I 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 University of California. 
 
 Class 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/barringtontalesoOOIeverich 
 
^0|/T;^P;£;C£; 
 
 '^/; 
 
 ^ '/^-t^- 
 
B ARRINGTON ; 
 
 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES LEYER. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY PHIZ. 
 
 B O S T O X : 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1900. 
 
SEnibcrsttg ^^rrss: 
 John Wilson and Sox, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapteb Pag» 
 
 I. The Fisherman's Home 1 
 
 n. A Wet Morxing at Home 12 
 
 TTT. Our next Neighbors 23 
 
 rV. Fred Conyers 42 
 
 V. Dill as a Diplomatist 53 
 
 VI. The Doctor's Daughter 60 
 
 VII. Tom Dill's First Patient 69 
 
 Vin. Fine Acquaintances 83 
 
 IX. A Country Doctor 89 
 
 X. Being " Bored " 98 
 
 XI. A Note to be Answered 107 
 
 XII. The Answer 113 
 
 XIII. A Few Leaves from a Blue-Book .... 123 
 
 XIV. Barrington's Ford 136 
 
 XV. An Exploring Expedition 149 
 
 XVI. Coming Home 162 
 
 XVn. A Shock 171 
 
 XVIII. COBHAM 184 
 
 XIX. The Hour of Luncheon 198 
 
 XX. An Interior at the Doctor's 202 
 
 XXL Dark Tidings 216 
 
 XXII. Leaving Home 225 
 
 XXIII. The Colonel's Cot-nsels 235 
 
 XXrV. CONTTERS MAKES A MORNING CaLL 242 
 
 193049 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter Pagb 
 
 XXV. Dublin Revisited 256 
 
 XXVI. A VEKY Sad Good-Bye 267 
 
 XX VII. TuE Convent on tue Meuse 275 
 
 XXVIIL George's Daugiiteu 283 
 
 XXIX. The Ramble 295 
 
 XXX. Under the Linden 305 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 Volume One. 
 
 I£td)tng0. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Fisherman's Home Frontispiece 
 
 Polly Dill 64 
 
 The Major "departs," but not in "Peace" . . . 218 
 
 Illustratians m ti)£ (JTeit. 
 
 Warm Tea and Cold Reception 29 
 
 The Accident 35 
 
 Darby feelingly apologises for the Scarcity of 
 
 Irish Lions 47 
 
 The Problem 105 
 
 Tom Dill in his Best 119 
 
 Polly Dill takes leave of Conyers 145 
 
 Poaching 169 
 
 Tom Dill at his Studies 181 
 
 Master and Man's Reflections over Old Habits . 227 
 
 A Useful Hand 251 
 
 A Lecture 279 
 
 The Third Volume 287 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 BARRINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE fisherman's HOME. 
 
 If there should be, at this clay we live in, any one bold 
 enough to confess that he fished the river Nore, in Ireland, 
 some forty years ago, he might assist me by calling to mind 
 a small inn, about two miles from the confluence of that 
 river with the Barrow, a spot in great favor with those who 
 followed the "gentle craft." 
 
 It was a very unpretending hostel, something wherein cot- 
 tage and farmhouse were blended, and only recognizable as 
 a place of entertainment by a tin trout suspended over the 
 doorway, with the modest inscription underneath, — "Fish- 
 erman's Home." Very seldom is it, indeed, that hotel 
 pledges are as honestly fulfilled as they were in this simple 
 announcement. The house was, in all that quiet comfort 
 and unostentatious excellence can make, a veritable Home! 
 Standing in a fine old orchard of pear and damson trees, it 
 was only approachable by a path which led from the high- 
 road, about two miles off, or by the river, which wound 
 round the little grassy promontory beneath the cottage. 
 On the opposite side of the stream arose cliffs of consider- 
 able height, their terraced sides covered with larch and ash, 
 around whose stems the holly, the laurel, and arbutus grew 
 in a wild and rich profusion. A high mountain, rugged 
 with rock and precipice, shut in- the picture, and gave to the 
 river all the semblance of a narrow lake. 
 
 VOL. I. — 1 
 
2 BARRINGTON. 
 
 The Home, as may be imagiued, was only resorted to hy 
 fishermeu, aud of these not many; for the chosen few who 
 knew the spot, with the churlishness of true anglers, were 
 strenuously careful to keep the secret to themselves. But 
 another and stronger cause contributed to this seclusion. 
 The landlord was a reduced gentleman, who, only anxious 
 to add a little to his narrow fortune, would not have accepted 
 a greater prosperity at the cost of more publicity, and who 
 probably only consented to his occupation on finding how 
 scrupulously his guests respected his position. 
 
 Indeed, it was only on leave-taking, and then far from 
 painfully, you were reminded of being in an inn. There 
 was no noise, no bustle; books, magazines, flowers, lay 
 about; cupboards lay open, with all their cordials free to 
 take. You might dine under the spreading s^'camore beside 
 the well, and have your dessert for the plucking. No obse- 
 quious waiter shook his napkin as you passed, no ringleted 
 barmaid crossed your musing steps, no jingling of bells, or 
 discordant cries, or high-voiced remonstrances disturbed 
 you. The hum of the summer bee, or the flapping plash of 
 a trout, were about the only sounds in the stillness, and all 
 was as peaceful and as calm and as dreamy as the most 
 world-weary could have wished it. 
 
 Of those who frequented the spot, some merely knew that 
 the host had seen better days. Others, however, were 
 aware that Peter Barrington had once been a man of large 
 fortune, and represented his county in the Irish Parliament. 
 Though not eminent as a politician, he was one of the great 
 convivial celebrities of a time that boasted of Curran, and 
 Avanmore, and Parsons, and a score of others, any one of 
 whom, in our day, would have made a society famous. 
 Barrington, too, was the almoner of the monks of the screw, 
 and "Peter's pence" was immortalized in a song bj- Ned 
 Lysaght, of which I once possessed, but have lost a cop3\ 
 
 One might imagine there could be no difficulty in showing 
 how in that wild period of riotous living and costly rivalry 
 an Irish gentleman ran through all his property and left 
 himself penniless. It was, indeed, a time of utter reckless- 
 ness, many seeming possessed of that devil-may-care spirit 
 that drives a drowning crew to break open the spirit-room 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HOME. 3 
 
 and go down in an orgie. But Barrington's fortune was so 
 large, and his successes on the turf so considerable, that 
 it appeared incredible, when his estates came to the hammer, 
 and all his personal property was sold off; so complete his 
 ruin, that, as he said himself, the "only shelter he had was 
 an umbrella, and even that he borrowed from Dan Driscoll, 
 the sheriff's officer." 
 
 Of course there were theories In plenty to account for the 
 disaster, and, as usual, so many knew, many a long day 
 ago, how hard pressed he had been for money, and what 
 ruinous interest be was obliged to pay, till at last rumors 
 filtered all down to one channel, and the world agreed that 
 it was all his son's doing, and that the scamp George had 
 ruined his father. This son, his only child, had gone out to 
 India in a cavalry regiment, and was celebrated all over the 
 East for a costly splendor that rivalled the great Govern- 
 ment officials. From every retired or invalided officer who 
 came back from Bengal were heard stories of mad Barring- 
 ton's extravagance: his palace on the Hooghl}', his racing 
 stud, his elephants, his army of retainers, — all nai'ratives 
 which, no matter in what spirit retailed, seemed to delight 
 old Peter, who, at every fresh story of his son's spendthrift 
 magnificence, would be sure to toast his health with a racy 
 enthusiasm whose sincerity was not to be doubted. 
 
 Little wonder need there be if in feeding such extrava- 
 gance a vast estate melted away, and acre followed acre, 
 till all that remained of a property that ranked next to the 
 Ormonds' was the little cottage over whose door the tin 
 trout dangled, and the few roods of land around it: sorry 
 remnant of a princely fortune! 
 
 But Barrington himself had a passion, which, inordinately 
 indulged, has brought many to their ruin. He was intensely 
 fond of law. It was to him all that gambling is to other 
 men. All that gamesters feel of hope and fear, all the in- 
 tense excitement they derive from the vacillating fortunes 
 of play, Barrington enjoyed in a lawsuit. Every step of 
 the proceeding had for him an intense interest. The 
 driest legal documents, musty declarations, demurrers, 
 pleadings, replies, affidavits, and counter-affidavits were 
 his choicest reading; and never did a young lady hurry 
 
4 BARRINGTON. 
 
 to her room with the last new novel with a stronger 
 anticipation of delight than did Barrington when carrying 
 away to his little snuggery a roll of parchments or rough 
 drafts, whose very iterations and jargon would have driven 
 most men half crazy. This same snuggei-y of his was a 
 curiosity, too, the walls being all decorated with portraits 
 of legal celebrities, not selected with reference to their merit 
 or distinction, but solely from their connection with some 
 suit in which he had been engaged; and thus under the 
 likeness of Chief Baron O'Grady might be read, ''Barring- 
 ton versus Brazier, 1802; a juror withdrawn:" Justice 
 Moore's portrait was inscribed, "Argument in Chambers, 
 1808," and so on; even to the portraits of leading counsel, 
 all were marked and dated only as they figured in the great 
 campaign, — the more than thirty years' war he carried on 
 against Fortune. 
 
 Let not my reader suppose for one moment that this liti- 
 gious taste grew out of a spirit of jarring discontent or 
 distrust. Nothing of the kind. Barrington was merely a 
 gambler; and with whatever dissatisfaction the declaration 
 may be met, I am prepared to show that gambling, however 
 faulty in itself, is not the vice of cold, selfish, and sordid 
 men, but of warm, rash, sometimes over-generous tempera- 
 ments. Be it well remembered that the professional play- 
 man is, of all others, the one who has least of a gamester in 
 his heart; his superiority lying in the simple fact that his 
 passions are never engaged, his interest never stirred. Oh! 
 beware of yourself in company with the polished antagonist, 
 who only smiles when he loses, whom nothing adverse ever 
 disturbs, but is calmly serene under the most pitiless pelting 
 of luck. To come back: Barrington's passion for law was 
 an intense thirst for a certain species of excitement ; a ver- 
 dict was to him the odd trick. Let him, however, but 
 win the game, there never Avas a man so indifferent about 
 the stakes. 
 
 For many a year back he had ceased to follow the great 
 events of the world. For the stupendous changes in Europe 
 he cared next to nothing. He scarcely knew who reigned 
 over this empire or that kingdom. Indifferent to art, 
 science, letters, and even society, his interest was intense 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HOME. 5 
 
 about all that went on in the law courts, and it was an in- 
 terest so catholic that it took in everything and everybody, 
 from the great judge upon the bench to the small taxiug- 
 otlicer who nibbled at the bill of costs. 
 
