moved by her gentle breathing, gave forth symphonious music. 
 1 was happy, but my happiness was of a different nature from 
 any I had before conceived of. It was in nothing like the glo- 
 rious swing of rapture, which in former days had thrilled every 
 fibre of my frame, and shot like wild-fire through my veins. 
 Yet it was better than that, deeper, less troubled, more serene, 
 less variable, and more enduring. 
 
 After my marriage, I wished not again to mingle in the world. 
 I had already experienced my share of its vanities, its dangers, 
 and its disappointments. The full capacity of my affections was 
 filled at home, and what need was there that I should seek enjoy- 
 ment abroad? I quitted the army, and retired to Thornhill. 
 Twelve tranquil and happy years have since passed, during which 
 I have found no reason to doubt the wisdom of my resolution. 
 My life, indeed, has not been one of idleness ; and I trust, that 
 in discharging the duties of my station with zeal and fidelity, I 
 have not served my country less effectually than I could have 
 done in the more active services of a military life. 
 
 At first, Thornhill was to me the source of many painful 
 remembrances. Every object I beheld there, was linked with 
 sad associations of those whom I had loved, and who were gone 
 for ever. Every spot of the ground — almost every tree was con- 
 nected with the memory of youthful days, and stirred my heart 
 with melancholy thoughts. This, however, by degrees wore off. 
 The associations, indeed, still continue, but the pangs which they 
 excited are gone. My regrets have been softened, not deraci- 
 nated by time. Of those I have committed to the grave, I now 
 think with tender memory — not with poignant sorrow. 
 
 There is a healing medicament in nature for minds that 
 delight to dwell too fondly on the past. When I gaze on my 
 children, the sources of a thousand fears and hopes, my thoughts 
 are either fixed on the present or projected to the future. Yet 
 how frequently do even these awaken the sleeping remembrances 
 of my youthful days ! The sunny hair, and blue eyes of Charles 
 recall the brother of my youth, whose name he bears ; and Laura — 
 little Laura — is she not the image of that Lucy who came dancing 
 in the glee of her childhood to welcome the return of her brothers 
 to their homef Yes, in her sylph-like form, in her dark and 
 laughing eyes — even in that nasal tendency to snub, which time
 
 CYRIX THORNTON. CHAPTER L. 457 
 
 has so happily removed from Lucy, the resemblance is perfect. 
 But I would turn from circumstances exclusively connected with 
 myself, to others in which the reader may perhaps take deeper 
 interest. 
 
 From the period of my quitting Glasgow, the infirmities of 
 my uncle continued to increase. I wrote him of my marriage, 
 and received a letter of kind congratulation in return. I 
 entreated him to quit Glasgow, and make Thornhill his future 
 residence ; but the old man felt and knew that the habits of a 
 long life were not thus to be broken by a sudden wrench. 
 Business, which had been the labour of his early life, was become 
 the pleasure of his later days. He was sensible, he said, of the 
 kindness of the motive which prompted the invitation, but he 
 would not lay on me the burden of a querulous and infirm old 
 man. He was too old a tree to be transplanted ; he would die 
 where he had lived, and lay his bones with his father's. He sur- 
 vived about five years, during which period I paid him several 
 visits. 
 
 At length, a letter came from Girzy, informing me that he 
 was very ill, and the physicians despaired of his recovery. In 
 half an hour I was on the road, and travelled day and night, in 
 the hope that I might yet be in time to close his eyes. I thank 
 God I was so. He was dying when I arrived ; yet when Girzy 
 told him of my presence, in a voice which sobbing rendered 
 almost inarticulate, he gazed on me with a look of kindness, and 
 I felt the pressure of the hand I held in mine. His death was 
 easy. No one knew at what moment his spirit took its flight. 
 He appeared to sink into a slumber, from which he never woke. 
 May Ave not believe of this kind and generous old man, that, 
 dying in the sincerity of his faith, " he fell asleep in the Lord? " 
 