 Fortunately for him, his sister, a maiden lady of some 
 eighteen or twenty years his junior, had imbibed nothing of 
 this passion, and, by her prudent opposition to it, stemmed 
 at least the force of that current which was bearing him to 
 ruin. Miss Dinah Barrington had been the great belle of 
 the Irish court, — I am ashamed to say how long ago, — and 
 though at the period my tale opens there was not much 
 to revive the impression, her high nose, and full blue eyes, 
 and a mass of wonderfully unchanged brown hair, pro- 
 claimed her to be — what she was very proud to call herself 
 — a thorough Barrington, a strong type of a frank nature, 
 with a bold, resolute will, and a very womanly heart 
 beneath it. 
 
 When their reverses of fortune first befell them. Miss 
 Barrington wished to emigrate. She thought that in Canada, 
 or some other far-away laud, their altered condition might 
 be borne less painfully, and that they could more easily 
 bend themselves to humble offices where none but strangers 
 were to look on them ; but Barrington clung to his country 
 with the tenacity of an old captain to a wreck. He declared 
 he could not bring himself to the thought of leaving his 
 bones in a strange land, but he never confessed what he felt 
 to be the strongest tie of all, two unfinished lawsuits, the 
 old record of Barrington r. Brazier, and a Privy Council 
 case of Barrington and Lot Rammadahn Mohr against the 
 India Company. To have left his country with these still 
 undecided seemed to him — like the act of a commander 
 taking flight on the morning of a general action — an 
 amount of cowardice he could not contemplate. Not that he 
 confided this opinion to his sister, though he did so in the 
 very fullest manner to his old follower and servant. Darby 
 Cassan. Darby was the last remnant of a once princely 
 retinue, and in his master's choice of him to accompany his 
 fallen fortunes, there was something strangely indicative of 
 the man. Had Darby been an old butler or a bodj'-servant, 
 had he been a favorite groom, or, in some other capacity, 
 
6 BARRINGTON. 
 
 one whose daily duties had made his a familiar face, and 
 whose functions could still be available in an humble state, 
 there would have seemed good reason for the selection; but 
 Darby was none of these: he had never served in hall or 
 pantry; he had never brushed the cobweb from a bottle, or 
 led a nag to the door. Of all human professions his were 
 about the last that could address themselves to the cares of 
 a little household; for Darby was reared, bred, and passed 
 fifty-odd years of his life as an earth-stopper! 
 
 A very ingenious German writer has attempted to show 
 that the sympathies of the humble classes with pursuits far 
 above their own has always its origin in something of their 
 daily life and habits, just as the sacristan of a cathedral 
 comes to be occasionally a tolerable art critic from his con- 
 tinual reference to Rubens and Vandyck. It is possible 
 that Darby may have illustrated the theory, and that his 
 avocations as earth-stopper may have suggested what he 
 assuredly possessed, a perfect passion for law. If a suit 
 was a great game to Barriugton, to Darby it was a hunt! 
 and though his personal experiences never soared beyond 
 Quarter Sessions, he gloried in all he saw there of violence 
 and altercation, of vituperative language and impassioned 
 abuse. Had he been a rich man, free to enjoy his leisure, 
 he would have passed all his days listening to these hot dis- 
 cussions. They were to him a sort of intellectual bull-fight, 
 which never could be too bloody or too cruel. Have I said 
 enough, therefore, to show the secret link which bound 
 the master to the man ? I hope so ; and that my reader is 
 proud of a confidence with which Miss Barriugton herself 
 was never intrusted. She believed that Darby had been 
 taken into favor from some marvellous ability he was sup- 
 posed to possess, applicable to their new venture as inn- 
 keepers. Phrenology would perhaps have pronounced Darby 
 a heaven-born host, for his organ of acquisitiveness was 
 grandly developed. Amidst that great household, where 
 the thriftless habits of the master had descended to the ser- 
 vants, and rendered all reckless and wasteful alike. Darby 
 had thriven and grown almost rich. Was it that the Irish 
 climate used its influence over him; for in his practice to 
 "put by something for a rainy day," his savings had many 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HOME. 7 
 
 promptings? As the reputation of having money soon 
 attached to him, he was often applied to in the hunting-field, 
 or at the kennel, for small loans, by the young bloods who 
 frequented the Hall, and, being always repaid three or four 
 fold, he grew to have a very high conception of what bank- 
 ing must be when done on a large scale. Besides all this, 
 he quickly learned that no character attracts more sympathy, 
 especially amongst the class of young squires and sporting- 
 men, than a certain quaint simplicity, so flattering in its 
 contrast to their own consummate acuteness. Now, he was 
 simple to their hearts' content. He usually spoke of himself 
 as "Poor Darby, God help him!" and, in casting up those 
 wonderful accounts, which he kept by notches on a tally- 
 stick, nothing was more amusing than to witness his bewil- 
 derment and confusion, the inconceivable blunders he would 
 make, even to his own disadvantage, all sure to end at last 
 in the heart-spoken confession that it was "clean beyand 
 him," and "he 'd leave it all to your honor; pay just what 
 ye plaze, and long life to ye ! " 
 
 Is it that women have some shrewd perception of charac- 
 ter denied to men? Certaiul}^ Darby never imposed on 
 Miss Barrington. She read him like a book, and he felt it. 
 The consequence was a very cordial dislike, which strength- 
 ened with every year of their acquaintance. 
 
 Though Miss Barrington ever believed that the notion of 
 keeping an inn originated with her brother, it was Darby 
 first conceived the project, and, indeed, by his own skill 
 and crafty intelligence was it carried on; and while the 
 words "Peter Barrington " figured in very small letters, it is 
 true, over the door to comply with a legal necessity, to most 
 of the visitors he was a mere myth. Now, if Peter Barring- 
 ton was very happy to be represented by deputy, — or, 
 better still, not represented at all, — Miss Dinah regarded 
 the matter in a very different light. Her theory was that, 
 in accepting the humble station to which reverse of fortune 
 brought them, the world ought to see all the heroism and 
 courage of the sacrifice. She insisted on being a fore- 
 ground figure, just to show them, as she said, "that I take 
 nothing upon me. I ain the hostess of a little wayside inn, 
 — no more ! " How little did she know of her own heart. 
 
8 BAKRLNGTON. 
 
 and how far was she from even suspecting that it was the 
 ci-devant belle making one last throw for the admiration 
 and homage which once were offered her freely. 
 
 JSuch were the three chief personages who dwelt under that 
 secluded roof, half overgrown with honeysuckle and dog- 
 roses, — specimens of that wider world without, where jeal- 
 ousies, and distrusts, and petty rivalries are warring: for as 
 in one tiny globule of water are represented the elements 
 which make oceans and seas, so is it in the moral world; 
 and "the family" is only humanity, as the artists say, 
 "reduced." 
 
 For years back Miss Barrington had been plotting to de- 
 pose Darby. With an ingenuity quite feminine, she man- 
 aged to connect him with every chagrin that crossed and 
 every annoyance that befell them. If the pig ploughed up 
 the new peas in the garden, it was Darby had left the gate 
 open; it was his hand overwound the clock; and a ver)' sig- 
 nificant hint showed that when the thunder soured the beer, 
 Mr. Darby knew more of the matter than he was likely to 
 tell. Against such charges as these, iterated and reiterated 
 to satiety, Barrington would reply by a smile, or a good- 
 natured excuse, or a mere gesture to suggest patience, till 
 his sister, fairly worn out, resolved on another line of 
 action. "As she could not banish the rats," to use her own 
 words, "she would scuttle the ship." 
 
 To explain her project, I must go back in my story, and 
 state that her nephew, George Barrington, had sent over to 
 England, some fifteen years before, a little girl, whom he 
 called his daughter. She was consigned to the care of his 
 banker in London, with directions that he should communi- 
 cate with Mr. Peter Barrington, announce the child's safe 
 arrival, and consult with him as to her future destination. 
 Now, when the event took place, Barrington was in the very 
 crisis of his disasters. Overwhelmed with debts, pursued 
 by creditors, regularly hunted down, he was driven day by 
 day to sign away most valuable securities for mere passing 
 considerations, and obliged to accept any .conditions for 
 daily support. He answered the banker's letter, briefly 
 stating his great embarrassment, and begging him to give 
 the child his protection for a few weeks or so, till some 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HOME. 9 
 
 arrangement of his affairs might enable him to offer her a 
 home. 
 
 This time, however, glided over, and the hoped-for amend- 
 ment never came, — far from it. Writs were out against 
 him, and he was driven to seek a refuge in the Isle of Man, 
 at that time the special sanctuary of insolvent sinners. 
 Mr. Leonard Gower wrote again, and proposed that, if no 
 objection would be made to the plan, the child should be 
 sent to a certain convent near Namur, in the Netherlands, 
 where his own daughter was then placed for her education. 
 Aunt Dinah would have rejected, — ay, or would have re- 
 sented such a proposal as an insult, had the world but gone 
 on better with them. That her grand-niece should be 
 brought up a Catholic was an outrage on the whole Barring- 
 ton blood. But calamity had brought her low, — very low, 
 indeed. The child, too, was a heathen, — a Hindoo or a 
 Buddhist, perhaps, — for the mother was a native woman, 
 reputed, indeed, to be a princess. But who could know 
 this? Who could vouch that George was ever married at 
 all, or if such a ceremony were possible? All these were 
 "attenuating circumstances," and as such she accepted 
 them ; and the measure of her submission was filled up when 
 she received a portrait of the little girl, painted by a native 
 artist. It represented a dark-skinned, heavy-browed child, 
 with wide, full eyes, thick lips, and an expression at once 
 florid and sullen, — not any of the traits one likes to associ- 
 ate with infancy, — and it was with a half shudder Aunt 
 Dinah closed the miniature, and declared that "the sight of 
 the little savage actually frightened her." 
 
 Not so poor Barrington. He professed to see a great 
 resemblance to his son. It was George all over. To be 
 sure, his eyes were deep blue, and his hair a rich brown; 
 but there was something in the nose, or perhaps it was in 
 the mouth, — no, it was the chin, — ay, it was the chin was 
 George's. It was the Barrington chin, and no mistake 
 about it. 
 
 At all events, no opposition was made to the banker's 
 project, and the little girl was sent off to the convent of the 
 Holy Cross, on the banks of the Meuse. She was inscribed 
 on the roll as the Princess Doondiah, and bore the name til/ 
 
10 BAKKINGTON. 
 
 her father's death, wheu Mr. Gower suggested that she 
 should be called by her family uame. The letter with the 
 proposal, by some accideut, was uot acknowledged, and the 
 writer, taking silence to mean consent, desired the superior 
 to address her, henceforth, as Miss Barrington; the first 
 startling intimation of the change being a strangely, 
 quaintly written note, addressed to her grand-aunt, and 
 signed "Josephine Barrington." It was a cold, formal 
 letter, — so ver}' formal, indeed, as to read like the copj' of 
 a document, — asking for leave to enter upon a novitiate of 
 two years' duration, at the expiration of which she would be 
 nineteen years of age, and in a position to decide upon 
 taking the veil for life. The permission, very urgently 
 pressed for by Mr. Gower in another letter, Avas accorded, 
 and now we have arrived at that period in which but three 
 months only remained of the two years whose closure was 
 to decide her fate forever. 
 
 Barrington had long yearned to see her. It was with deep 
 and bitter self-reproach he thought over the cold neglect 
 they had shown her. She was all that remained of poor 
 George, his boy, — for so he called him, and so he thought 
 of him, — long after the bronzed cheek and the prematurely 
 whitened hair had tempered his manhood. To be sure, all 
 the world said, and he knew himself, how it was chiefly 
 through the "boy's" extravagance he came to ruin. But 
 it was over now. The event that sobers down reproach to 
 sorrow had come. He was dead ! All that arose to memory 
 of him were the traits that suggested hopes of his child- 
 hood, or gave triumph in his riper years ; and oh, is it not 
 better thus? for what hearts would be left us if we were to 
 carry in them the petty rancors and jealousies which once 
 filled them, but which, one daj-, we buried in the cold clay 
 of the churchyard. 
 
 Aunt Dinah, moved by reasons long canvassed over in her 
 own mind, at last began to think of recalling her grand- 
 niece. It was so very bold a project that, at first, she could 
 scarcely entertain it. The Popery was very dreadful ! Her 
 imagination conjured up the cottage converted into a little 
 Baal, with false gods and graven images, and holy-water 
 fonts at ever}' turn ; but the doubtful legitimacy was worse 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HOME. 11 
 
 again. She had a theory that it was by lapses of this kind 
 the "blue blood" of old families grew deteriorated, and that 
 the downfall of many an ancient house was traceable to 
 these corruptions. Far better, she deemed it, that the 
 Barringtons should die out forever than their line be con- 
 tinued by this base and ignoble grafting. 
 
 There is a contre for every ^>om/- in this world. It may be 
 a weak and an insufficient one, it is true; but it is a cer- 
 tainty that all our projects must come to a debtor or creditor 
 reckoning, and the very best we can do is to strike an hon- 
 est balance ! 
 
 How Miss Dinah essayed to do this we shall learn in the 
 next chapter and what follows it. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A WET MORNING AT HOME. 
 
 If there was anything that possessed more than common 
 terror for Barriugton, it was a wet clay at the cottage ! It 
 was on these dreary visitations that his sister took the 
 opportunity of going into "committee of supply," — an 
 occasion not merely for the discussion of fiscal matters, but 
 for asking the most vexatious questions and demanding the 
 most unpleasant explanations. 
 
 We can all, more or less, appreciate the happiness of 
 that right honorable gentleman on the Treasury bench who 
 has to reply to the crude and unmeaning inquiries of some 
 aspiring Oppositionist, and who wishes to know if her 
 Majesty's Government have demanded an indemnity from 
 the King of Dahomey for the consul's family eaten by him 
 at the last court ceremonial ? What compensation is to be 
 given to Captain Balrothery for his week's imprisonment 
 at Leghorn, in consequence of his having thrown the cus- 
 toms officer and a landing waiter into the sea? Or what 
 mark of her Majesty's favor will the noble lord recommend 
 should be conferred upon Ensign Digges for the admirable 
 imitation he gave of the dancing dervishes at Benares, and 
 the just ridicule he thus threw upon these degrading and 
 heathenish rites? 
 
 It was to a torture of this order, far moi-e reasonable and 
 pertinent, however, that Barriugton usually saw himself 
 reduced whenever the weather was so decidedly unfavorable 
 that egress was impossible. Poor fellow, what shallow 
 pretexts would he stammer out for absenting himself from 
 home, what despicable subterfuges to put off an audience! 
 He had forgotten to put down the frame on that melon-bed- 
 
A WET MORNING AT HOME. 13 
 
 There was that awning over the boat not taken in. He 'd 
 step out to the stable and give Billy, the pony, a touch of 
 the white oils on that swelled hock. He 'd see if they had 
 got the young lambs under cover. In fact, from his per- 
 turbed and agitated manner, you would have imagiued that 
 rain was one of the rarest incidents of an Irish climate, 
 and only the very promptest measures could mitigate the 
 calamity. 
 
 "May I ask where you are off to in such haste, Peter?" 
 asked Miss Dinah one morning, just as Barrington had 
 completed all his arrangements for a retreat; far readier to 
 brave the elements than the more pitiless pelting that awaited 
 him within doors. 
 
 "I just remembered," said he, mildly, "that I had left 
 two night-lines out at the point, and with this fresh in the 
 river it would be as well if I 'd step down and see — " 
 
 "And see if the river was where it was yesterday," broke 
 she in, sneeriugly. 
 
 "No, Dinah. But you see that there's this to be re- 
 marked about night-lines — " 
 
 "That they never catch any fish!" said she, sternly. 
 "It's no weather for you to go tramping about in the wet 
 grass. You made fuss enough about your lumbago last 
 week, and I suppose j^ou don't want it back again. Be- 
 sides," — and here her tongue grew authoritative, — "I have 
 got up the books." And with these words she threw on 
 the table a number of little greasy-looking volumes, over 
 which poor Barrington's sad glances wandered, pretty much 
 as might a victim's over the thumb-screws and the flesh- 
 nippers of the Holy Inquisition. 
 
 "I 've a slight touch of a headache this morning, Dinah." 
 
 "It won't be cured by going out in the rain. Sit down 
 there," said she, peremptorily, "and see with your own eyes 
 bow much longer your means will enable you to continue 
 these habits of waste and extravagance." 
 
 "These what?" said he, perfectly astounded. 
 
 "These habits of waste and extravagance, Peter Barring- 
 ton. I repeat my words." 
 
 Had a venerable divine, being asked on the conclusion of 
 an edifying discourse, for how much longer it might be his 
 
14 BARRINGTON. 
 
 intention to persist in sucli ribaldries, his astonishment 
 could scarce have been greater than Barrington's. 
 
 "Why, sister Dinah, are we not keeping an inn? Is not 
 this the ' Fisherman's Home ' ? " 
 
 "I should think it is, Peter," said she, with scorn. "I 
 suspect he finds it so. A very excellent name for it it is! " 
 
 "Must I own that I don't understand you, Dinah? " 
 
 "Of course you don't. You never did all your life. You 
 never knew you were wet till you were half drowned, and 
 that's what the world calls having such an amiable disposi- 
 tion! Ain't your friends nice friends? They are always 
 telling you how generous you are, — how free-handed, — 
 how benevolent. What a heart he has! Ay, but thank 
 Providence there 's very little of that charming docility 
 about me, is there ? " 
 
 "None, Dinah, — none," said he, not in the least suspect- 
 ing to what he was bearing testimony. 
 
 She became crimson in a minute, and in a tone of some 
 emotion said, "And if there had been, where should you 
 and where should I be to-day? On the parish, Peter Bar- 
 rington, — on the parish; for it's neither your head nor 
 your hands would have saved us from it." 
 
 "You're right, Dinah; you're right there. You never 
 spoke a truer word." And his voice trembled as he said it. 
 
 "I didn't mean that, Peter," said she, eagerly; "but you 
 are too confiding, too trustful. Perhaps it takes a woman 
 to detect all the little wiles and snares that entangle us in 
 our daily life? " 
 
 "Perhaps it does," said he, with a deep sigh. 
 
 "At all events, you needn't sigh over it, Peter Barring- 
 ton. It's not one of those blemishes in human nature that 
 have to be deplored so feelingly. I hope women are as 
 good as men." 
 
 "Fifty thousand times better, in every quality of kindli- 
 ness and generosity." 
 
 "Humph!" said she, tossing her head impatiently. 
 "We 're not here for a question in ethics; it is to the very 
 lowly task of examining the house accounts I would invite 
 your attention. Matters cannot go on as they do now, if 
 we mean to keep a roof over us." 
 
A WET MOKNING AT HOME. 15 
 
 "But I have always supposed we were doing pretty well, 
 Dinah. You know we never promised ourselves to gain a 
 fortune by this venture ; the \evy utmost we ever hoped for 
 was to help us along, — to aid us to make both ends meet at 
 the end of the year And as Darby tells me — " 
 
 "Oh, Darby tells you! What a reliable authority to 
 quote from! Oh, don't groan so heavily! I forgot myself. 
 I would n't for the world impeach such fidelity or honesty 
 as his." 
 
 "Be reasonable, sister Dinah, — do be reasonable ; and if 
 there is anything to lay to his charge — " 
 
 "You '11 hear the case, I suppose," cried she, in a voice 
 high-pitched in passion. "You'll sit ujj there, like one of 
 your favorite judges, and call on Dinah Barriugton against 
 Cassan; and perhaps when the cause is concluded we shall 
 reverse our places, and I become the defendant! But if this 
 is your intention, brother Barriugton, give me a little time. 
 I beg I may have a little time." 
 
 Now, this was a very favorite request of Miss Barring- 
 ton's, and she usually made it in the tone of a martyr; 
 but truth obliges us to own that never was a demand less 
 justifiable. Not a three-decker of the Channel fleet was 
 readier for a broadside than herself. She was always at 
 quarters and with a port-fire burning. 
 
 Barriugton did not answer this appeal ; he never moved, 
 — he scarcely appeared to breathe, so guarded was he lest 
 his most unintentional gesture should be the subject of 
 comment. 
 
 ''When you have recovered from your stupefaction," said 
 she, calmly, "will you look over that line of figures, and 
 then give a glance at this total ? After that I will ask you 
 what fortune could stand it." 
 
 "This looks formidable, indeed," said he, poring over the 
 page through his spectacles. 
 
 "It is worse, Peter. It is formidable." 
 
 "After all, Dinah, this is expenditure. Now for the 
 incomings! " 
 
 "I suspect you '11 have to ask your prime minister for 
 them. Perhaps he may vouchsafe to tell you how many 
 twenty-pound notes have gone to America, who it was that 
 
16 BARRINGTON. 
 
 consigned a cargo of new potatoes to Liverpool, and what 
 amount he invested in yarn at the last fair of Graigue? and 
 when you have learned these facts, you will know all you are 
 ever likel}' to know of your profits!" I have no means of 
 conveying the intense scorn with which she uttered the last 
 word of this speech. 
 
 " And he told me — not a week back — that we were going 
 on famousl}' ! " 
 
 "Wh}' wouldn't he? I'd like to hear what else he could 
 say. Famously, indeed, for 7u'»i, with a strong balance in 
 the savings-bank, and a gold watch — yes, Peter, a gold 
 watch — in his pocket. This is no delusion, nor illusion, 
 or whatever you call it, of mine, but a fact, — a downright 
 fact." 
 
 "He has been toiling hard many a year for it, Dinah, 
 don't forget that." 
 
 "I believe j^ou want to drive me mad, Peter. You know 
 these are things that I can't bear, and that 's the reason you 
 say them. Toil, indeed! 1 never saw him do anything 
 except sit on a gate at the Lock Meadows, with a pipe in 
 his mouth; and if you asked him what he was there for, it 
 was a ' ti'ack ' he was watching, a ' dog-fox that went by 
 every afternoon to the turnip field.' Very great toil that 
 was!" 
 