 At another moment, I might have laughed at the expression 
 of the countenances of the numerous relations who were present 
 at the opening of the will. Never, perhaps, was hope, and fears 
 that kindle hope, more variously and ludicrously depicted, than 
 on the faces of those who listened with breathless anxiety to each 
 succeeding bequest of the important document, when read aloud 
 by the slow and drawling voice of the solicitor. By this it 
 appeared, that the old gentleman had left legacies to each of his 
 brother's children, but the bulk of his large fortune, including 
 the estate of Balmalloch, to me. By this large accession I have 
 been enabled to purchase back all that portion of my ances- 
 torial estates, which, from the extravagance of my grandfather, 
 it had been found necessary to sell. Thus have the shorn 
 honours of the family been unexpectedly restored. 
 
 To his old and faithful domestic, my uncle bequeathed an 
 annuity of a hundred a-year — to her, wealth as great as the 
 
 2 G
 
 458 CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER L. 
 
 mines of Potosi. Yet long was the kind and faithful creature 
 inconsolable for the death of her master. She did not weep, but 
 she wandered up and down the apartments, in a vague but sad 
 consciousness, that, like Othello, her occupation was gone. Often 
 would she start up from her chair in the kitchen, in forgetful- 
 ness of the sad event, and run towards the chamber in which 
 the body was laid, anxious to administer to the wants of him 
 who could feel human wants no more. Thus did her time pass 
 till the day of the funeral ; but when she saw the mournful 
 assemblage, and the coffin that contained the remains of one, 
 who for forty years had been the engrossing object of all her 
 ministering cares, carried forth to be committed to its last home, 
 the poor creature seemed utterly broken-hearted and bent down 
 by the weight of her affliction. 
 
 I accompanied the funeral into Dumbartonshire, and laid the 
 old man by the side of his brother. 
 
 On my return, I did what I could to comfort Girzy and soothe 
 the violence of her grief. Her relations I found were all dead, 
 and there was no tie, since the departure of her master, that 
 bound her to Scotland. So Girzy went with me to Thornhill, 
 where she has remained ever since. 
 
 Knowing the natural activity of her constitution, I at first 
 endeavoured to find scope for her energies, by placing her in a 
 situation of authority. The English servants and the Scotch 
 housekeeper, however, did not agree. The names of civil war 
 broke out in the establishment, and all was discord and confusion. 
 ( rirzy, who carried her zeal for my interest a point or two further 
 than was desirable, came to me with loud complaints of the waste 
 and extravagance of my domestics. 
 
 " Thae wasterfu' deevils o' servants, Maister Ceeral," she 
 would say in the fulness of her heart, " will eat you out o' house 
 and hame. It just drives me demented to see the galravitchin' 
 that's gaun on at a' boors in the servants' ha', to say naething o' 
 the loupin' and rampaugin' o' thae ne'er-do-weel cutties wi' the 
 bardy flunkies, that are nae better than themsel's. l'se warrant 
 we'll ha'e some o' them sittin' in the kirk, on the black stool, 
 afore lang. And then they maun ha'e meat three times a-day, 
 and the strong beer gangs ouer their thrapples like sae muckle 
 water ; set the like o' them up, indeed, wi' their yill and masted 
 meat ! Thifl very morning, when I made a haill pat-fu' o* par- 
 ritch mysel', and set it afore them for their breaki'ast, wad they 
 sae muckle as look at it? Na, they turned up their noses 
 at the wry sijrht o't, and tell't me to tak' my Scotch dishes to 
 the pigs! Heard ever lecvin' woman the like o' that ? But 
 l'se bring down their proud stamaehs, and gar them pike their 
 banes better, before a's done, or my name's no Girzy Black."
 
 CTRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER L. 459 
 
 In short, Girzy seemed determined to set up as the Joseph 
 Hume of the establishment, and her labours met with pretty 
 much the same reception with those of that distinguished econo- 
 mist. The servants came in a body, and declared they could no 
 longer remain in office under that Scotch skinflint of a house- 
 keeper. Resignation -was the order of the day. I was briefly, 
 but decidedly informed, that I must either seek a new house- 
 keeper or a new establishment of servants. The steward talked 
 of resigning the seals, and the housemaid of laying her mop at 
 my feet ; the butler would not draw a cork without a change of 
 ministry — the groom gave up his curry-comb, and even a Flib- 
 bertigibbet of an errand- boy hesitated on the propriety of carrying 
 my letters to the post, without an immediate prospect of a satis- 
 factory adjustment. Under such appalling circumstances, I was 
 compelled to yield. Girzy was transferred to the nursery, where 
 she reigns with undisputed authority, teaching the children to 
 speak Scotch, and spoiling them by over-indulgence. 
 
 From Lucy, now Lady YVilloughby, I scarcely consider myself 
 separated. Middlethorpe is not beyond the limits of a morning's 
 l-ide, and the intercourse between the families is cordial and con- 
 stant. Frank has become almost as domestic as myself, and 
 makes an excellent husband. Time has deprived Lucy of 
 none of her attractions. She is neither less gay nor high-spi- 
 rited than formerly, though, with respect to all the duties of a 
 wife and mother, I confess I do not know a more exemplary 
 matron. Frank's companions sometimes joke him, indeed, on 
 the change of his taste and habits, which has become apparent 
 since his marriage, and I have remarked that he is generally 
 silent in conversation, when allusion is made to the domestic 
 circumstances of families in which the grey mare is known to be 
 the better horse. 
 
 The society of Conyers, now a K.C.B., with about a dozen 
 foreign orders dangling from his button-hole, I also frequently 
 enjoyed. He married Miss Culpepper, a young lady to whom 
 I have had the honour of introducing the reader in the course 
 of these Memoirs, but with whose good qualities I enjoyed no 
 opportunity of becoming acquainted. By the death of her 
 brother, who died from eating ice when heated by dancing at a 
 ball, she succeeded to the estate of Culpepper Park, which 
 Conyers now possesses in right of his wife. Age has somewhat 
 moderated the extreme vivacity of his spirits, but by no means 
 diminished his attachment to old friends ; and our regard, begun 
 in youth, is likely, if I may judge from my own feelings, to 
 continue till death. Sir Charles and Lady Conyers are the 
 gayest people in the county. No one rides better horses, or is 
 a keener sportsman, than my old friend ; no one drives a smarter
 
 4G0 CrRIL THORNTON. — CHAPTER L. 
 
 equipage, or gives more splendid parties than her ladyship. We 
 are but sober people at Thorahill, yet Conyers always spends a 
 fortnight with us about Christmas, a visit to which we make a 
 regular return. 
 
 William Lumley went some years ago to India as a judge, 
 lie writes me, he is there engaged in a ponderous book on 
 Indian Antiquities, with which he means to astonish the learned 
 on his return to Europe. 
 
 Lady Lyndhurst (I really beg pardon of the Lord Chancellor, 
 Dut mine is the older creation) continues to fill that prominent 
 station in the world of haat ton to which, by her rank, beauty, 
 and talents, she is so eminently entitled. Since my marriage 
 ire have twice met, and she received me with the cordial wel- 
 come of an old friend. Though I have never ceased to feel a 
 deep interest in her happiness, these meetings were not the 
 cause of any very painful or violent emotions. The season of 
 these has passed away ; and when I gaze on Laura and my 
 children, I can bend in grateful acquiescence to the decrees of 
 Providence, and say, from the bottom of my heart, " It is better 
 as it is." 
 
 Reader, it is time that the drama of my life should close. 
 The curtain must now fall ; and the puppets which, lor your 
 amusement, have strutted their little hour upon the stage, are 
 about to vanish for ever from your view. If, in following the 
 vicissitudes of my career, you have occasionally felt sympathy 
 for my joys or sufferings, accept my thanks; and should your 
 rarly days, like nunc, have been overcast with storms, may 
 these, too, pass away, and leave the sunset of your life serene 
 and unclouded as that of Cyrll Thornton. 
 
 i in, END. 
 
 r.uiNniiRr.ii: rniNTP.n iiy hai.t.antyne and hughes, 
 
 PAUL'S woliil CANONQATE.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
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 MAY 1419?1 
 
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