 "There wasn't an earth-stopper like him in the three next 
 counties; and if I was to have a pack of foxhounds to- 
 morrow — " 
 
 "You 'd just be as great a fool as ever you were, and the 
 more sorry I am to hear it; but you're not going to-be 
 tempted, Peter Barrington. It 's not foxes we have to think 
 of, but where we 're to find shelter for ourselves." 
 
 "Do you know of anything we could turn to, more profit- 
 able, Dinah?" asked he, mildly. 
 
 "There's nothing could be much less so, I know that! 
 You are not ver}^ observant, Peter, but even to yovi it must 
 have become apparent that great changes have come over 
 the world in a few years. The persons who formerly in- 
 dulged their leisure were all men of rank and fortune. Who 
 are the people who come over here now to amuse them- 
 selves? Staleybridge and Manchester creatures, with fac- 
 
A WET MORNING AT HOME. 17 
 
 tory morals and bagman manners ; treating our house like a 
 commercial inn, and actually disputing the bill and asking 
 for items. Yes, Peter, I overheard a fellow telling Darby 
 last week that the ' 'ouse was dearer than the Halbion! ' " 
 
 "Travellers will do these things, Dinah." 
 
 "And if they do, they shall be shown the door for it, as 
 sure as my name is Dinah Barringtou." 
 
 "Let us give up the inn altogether, then," said he, with a 
 sudden impatience. 
 
 "The very thing I was going to propose, Peter," said she, 
 solemnly. 
 
 "What! — how?" cried he, for the acceptance of what 
 only escaped him in a moment of anger overwhelmed and 
 stunned him. "How are we to live, Dinah?" 
 
 "Better without than with it, — there's my answer to 
 that. Let us look the matter fairly in the face, Peter," said 
 she, with a calm and measured utterance. "This dealing 
 with the world ' on honor ' must ever be a losing game. To 
 screen ourselves from the vulgar necessities of our condi- 
 tion, we must submit to any terms. So long as our inter- 
 course with life gave us none but gentlemen to deal with, 
 we escaped well and safely. That race would seem to have 
 thinned off of late, however; or, what comes to the same, 
 there is such a deluge of spurious coin one never knows 
 what is real gold." 
 
 "You may be right, Dinah; you may be right." 
 
 "I know I am right; the experience has been the growth 
 of years too. All our efforts to escape the odious contact 
 of these people have multiplied our expenses. Where one 
 man used to suffice, we keep three. You yourself, who felt 
 it no indignity to go out a-fishing formerly with a chance 
 traveller,^ have to own with what reserve and caution you 
 would accept such companionship now." 
 
 "Nay, nay, Dinah, not exactly so far as that — " 
 
 "And why not? Was it not less than a fortnight ago 
 three Birmingham men crossed the threshold, calling out 
 for old Peter, — was old Peter to the good yet ? " 
 
 "They were a little elevated with wine, sister, remember 
 that; and, besides, they never knew, never had heard of me 
 in my once condition." 
 
 VOL. I. — 2 
 
18 BARRIXGTOX. 
 
 "And are we so changed that they cannot recognize the 
 chiss we pertain to?" 
 
 "Not ijou^ Dinah, certainly not you; but I frankly own I 
 can put up with rudeness and incivility better than a certain 
 showy courtesy some vulgar people practise towards me. 
 In the one case I feel I am not known, and my secret is 
 safe. In the other, I have to stand out as the ruined gen- 
 tleman, and I am not always sure that I play the part as 
 gi-acefully as I ought." 
 
 "Let us leave emotions, Peter, and descend to the low- 
 land of arithmetic, by giving up two boatmen, John and 
 Terry — " 
 
 "Poor Terry! " sighed he, with a faint, low accent. 
 
 "Oh! if it be ' poor Terry! ' I 've done," said she, closing 
 the book, and throwing it down with a slap that made him 
 start. 
 
 "Nay, dear Dinah; but if we could manage to let him 
 have something, — say five shillings a week, — he 'd not 
 need it long; and the port wine that was doing his 
 rheumatism such good is nearly finished; he'll miss it 
 sorely." 
 
 "Were you giving him Henderson's wine, — the '11 
 vintage?" cried she, pale with indignation. 
 
 "Just a bottle or two, Dinah; only as medicine." 
 
 "As a fiddlestick, sir! I declare I have no patience with 
 you; there 's no excuse for such folly, not to say the igno- 
 rance of giving these creatures what they never were used 
 to. Did not Dr. Dill tell you that tonics, to be effective, 
 must always have some relation to the daily habits of the 
 patient?" 
 
 "Very true, Dinah; but the discourse was pronounced 
 when I saw him putting a bottle of old Madeira in his gig 
 that I had left for Anne M'Cafferty, adding, he 'd send her 
 something far more strengthening." 
 
 "Right or wrong, I don't care; but this I know, Terry 
 Dogherty is n't going to finish off Henderson's port. It is 
 rather too much to stand, that we are to be treating beggars 
 to luxuries, when we can't say to-morrow where we shall find 
 salt for our potatoes." This was a somewhat favorite 
 illustration of Miss Barrington, — either implying that the 
 
A WET MORNING AT HOME. 19 
 
 commodity was an essential to human life, or the use of it 
 an emblem of extreme destitution. 
 
 "I conclude we may dispense with Tom Divett's services," 
 resumed she. *" We can assuredly get on without a profes- 
 sional rat-catcher." 
 
 "If we should, Dinah, we'll feel the loss; the rats make 
 sad havoc of the spawn, and destroy quantities of the young 
 fish, besides." 
 
 "His two ugly terriers eat just as many chickens, and 
 never leave us an egg in the place. And now for Mr. 
 Darby — " 
 
 "You surely don't think of parting with Darby, sister 
 Dinah?" 
 
 "He shall lead the way," replied she, in a firm and per- 
 emptory voice; "the very first of the batch! And it will, 
 doubtless, be a great comfort to you to know that you need 
 not distress yourself about any provision for his declining 
 years. It is a care that he has attended to on his own part. 
 He '11 go back to a very well-feathered nest, I promise you." 
 
 Barrington sighed heavily, for he had a secret sorrow on 
 that score. He knew, though his sister did not, that he had 
 from year to year been borrowing every pound of Darby's 
 savings to pay the cost of law charges, always hoping and 
 looking for the time when a verdict in his favor would 
 enable him to restore the money twice told. With a very 
 dreary sigh, then, did he here allude "to the well-feathered 
 nest " of one he had left bare and destitute. He cleared his 
 throat, and made an effort to avow the whole matter; but 
 his courage failed him, and he sat mournfully shaking his 
 head, pai'tly in sorrow, partly in shame. His sister noticed 
 none of these signs; she was rapidly enumerating all the re- 
 ductions that could be made, — all the dependencies cut off; 
 there were the boats, which constantly required repairs; the 
 nets, eternally being renewed, — all to be discarded ; the 
 island, a very pretty little object in the middle of the river, 
 need no longer be rented. "Indeed," said she, "I don't 
 know why we took it, except it was to give those memorable 
 picnics you used to have there." 
 
 "How pleasant they were, Dinah; how delightful!" said 
 he, totally overlooking the spirit of her remark. 
 
20 BAllKIXGTON. 
 
 "Oh! they were charming, and your own popularity was 
 boundless ; but I 'd have you to bear in mind, brother Peter, 
 that popularity is no more a poor man's luxury than cham- 
 pagne. It is a very costly indulgence, and can rarely be 
 had on ' credit. ' " 
 
 Miss Barrington had pared down retrenchment to the very 
 quick. She had shown that they could live not only without 
 boatmen, rat-catchers, gardener, and manservant, but that, 
 as they were to give up their daily newspaper, they could 
 dispense with a full ration of caudle-light; and 3'et, with all 
 these reductions, she declared that there was still another 
 encumbrance to be pruned away, and she proudly asked her 
 brother if he could guess what it was ? 
 
 Now Barrington felt that he could not live without a 
 certain allowance of food, nor would it be convenient, or 
 even decent, to dispense with raiment; so he began, as a 
 last resource, to conjecture that his sister was darkly hint- 
 ing at something which might be a substitute for a home, 
 and save house-rent; and he half testily exclaimed, "I sup- 
 pose we 're to have a roof over us, Dinah! " 
 
 "Yes," said she, dryly, "I never proposed we should go 
 and live in the woods. What I meant had a reference to 
 Josephine — " 
 
 Barrington' s cheek flushed deeply in an instant, and, with 
 a voice trembling with emotion, he said, — 
 
 "If you mean, Dinah, that I'm to cut off that miser- 
 able pittance — that forty pounds a year — I give to poor 
 George's girl — " He stopped, for he saw that in his sis- 
 ter's face which might have appalled a bolder heart than his 
 own; for while her eyes flashed fire, her thin lips trembled 
 with passion ; and so, in a very faltering humility, he added : 
 "But you never meant that, sister Dinah. You would 
 be the very last in the world to do it." 
 
 "Then why impute it to me; answer me that?" said she, 
 crossing her hands behind her back, and staring haughtily 
 at him. 
 
 "Just because I'm clean at my wits' end, — just because 
 I neither understand one word I hear, or what I say in 
 reply. If you '11 just tell me what it is you propose, I '11 do 
 my best, with God's blessing, to follow you; but don't ask 
 
A WET MORNING AT HOME. 21 
 
 me for advice, Dinah, and don't fly out because I 'm not as 
 quick-witted and as clever as yourself." 
 
 There was something almost so abject in his misery that 
 she seemed touched by it, and, in a voice of a very calm and 
 kindly meaning, she said, — 
 
 ''I have been thinking a good deal over that letter of 
 Josephine's; she saj's she wants our consent to take the veil 
 as a nuu; that, by the rules of the order, when her novitiate 
 is concluded, she must go into the world for at least some 
 mouths, — a time meant to test her faithfulness to her vows, 
 and the tranquillity with which she can renounce forever all 
 the joys and attractions of life. "We, it is true, have no 
 means of surrounding her with such temptations; but we 
 might try and supply their place by some less brilliant but 
 not less attractive ones. "We might offer her, what we ought 
 to have offered her years ago, — a home ! "What do j^ou say 
 to this, Peter?" 
 
 ''That I love you for it, sister Dinah, with all my heart," 
 said he, kissing her on each cheek; "that it makes me hap- 
 pier than I kuew I ever was to be again." 
 
 "Of course, to bring Josephine here, this must not be an 
 inn, Peter." 
 
 "Certainly not, Dinah, — certainly- not. But I can think 
 of nothing but the joy of seeing her, — poor George's child! 
 How I have yearned to know if she was like him, — if she 
 had any of his ways, any traits of that quaint, dry humor 
 he had, and, above all, of that disposition that made him 
 so loved by every one." 
 
 "And cheated by every one too, brother Peter; don't 
 forget that!" 
 
 ""S\'ho wants to think of it now? " said he, sorrowfully. 
 
 "I never reject a thought because it has unpleasant asso- 
 ciations. It would be but a sorry asylum which only ad- 
 mitted the well-to-do and the happy." 
 
 "How are we to get the dear child here, Dinah? Let us 
 consider the matter. It is a long journey off." 
 
 "I have thought of that too," said she, sententiously, 
 '"but not made up mj" mind." 
 
 "Let us ask M'Cormick about it, Dinah; he 's coming up 
 this evening to play his Saturday night's rubber with Dill. 
 He knows the Continent well." 
 
22 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "There will be another saving that I did n't remember, 
 Peter. The weekly bottle of whiskey, and the candles, not 
 to speak of the four or five shillings your pleasant compan- 
 ions invariably carry away with them, — all may be very 
 advantageously dispensed with." 
 
 "When Josephine 's here, I '11 not miss it," said he, good- 
 humoredly. Then suddenly remembering that his sister 
 might not deem the speech a gracious one to herself, he was 
 about to add something; but she was gone. 
 
CHAPTER in. 
 
 OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS. 
 
 Should there be amongst my readers any one whose fortune 
 it has been in life only to associate with the amiable, the 
 interesting, and the agreeable, all whose experiences of man- 
 kind are rose-tinted, to him I would say, Skip over two 
 people I am now about to introduce, and take up my story 
 at some later stage, for I desire to be truthful, and, as is 
 the misfortune of people in my situation, I may be very 
 disagreeable. 
 
 After all, I may have made more excuses than were need- 
 ful. The persons I would present are in that large category, 
 the commonplace, and only as uninviting and as tiresome 
 as we may any day meet in a second-class on the railroad. 
 Flourish, therefore, penny trumpets, and announce Major 
 M'Cormick. The Major, so confidently referred to by Rar- 
 rington in our last chapter as a high authority on matters 
 continental, was a very shattered remnant of the unhappy 
 Walcheren expedition. He was a small, mean-looking, 
 narrow-faced man, with a thin, bald head, and red whis- 
 kers. He walked very lame from an injury to his hip; "his 
 wound," he called it, though his candor did not explain that 
 it was incurred by being thrown down a hatchway by a 
 brother officer in a drunken brawl. In character he was a 
 saving, penurious creature, without one single sympathy 
 outside his own immediate interests. When some sixteen 
 or eighteen years before the Barringtons had settled in the 
 neighborhood, the Major began to entertain thoughts of 
 matrimony. Old soldiers are rather given to consider mar- 
 riage as an institution especially intended to solace age and 
 console rheumatism, and so M'Cormick debated with himself 
 whether he had not arrived at the suitable time for this in- 
 
24 BARRINGTON. 
 
 dulgence, and also whether Miss Dinah Barrington was not 
 the individual destined to share his lot and season his 
 gruel. 
 
 But a few years back and his ambition would as soon have 
 aspired to an archduchess as to the sister ol Barrington, of 
 Barrington Hall, whose realms of social distinction sepa- 
 rated them; but now, fallen from their high estate, forgotten 
 by the world, and poor, they had come down — at least, he 
 thought so — to a level in which there would be no presump- 
 tion in his pretensions. Indeed, I half suspect that he 
 thought there was something very high-minded and generous 
 in his intentions with regard to them. At all events, there 
 was a struggle of some sort in his mind which went on from 
 year to year undecided. Now, there are men — for the most 
 part old bachelors — to whom an unfinished project is a pos- 
 itive luxury, who like to add, day by day, a few threads to 
 the web of fate, but no more. To the Major it was quite 
 enough that "some fine day or other" — so he phrased it — 
 he 'd make his offer, just as he thought how, in the same 
 propitious weather, he 'd put a new roof on his cottage, and 
 fill up that quarry-hole near his gate, into which he had 
 narrowly escaped tumbling some half-dozen times. But 
 thanks to his caution and procrastination, the roof, and the 
 project, and the quarrj^-hole were exactly, or very nearly, in 
 the same state they had been eighteen years before. 
 
 Rumor said — as rumor will always say whatever has a 
 tinge of ill-nature in it — that Miss Barrington would have 
 accepted him; vulgar report declared that she would "jump 
 at the offer." Whether this be, or not, the appropriate way 
 of receiving a matrimonial proposal, the lady was not called 
 upon to display her activity. He never told his love. 
 
 It is very hard to forgive that secretary, home or foreign, 
 who in the day of his power and patronage could, but did 
 not, make us easy for life with this mission or that com- 
 missionership. It is not easy to believe that our uncle the 
 bishop could not, without any undue strain upon his con- 
 science, have made us something, albeit a clerical error, in 
 bis diocese, but infinitely more difficult is it to pardon him 
 who, having suggested dreams of wedded happiness, still 
 stands hesitating, doubting, and canvassing, — a timid 
 
OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS. 25 
 
 bather, who shivers on the beach, and then puts on his 
 clothes again. 
 
 It took a long time — it always does in such cases — ere 
 Miss Barrington came to read this man aright. Indeed, 
 the light of her own hopes had dazzled her, and she never 
 saw him clearly till they were extinguished; but when the 
 knowledge did come, it came trebled with compound inter- 
 est, and she saw him in all that displayed his miserable self- 
 ishness ; and although her brother, who found it hard to 
 believe any one bad who had not been tried for a capital 
 felony, would explain awa}'^ many a meanness by saying, 
 "It is just his way, — a way, and no more! " she spoke out 
 fearlessly, if not very discreetly, and declared she detested 
 him. Of course she averred it was his manners, his want 
 of breeding, and his familiarity that displeased her. He 
 might be an excellent creature, — perhaps he was; that was 
 nothing to her. All his moral qualities might have an inter- 
 est for his friends; she was a mere acquaintance, and was 
 only concerned for what related to his bearing in society. 
 Then "\Yalcheren was positively odious to her. Some little 
 solace she felt at the thought that the expedition was a failure 
 and inglorious; but when she listened to the fiftieth time- 
 told tale of fever and ague, she would sigh, not for those 
 who suffered, but over the one that escaped. It is a great 
 blessing to men of uneventful lives and scant imagination 
 when there is any one incident to which memory can refer 
 unceasingly. Like some bold headland last seen at sea, it 
 lives in the mind throughout the voyage. Such was this 
 ill-starred expedition to the Major. It dignified his exist- 
 ence to himself, though his memory never soared above the 
 most ordinary details and vulgar incidents. Thus he would 
 maunder on for hours, telling how the ships sailed and 
 parted company, and joined again; how the old "Brennus" 
 mistook a signal and put back to Hull, and how the " Sarah 
 Reeves," his own transport, was sent after her. Then he 
 grew picturesque about Flushing, as first seen through the 
 dull fogs of the Scheldt, with village spires peeping through 
 the heavy vapor, and the strange Dutch language, with its 
 queer names for the vegetables and fruit brought by the 
 boats alongside. 
 
26 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "You won't believe me, Miss Diuah, but, as I sit here, 
 the peaches was like little melons, and the cherries as big 
 as walnuts." 
 
 "They made cherry-bounce out of them, I hope, sir," 
 said she, with a scornful smile. 
 
 "No, indeed, ma'am," replied he, dull to the sarcasm; 
 "they ate them in a kind of sauce with roast-pig, and 
 mighty good too! " 
 
 But enough of the Major; and now a word, and only a 
 word, for his companion, already alluded to by Barring- 
 ton. Dr. Dill had been a poor "Dispensary Doctor" for 
 some thirty years, with a small practice, and two or three 
 grand patrons at some miles off, who employed him for 
 the servants, or for the children in "mild cases," and who 
 even extended to him a sort of contemptuous courtesy that 
 serves to make a proud man a bear, and an humble man a 
 sycophant. 
 
 Dill was the reverse of proud, and took to the other line 
 with much kindliness. To have watched him in his daily 
 round you would have said that he liked being trampled on, 
 and actually enjoyed being crushed. He smiled so blandly, 
 and looked so sweetly under it all, as though it was a kind 
 of moral shampooing, from which he would come out all 
 the fresher and more vigorous. 
 
 The world is certainly generous in its dealings with 
 these temperaments; it indulges them to the top of their 
 hearts, and gives them humiliations to their heart's content. 
 Rumor — the same wicked goddess who libelled Miss Bar- 
 rington — hinted that the doctor was not, within his own 
 walls and under his own roof, the suffering angel the world 
 saw him, and that he occasionally did a little trampling 
 there on his own account. However, Mrs. Dill never com- 
 plained; and though the children wore a tremulous terror 
 and submissiveness in their looks, they were only suitable 
 family traits, which all redounded to their credit, and made 
 them "so like the doctor." 
 
 Such were the two worthies who slowly floated along on 
 the current of the river of a calm summer's evening, to visit 
 the Barringtons. As usual, the talk was of their host. 
 They discussed his character and his habits and his debts, 
 
OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS. 27 
 
 and the difficulty he had in raising that little loan ; and in 
 close juxtaposition with this fact, as though pinned on the 
 back of it, his sister's overweening pride and pretension. It 
 had been the Major's threat for years that he'd " take her 
 down a peg one of these days." But either he was merci- 
 fully unwilling to perform the act, or that the suitable hour 
 for it had not come ; but there she remained, and there he 
 left her, not taken down one inch, but loftier and haughtier 
 than ever. As the boat rounded the point from -which the 
 cottage w^as visible through the trees and some of the out- 
 houses could be descried, they reverted to the ruinous state 
 everything was falling into. " Straw is cheap enough, any- 
 how," said the Major. " He might put a new thatch on that 
 cow-house, and I 'm sure a brush of paint would n't ruin any 
 one." Oh, my dear reader! have you not often heard — I 
 know that I have — such comments as these, such reflec- 
 tions on the indolence or indifference which only needed so 
 very little to reform, done, too, without trouble or difficulty, 
 habits that could be corrected, evil ways reformed, and ruin- 
 ous tendencies arrested, all as it were by a " brush of paint," 
 or something just as uncostly? 
 
 " There does n't seem to be much doing here. Dill," said 
 M'Cormick, as they landed. "All the boats are drawn up 
 ashore. And faith ! I don't wonder, that old woman is 
 enough to frighten the fish out of the river." 
 
 " Strangers do not always like that sort of thing," mod- 
 estly i-emarked the doctor, — the " always " being peculiarly 
 marked for emphasis. " Some will say, an inn should be an 
 inn." 
 
 " That's my view of it. What I say is this : I want my 
 bit of fish, and my beefsteak, and my pint of wine, and I 
 don't want to know that the landlord's grandfather enter- 
 tained the king, or that his aunt was a lady-in-waiting. ' Be 
 as high as you like,' says I, ' but don't make the bill so,' — 
 eh, Dill? " And he cackled the harsh ungenial laugh which 
 seems the birthright of all sorry jesters; and the doctor 
 gave a little laugh too, more from habit, however, than 
 enjoyment. 
 
 "Do you know, Dill," said the Major, disengaging him- 
 self from the arm which his lameness compelled him to lean 
 
28 BARRINGTON. 
 
 on, and standing still in the pathway, — "do you know that 
 I never reach thus far without having a sort of struggle with 
 myself whether 1 won't turn back and go home again. Can 
 you explain that, now?" 
 
 "It is the wound, perhaps, pains you, coming up the 
 hill." 
 
 " It is not the wound. It 's that woman ! " 
 
 " Miss Harrington? " 
 
 "Just so. I have her before me now, sitting up behind 
 the urn there, and saying, ' Have you had tea, Major 
 M'Cormick?' when she knows well she did n't give it to me. 
 Don't you feel that going up to the table for your cup is for 
 all the world like doing homage?" 
 
 " Her manners are cold, — certainly cold." 
 
 " I wish they were. It's the fire that 's in her I 'm afraid 
 of ! She has as wicked an eye in her head as ever I saw." 
 
 "She was greatly admired once, I'm told; and she has 
 many^ remains of beauty." 
 
 "Oh! for the matter of looks, there's worse. It's her 
 nature, her temper, — herself, in fact, I can't endure." 
 
 "What is it you can't endure, M'Cormick?" cried Bar- 
 rington, emerging from a side walk where he had just caught 
 the last words. "If it be anything in this poor place of 
 mine, let me hear, that I may have it amended." 
 
 "How are ye, — how are ye? " said the Major, with a very 
 confused manner. " I was talking politics with Dill. I was 
 telling him how I hated them, Tories." 
 
 " I believe they are all pretty much alike," said Barring- 
 ton; " at least, I knew they were in my day. And though 
 we used to abuse him, and drink all kind of misfortunes to 
 him every day of our lives, there was n't a truer gentleman 
 nor a finer fellow in Ireland than Lord Castlereagh." 
 
 "I'm sure of it. I've often heard the same remark," 
 chimed in Dill. 
 
 "It's a pity you didn't think so at the time of the 
 Union," said M'Cormick, with a sneer. 
 
 ' ' Many of us did ; but it would not make us sell our 
 country. But what need is there of going back to those 
 times, and things that can't be helped now? Come in and 
 have a cup of tea. I see my sister is waiting for us." 
 
OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS. 
 
 29 
 
 Why was it that Miss Barrington, on that evening, was 
 grander and statelier than ever ? Was it some anticipation of 
 the meditated change in their station had impressed her man- 
 ner with more of pride? I know not; but true it is she 
 received her visitors with a reserve that was actuall}' chilling. 
 To no end did Barrington exert himself to conceal or coun- 
 
 teract this frigidity. In all our moral chemistry we have 
 never yet hit upon an antidote to a chilling reception. 
 
 The doctor was used to this freezing process, and did not 
 suffer like his companion. To him, life was a huge ice-pail; 
 but he defied frost-bite, and bore it. The Major, however 
 chafed and fidgeted under the treatment, and muttered to 
 himself very vengeful sentiments about that peg he had 
 determined to take her down from. 
 
30 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 "I was hoping to be able to offer you a nosegay, dear 
 lady," said Dill, — this was his customary mode of address 
 to her, an ingenious blending of affection with deference, 
 but in which the stronger accent on the last word showed 
 the deference to predominate, — " but the rain has come 
 so late, there 's not a stock in the garden fit to present to 
 you." 
 
 " It is just as well, sir. I detest gillyflowers." 
 
 The Major's eyes sparkled with a spiteful delight, for he 
 was sorely jealous of the doctor's ease under difficulties. 
 
 " We have, indeed, a few moss-roses." 
 
 " None to be compared to our own, sir. Do not think 
 of it." 
 
 The Major felt that his was not a giving disposition, and 
 consequently it exempted him from rubs and rebuffs of this 
 sort. Meanwhile, unabashed by failure, the doctor essayed 
 once more: "Mrs. Dill is only waiting to have the car 
 mended, to come over and pay her dutiful respects to you, 
 Miss Dinah." 
 
 "Pray tell her not to mind it, Dr. Dill," replied she, 
 sharply, " or to wait till the fourth of next month, which 
 will make it exactly a year since her last visit ; and her call 
 can be then an annual one, like the tax-gatherer's." 
 
 " Bother them for taxes altogether," chimed in Barriugton, 
 whose ear only caught the last word. "You haven't done 
 with the county cess when there 's a fellow at you for tithes ; 
 and they're talking of a poor-rate." 
 
 " You may perceive. Dr. Dill, that your medicines have 
 not achieved a great success against my brother's deafness." 
 
 "We were all so at Walcheren," broke in M'Cormick; 
 " when we 'd come out of the trenches, we could n't hear for 
 hours." 
 
 " My voice may be a shrill one, Major M'Cormick, but 
 I'll have you to believe that it has not destroyed my 
 brother's tympanum." 
 
 "It's not the tympanum is engaged, dear lady; it's the 
 Eustachian tube is the cause here. There's a passage leads 
 down from the internal ear — " 
 
 " I declare, sir, I have just as little taste for anatomy as 
 for fortification ; and though I sincerely wish you could cure 
 
OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS. 31 
 
 my brother, as I also wish these gentlemen could have taken 
 Walcheren, I have not the slightest desire to know how." 
 
 " I '11 beg a little more tea in this, ma'am," said the Major, 
 holding out his cup. 
 
 "Do you mean water, sir? Did you say it was too 
 strong? " 
 
 " With your leave, I '11 take it a trifle stronger," said he, 
 with a malicious twinkle in his eye, for he knew all the 
 offence his speech implied. 
 
 "I'm glad to hear you say so. Major M'Cormick. I'm 
 happy to know that your nerves are stronger than at the 
 time of that expedition you quote with such pleasure. Is 
 yours to your liking, sir ? " 
 
 " I '11 ask for some water, dear lady," broke in Dill, who 
 began to think that the fire was hotter than usual. " As I 
 said to Mrs. Dill, ' Molly,' says I, ' how is it that I never 
 drink such tea anywhere as at the — '" He stopped, for he 
 was going to say, the Harringtons', and he trembled at the 
 liberty ; and he dared not say the Fisherman's Home, lest it 
 should be thought he was recalling their occupation ; and so, 
 after a pause and a cough, he stammered out — " 'at the 
 sweet cottage.' " Nor was his confusion the less at per- 
 ceiving how she had appreciated his difficulty, and was 
 smiling at it. 
 
 "Very few strangers in these parts lately, I believe," 
 said M' Cormick, who knew that his remark was a danger- 
 ous one. 
 
 "I fancy none, sir," said she, calmly. ""W"e, at least, 
 have no customers, if that be the name for them." 
 
 "It's natural, indeed, dear lady, you shouldn't know 
 how they are called," began the doctor, in a fawning tone, 
 "reared and brought up as you were." 
 
 The cold, steady stare of Miss Barrington arrested his 
 speech; and though he made immense efforts to recover 
 himself, there was that in her look which totally overcame 
 him. "Sit down to your rubber, sir," said she, in a whis- 
 per that seemed to thrill through his veins. "You will find 
 yourself far more at home at the odd trick there, than 
 attempting to console me about my lost honors." And 
 with this fierce admonition, she gave a little nod, half in 
 
32 BARRINGTON. 
 
 adieu, half in admonitiou, and swept haughtily out of the 
 room. 
 
 M'Cormick heaved a sigh as the door closed after her, 
 "which very plainly bespoke how much he felt the relief. 
 
 "My poor sister is a bit out of spirits this evening," said 
 Harrington, who merely saw a certain show of constraint 
 over his company, and never guessed the cause. "We've 
 had some unpleasant letters, and one thing or another to 
 annoy us, and if she does n't join us at supper, you '11 excuse 
 her, I know, M'Cormick." 
 
 "That we will, with — " He was going to add, "with a 
 heart and a half," for he felt, what to him was a rare 
 sentiment, "gratitude;" but Dill chimed in, — 
 
 "Of course, we couldn't expect she'd appear. I re- 
 marked she was nervous when we came in. I saw an ex- 
 pression in her eye — " 
 
 "So did I, faith," muttered M'Cormick, "and I'm not 
 a doctor." 
 
 "And here 's our whist- table," said Barrington, bustling 
 about; "and there 's a bit of supper ready there for us in 
 that room, and we '11 help ourselves, for I 've sent Darby to 
 "bed. And now give me a hand with these cards, for they 've 
 all got mixed together." 
 
 Barrington's task was the very wearisome one of trying 
 to sort out an available pack from some half-dozen of 
 various sizes and colors. 
 
 "Isn't this for all the world like raising a regiment out 
 of twenty volunteer corps?" said M'Cormick. 
 
 "Dill would call it an hospital of incurables," said Bar- 
 rington. "Have you got a knave of spades and a seven? 
 Oh dear, dear! the knave, with the head off him! I begin 
 to suspect we must look up a new pack." There was a 
 tone of misgiving in the way he said this ; for it implied a 
 reference to his sister, and all its consequences. Affecting 
 to search for new cards in his own room, therefore, he arose 
 and went out. 
 
 "I wouldn't live in a slavery like that," muttered the 
 Major, "to be King of France." 
 
 "Something has occurred here. There is some latent 
 source of irritation," said Dill, cautiously. "Barrington's 
 
OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS. 83 
 
 own manner is fidgety and uneasy. I have my suspicion 
 matters are going on but poorly with them." 
 
 Wliile this sage diagnosis was being uttered, M'Corniick 
 had taken a short excursion into the adjoining room, from 
 which he returned, eating a pickled onion. "It 's the old 
 story ; the cold roast loin and the dish of salad. Listen ! 
 Did you hear that shout? " 
 
 "I thought I heard one awhile back; but I fancied after- 
 wards it was only the noise of the river over the stones." 
 
 "It is some fellows drawing the river; thc}^ poach under 
 his very windows, and he never sees them." 
 
 "I 'm afraid we 're not to have our rubber this evening," 
 said Dill, mournfully. 
 
 "There 's a thing, now, I don't understand! " said M'Cor- 
 mick, in a low but bitter voice. "No man is obliged to 
 see company, but when he does do it, he ought n't to be 
 running about for a tumbler here and a mustard-pot there. 
 There's the noise again; it's fellows robbing the salmon- 
 weir!" 
 
 "No rubber to-night, I perceive that," reiterated the doc- 
 tor, still intent upon the one theme. 
 
 "A thousand pardons I ask from each of you," cried Bar- 
 rington, coming hurriedly in, with a somewhat flushed face ; 
 "but I 've had such a hunt for these cards. When I put a 
 thing away nowadays, it 's as good as gone to me, for I 
 remember nothing. But here we are, now, all right." 
 
 The party, like men eager to retrieve lost time, were 
 soon deep in their game, very little being uttered, save 
 such remarks as the contest called for. The Major was of 
 that order of players who firmly believe foi'tune will desert 
 them if they don't whine and complain of their luck, and 
 so everything from him was a lamentation. The doctor, 
 who regarded whist pathologically, no more gave up a 
 game than he would a patient. He had witnessed marvel- 
 lous recoveries in the most hopeless cases, and he had been 
 rescued by a "revoke" in the last hour. Unlike each, 
 Barrington was one who liked to chat over his game, as he 
 would over his wine. Xot that he took little interest in it, 
 but it had no power to absorb and engross him. If a man 
 derive very great pleasure froin a pastime in which, after 
 
 VOL. I. — 3 
 
34 BARRDsGTON. 
 
 years and years of practice, he can attain no eminence nor 
 any mastery, you may be almost certain he is one of an 
 amiable temperament. Nothing short of real goodness of 
 nature could go on deriving enjoyment from a pursuit asso- 
 ciated with continual defeats. Such a one must be hopeful, 
 he must be submissive, he must have no touch of ungener- 
 ous jealousy in his nature, and, withal, a zealous wish to do 
 better. Now he who can be all these, in anything, is no 
 bad fellow. 
 
 If Barrington, therefore, was beaten, he bore' it well. 
 Cards were often enough against him, his play was always 
 so; and though the doctor had words of bland consolation 
 for disaster, such as the habits of his craft taught him, the 
 Major was a pitiless adversary, who never omitted the 
 opportunity of disinterring all his opponents' blunders, and 
 singing a song of triumph over them. But so it is, — tot 
 genera hominum, — so many kinds of whist-players are 
 there ! 
 
 Hour after hour went over, and it was late in the night. 
 None felt disposed to sup; at least, none proposed it. 
 The stakes were small, it is true, but small things are great 
 to little men, and Barrington's guests Avere always the 
 winners. 
 
 "I believe if I was to be a good player, — which I know 
 in my heart I never shall," said Barrington, — "that my 
 luck would swamp me, after all. Look at that hand now, 
 and say is there a trick in it?" As he said this, he spread 
 out the cards of his "dummy" on the table, with the dis- 
 consolation of one thoroughly beaten. 
 
 "Well, it might be worse," said Dill, consolingly. 
 "There 's a queen of diamonds; and I would n't say, if you 
 could get an opportunity to trump the club — " 
 
 "Let him try it," broke in the merciless Major; "let 
 him just try it! My name isn't Dan M'Cormick if he '11 
 win one card in that hand. There, now, I lead the ace 
 of clubs. Play!" 
 
 "Patience, Major, patience; let me look over my hand. 
 I 'm bad enough at the best, but I '11 be worse if you hurry 
 me. Is that a king or a knave I see there? " 
 
 "It 's neither; it 's the queen! " barked out the Major. 
 
OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS. 
 
 35 
 
 "Doctor, you '11 have to look after my eyes as well as my 
 ears. Indeed, I scarcely kuow which is the worst. Was 
 not that a voice outside? " 
 
 "I should think it was; there have been fellows shouting 
 there the whole evening. I suspect they don't leave you 
 many fish in this part of the river." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," interposed Dill, blandly, "but 
 you 've taken up my card by mistake." 
 
 While Barrington was excusing himself, and trying to 
 recover his lost clew to the game, there came a violent 
 knocking at the door, and a loud voice called out, "Holloa! 
 Will some of ye open the door, or must I put my foot 
 through it ? " 
 
36 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 ''There is somebody there," said Barrington, quietly, 
 for he had uow caught the words correctly; and taking a 
 candle, he hastened out. 
 
 "At last," cried a stranger, as the door opened, — "at 
 last! Do you know that we 've been full twenty minutes 
 here, listening to your animated discussion over the odd 
 trick? — I fainting with hunger, and my friend with paiii." 
 And so saying, he assisted another to limp forward, who 
 leaned on his arm and moved with the greatest difficulty. 
 
 The mere sight of one in suffering repressed any notion 
 of a rejoinder to his somewhat rude speech, and Barrington 
 led the way into the room. 
 
 "Have you met with an accident?" asked he, as he 
 placed the sufferer on a sofa. 
 
 "Yes," interposed the first speaker; "he slipped down 
 one of those rocks into the river, and has sprained, if he 
 .has not broken, something." 
 
 "It is our good fortune to have advice here; this gentle- 
 man is a doctor." 
 
 "Of the Royal College, and an M.D. of Aberdeen, be- 
 sides," said Dill, with a professional smile, while, turning 
 back his cuffs, he proceeded to remove the shoe and stock- 
 ing of his patient. 
 
 "Don't be afraid of hurting, but just tell me at once 
 what's the matter," said the young fellow, down whose 
 cheeks great drops were rolling in his agony. 
 
 "There is no pronouncing at once; there is great tume- 
 faction here. It may be a mere sprain, or it may be a frac- 
 ture of the fibula simple, or a fracture with luxation." 
 
 "Well, if you can't tell the injury, tell us what 's to be 
 done for it. Get him to bed, I suppose, first?" said the 
 friend. 
 
 "By all means, to bed, and cold applications on the 
 affected part." 
 
 "Here 's a room all ready, and at hand," said Barrington, 
 opening the door into a little chamber replete with comfort 
 and propriety. 
 
 "Come," said the first speaker, "Fred, all this is very 
 snug; one might have fallen upon worse quarters." And 
 so saying, he assisted his friend forward, and deposited 
 him upon the bed. 
 
OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS, 37 
 
 While the doctor busied himself with the medical cares 
 for his patient, and arranged with due skill the appliances 
 to relieve his present suffering, the other stranger related 
 how they had lost their way, having iirst of all taken the 
 wrong bank of the river, and been obliged to retrace their 
 steps upwards of three miles to retrieve their mistake. 
 
 "Where were you going to?" asked Barrington. 
 
 "We were in search of a little inn they had told us of, 
 called the ' Fisherman's Home. ' I conclude we have reached 
 it at last, and you are the host, I take it?" 
 
 Barrington bowed assent. 
 
 "And these gentlemen are visitors here?" But without 
 waiting for any reply, — difficult at all times, for he spoke 
 with great rapidity and continual change of topic, — he now 
 stooped down to whisper something to the sick man. "My 
 friend thinks he '11 do capitally now, and, if we leave him, 
 that he'll soon drop asleep; so I vote we give him the 
 chance." Thus saying, he made a gesture for the others to 
 leave, following them up as they went, almost like one 
 enforcing an order. 
 
 "If I am correct in my reading, you are a soldier, sir," 
 said Barrington, when they reached the outer room, "and 
 this gentleman here is a brother officer, — Major M'Cor- 
 mick." 
 
 "Full pay, eh?" 
 
 "No, I am an old Walcheren man." 
 
 "Walcheren — Walcheren — -why, that sounds like Mal- 
 plaquet or Blenheim! Where the deuce was Walcheren? 
 Did n't believe that there was an old tumbril of that affair 
 to the fore still. You were all licked there, or yon died of 
 the ague, or jaundice? Oh, dummy whist, as I live! 
 Who 's the unlucky dog has got the dummy? — bad as Wal- 
 cheren, by Jove! Isn't that a supper I see laid out there? 
 Don't I smell Stilton from that room? " 
 
 "If you '11 do us the honor to join us — " 
 
 "That I will, and astonish you with an appetite too! 
 We breakfasted at a beastly hole called Graigue, and tasted 
 nothing since, except a few peaches I stole out of an old 
 fellow's garden on the riverside, — * Old Dan the miser,' a 
 country fellow called him." 
 
38 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "I have the honor to have afforded you the entertainment 
 you speak of," said M'Cormiek, smarting with anger. 
 
 "All right! The peaches were excellent, — would have 
 been better if riper. I 'm afraid I smashed a window of 
 yours ; it was a stone I shied at a confounded dog, — a sort 
 of terrier. Pickled onions and walnuts, by all that 's civil- 
 ized! And so this is the ' Fisherman's Home,' and you the 
 iisherman, eh? Well, why not show a light or a lantern 
 over the door? Who the deuce is to know that this is a 
 place of entertainment? We only guessed it at last." 
 
 "May I help you to some mutton? " said Barrington, more 
 amused than put out by his guest's discursiveness. 
 
 "By all means. But don't carve it that way; cut it 
 lengthwise, as if it were the saddle, which it ought to have 
 been. You must tell me where you got this sherry. I have 
 tasted nothing like it for many a day, — real brown sherry. 
 I suppose you know how they brown it? It's not done by 
 sugar, — that 's a vulgar error. It 's done by boiling ; they 
 boil down so many butts and reduce them to about a fourth 
 or a fifth. You haven't got any currant-jelly, have you? it 
 is just as good with cold mutton as hot. And then it is the 
 wine thus reduced they use for coloring matter. I got up 
 all my sherry experiences on the spot." 
 
 "The wine you approve of has been in my cellar about 
 five-and-forty years." 
 
 "It would not if I 'd have been your neighbor, rely upon 
 that. I'd have secured every bottle of it for our mess; 
 and mind, whatever remains of it is mine." 
 
 "Might I make bold to remark," said Dill, inter- 
 posing, "that we are the guests of my friend here on this 
 occasion? " 
 
 "Eh, what, —guests?" 
 
 "I am proud enough to believe that you will not refuse 
 me the honor of your company; for though an innkeeper, 
 I write myself gentleman," said Barrington, blandly, 
 though not without emotion. 
 
 "I should think you might," broke in the stranger, heart- 
 ily; "and I'd say the man who had a doubt about your 
 claims had very little of his own. And now a word of 
 apology for the mode of our entrance here, and to introduce 
 
OUE XEXT NEIGHBORS. 39 
 
 myself. I am Colonel Hunter, of the 21st Hussars; ni}' 
 friend is a young subaltern of the regiment." 
 
 A moment before, and all the awkwardness of his posi- 
 tion was painful to Barrington. He felt that the traveller 
 was there by a right, free to order, condemn, and criticise 
 as he pleased. The few words of explanation, given in all 
 the frankness of a soldier, and with the tact of a gentle- 
 man, relieved this embarrassment, and he was himself 
 again. As for M'Cormiek and Dill, the mere announce- 
 ment of the regiment he commanded seemed to move and 
 impress them. It was one of those corps especially known 
 in the service for the rank and fortune of its officers. The 
 Prince himself was their colonel, and they had acquired a 
 wide notoriety for exclusiveness and pride, which, when 
 treated by unfriendly critics, assumed a shape less favor- 
 able still. 
 
 Colonel Hunter, if he were to be taken as a type of his 
 regiment, might have rebutted a good deal of this floating 
 criticism ; he had a fine honest countenance, a rich mellow 
 voice, and a sort of easy jollity in manner, that spoke well 
 both for his spirits and his temper. He did, it is true, 
 occasionally chafe against some susceptible spot or other of 
 those around him, but there was no malice prepense in it, 
 any more than there is intentional offence in the passage of 
 a sti'ong man through a crowd ; so he elbowed his way, and 
 pushed on in conversation, never so much as suspecting 
 that he jostled any one in his path. 
 
 Both Barrington and Hunter were inveterate sportsmen, 
 and they ranged over hunting-fields and grouse mountains 
 and parti'idge stubble and trout streams with all the zest 
 of men who feel a sort of mesmeric brotherhood in the 
 interchange of their experiences. Long after the Major 
 and the doctor had taken their leave, they sat there recount- 
 ing stories of their several adventures, and recalling inci- 
 dents of flood and field. 
 
 In return for a cordial invitation to Hunter to stay and 
 fish the river for some days, Barrington pledged himself 
 to visit the Colonel the first time he should go up to 
 Kilkenny. 
 
 "And I'll mount you. You shall have a horse I never 
 
40 BARRINGTON. 
 
 lent in my life. I '11 put you on Trumpeter, — sire Sir Her- 
 cules, — no mistake there ; would carry sixteen stone with 
 the fastest hounds in England." 
 
 Barrington shook his head, and smiled, as he said, "It's 
 two-and-twenty years since I sat a fence. I 'm afraid I '11 
 not revive the fame of my horsemanship by appearing 
 again in the saddle." 
 
 "Why, what age do you call yourself?" 
 
 "Eighty- three, if I live to August next." 
 
 "I 'd not have guessed you within ten years of it. I 've 
 just passed fifty, and already I begin to look for a horse 
 with more bone beneath the knee, and more substance across 
 the loins." 
 
 "These are only premonitory symptoms, after all," said 
 Barrington, laughing. "You've many a day before you 
 come to a fourteen-haud cob and a kitchen chair to mount 
 him." 
 
 Hunter laughed at the picture, and dashed away, in his 
 own half-reckless way, to other topics. He talked of his 
 regiment proudly, and told Barrington what a splendid set 
 of young fellows were his officers. "I'll show you such a 
 mess," said he, "as no corps in the service can match." 
 "While he talked of their high-hearted and generous natures, 
 and with enthusiasm of the life of a soldier, Barrington could 
 scarcely refrain from speaking of his own "boy," the son 
 from whom he had hoped so much, and whose loss had been 
 the death-blow to all his ambitions. There were, however, 
 circumstances in that story which sealed his lips ; and though 
 the father never believed one syllable of the allegations 
 against his son, though he had paid the penalty of a King's 
 Bench mandamus and imprisonment for horsewhipping the 
 editor who had aspersed his "boy," the world and the world's 
 verdict were against him, and he did not dare to revive the 
 memory of a name against which all the severities of the 
 press had been directed, and public opinion had condemned 
 with all its weight and power. 
 
 "I see that I am wearying you," said Hunter, as he 
 remarked the grave and saddened expression that now stole 
 over Barrington' s face. "I ought to have remembered 
 what an hour it was, — more than half-past two." And 
 
OUR NEXT NEIGHBORS. 41 
 
 without waiting to hear a reply, he shook his host's hand 
 cordially and hurried off to his room. 
 
 "While Barrington busied himself in locking up the wine, 
 and putting awaj' half-finished decanters, — cares that his 
 sister's watchfulness very imperatively exacted, — he heard, 
 or fancied he heard, a voice from the room where the sick 
 man lay. He opened the door very gently and looked in. 
 
 "All right," said the youth. "I 'm not asleep, nor did 
 I want to sleep, for I have been listening to you and the 
 Colonel these two hours, and with rare pleasure, I can tell 
 you. The Colonel would have gone a hundred miles to meet 
 a man like yourself, so fond of the field and such a thor- 
 ough sportsman." 
 
 "Yes, I was so once," sighed Barrington, for already had 
 come a sort of reaction to the late excitement. 
 
 "Isn't the Colonel a fine fellow?" said the young man, 
 as eager to relieve the awkwardness of a sad theme as to 
 praise one he loved. "Don't you like him? " 
 
 "That I do!" said Barrington, heartily. "His fine 
 genial spirit has put me in better temper with myself than 
 I fancied was in my nature to be. We are to have some 
 trout-fishing together, and I promise you it sha'u't be my 
 fault if he does n't like me." 
 
 "And may I be of the party? — may I go with you? " 
 
 "Only get well of your accident, and you shall do what- 
 ever you like. By the way, did not Colonel Hunter serve 
 in India? " 
 
 "For fifteen years. He has only left Bengal within a 
 few months." 
 
 "Then he can probably help me to some information. 
 He may be able to tell me — Good-night, good-night," 
 said he, hurriedly; "to-moiTow will be time enough to think 
 of this." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FRED CONTERS. 
 
 Very soon after daybreak the Colonel was up and at the 
 bedside of his 3'ouug friend. 
 
 "Sorry to wake you, Fred," said he, gently; "but I have 
 just got an urgent despatch, requiring me to set out at once 
 for Dublin, and I did n't like to go without asking how you 
 get on." 
 
 "Oh, much better, sir. I can move the foot a little, and 
 I feel assured it's only a severe sprain." 
 
 "That 's all right. Take your own time, and don't 
 attempt to move about too early. You are in capital quar- 
 ters here, and will be well looked after. There is only one 
 difficulty, and I don't exactly see how to deal with it. Our 
 host is a reduced gentleman, brought down to keep au inn 
 for support, but what benefit he can derive from it is not 
 so very clear; for wheo I asked the man who fetched me hot 
 water this morning for my bill, he replied that his master 
 told him I was to be his guest here for a week, and not on 
 any account to accept money from me. Ireland is a very 
 strange place, and we are learning something new in it every 
 day; but this is the strangest thing I have met yet." 
 
 "In my case this would be impossible. I must of neces- 
 sity give a deal of trouble, — not to say that it would add 
 unspeakably to my annoyance to feel that I could not ask 
 freely for what I wanted." 
 
 "I have no reason to suppose, mind you, that you are 
 to be dealt with as I have been, but it would be well to 
 bear in mind who and what these people are." 
 
 "And get away from them as soon as possible," added 
 the young fellow, half peevishl3^ 
 
FRED CONYERS. 43 
 
 "Nay, nay, Fred; dou't be impatient. You'll be de- 
 lighted with the old fellow, who is a heart-aud-soul sports- 
 man. What station he once occupied I can't guess; but in 
 the remarks he makes about horses and hounds, all his know- 
 ing hints on stable management and the treatment of young 
 cattle, one would say that he must have had a large fortune 
 and kept a large establishment." 
 
 In the half self-sufficient toss of the head which received 
 this speech, it was plain that the young man thought his 
 Colonel was easily imposed on, and that such pretensions 
 as these would have ver}- little success with him. 
 
 "I have no doubt some of your brother officers will take 
 a run down to see how you get on, and, if so, I '11 send over 
 a hamper of wine, or something of the kind, that you can 
 manage to make him accept." 
 
 "It will not be very difficult, I opine," said the young 
 man, laughingly. 
 
 "No, no," rejoined the other, misconstruing the drift of 
 his words. "You have plenty of tact, Fred. You '11 do the 
 thing with all due delicacy. And now, good-bye. Let me 
 hear how you fare here." And with a hearty farewell they 
 parted. 
 
 There was none astir in the cottage but Darby as the 
 Colonel set out to gain the high-road, where the post-horses 
 awaited him. From Darby, however, as he went along, he 
 gathered much of his host's former history. It was with 
 astonishment he learned that the splendid house of Barring- 
 ton Hall, where he had been dining with an earl a few 
 days ago, was the old family seat of that poor innkeeper; 
 that the noble deer-park had once acknowledged him for 
 master. "And will again, plase God!" burst in Darby, 
 who thirsted for an opportunity to launch out into law, 
 and all its bright hopes and prospects. 
 
 "We have a record on trial in Trinity Term, and an argu- 
 ment before the twelve Judges, and the case is as plain as 
 the nose on your honor's face; for it was ruled by Chief 
 Baron Medge, in the great cause of ' Peter against Todd, 
 a widow,' that a settlement couldn't be broke by an 
 esti-eat." 
 
 "You are quite a lawyer, I see," said the Colonel. 
 
44 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "I wish I was. I 'd rather be a judge on the bench than 
 a king on his throne." 
 
 "And yet I am beginning to suspect law may have cost 
 your master dearly." 
 
 "It is not ten, or twenty — no, nor thirty — thousand 
 pounds would see him through it!" said Darby, with a 
 triumph in his tone that seemed to proclaim a very proud 
 declaration. "There 's families would be comfortable for 
 life with just what we spent upon special juries." 
 
 "Well, as you tell me he has no family, the injury has 
 been all his own." 
 
 "That's true. We're the last of the ould stock," said 
 he, sorrowfully; and little more passed between them, till 
 the Colonel, on parting, put a couple of guineas in his hand, 
 and enjoined him to look after the young friend he had left 
 behind him. 
 
 It is now my task to inti'oduce this young gentleman to 
 my readers. Frederick Conyers, a cornet in his Majesty's 
 Hussars, was the only son of a very distinguished officer, 
 Lieutenant-General Conyers, a man who had not alone 
 served with great reputation in the field, but held offices of 
 high political trust in India, the country where all his life 
 had been passed. Holding a high station as a political 
 resident at a native court, wielding great power, and sur- 
 rounded by an undeviating homage. General Conyers saw 
 his son growing up to manhood with everything that could 
 foster pride and minister to self-exaltation around him. It 
 was not alone the languor and indolence of an Eastern life 
 that he had to dread for him, but the haughty temper and 
 overbearing spirit so sure to come out of habits of domina- 
 tion in very early life. 
 
 Though he had done all that he could to educate his son, 
 by masters brought at immense cost from Europe, the really 
 important element of education, — the self-control and re- 
 spect for other's rights, — only to be acquired by daily life 
 and intercourse with equals, this he could not supply ; and 
 he saw, at last, that the project he had so long indulged, of 
 keeping his son with him, must be abandoned. Perhaps 
 the rough speech of an old comrade helped to dispel the 
 illusion, as he asked, "Are j'ou bringing up that boy to be 
 
FRED CONYERS. 45 
 
 a Rajah? " His first thought was to send him to one of the 
 Universities, his great desire being that the young man 
 should feel some ambition for public life and its distinc- 
 tious. He bethought him, however, that while the youth of 
 Oxford and Cambridge enter upon a college career, trained 
 by all the discipline of our public schools, Fred would 
 approach the ordeal without any such preparation what- 
 ever. AVithout one to exert authority over him, little accus- 
 tomed to the exercise of self-restraint, the experiment was 
 too perilous. 
 
 To place him, therefore, where, from the very nature of 
 his position, some guidance and control would be exercised, 
 and where by the working of that model democracy — a 
 mess — he would be taught to repress self-sufficiency and 
 presumption, he determined on the army, and obtained a 
 cornetcy in a regiment commanded by one who had long 
 ser^'ed on his own staff. To most young fellows such an 
 opening in life would have seemed all that was delightful 
 and enjoyable. To be just twenty, gazetted to a splendid 
 cavalry corps, with a father rich enough and generous 
 enough to say, "Live like the men about you, and don't 
 be afraid that your checks will come back to you," these 
 are great aids to a very pleasant existence. Whether the 
 enervation of that life of Oriental indulgence had now 
 become a nature to him, or whether he had no liking for the 
 service itself, or whether the change from a condition of 
 almost princely state to a position of mere equality with 
 others, chafed and irritated him, but so is it, he did not 
 "take to" the regiment, nor the regiment to him. 
 
 Now it is a fact, and not a very agreeable fact either, 
 that a man with a mass of noble qualities may fail to attract 
 the kindliness and good feeling towards him which a far less 
 worthy individual, merely by certain traits, or by the sem- 
 blance of them, of a yielding, passive nature is almost sure 
 to acquire. 
 
 Conyers was generous, courageous, and loyal, in the most 
 chivalrous sense of that word, to every obligation of friend- 
 ship. He was eminently truthful and honorable ; but he had 
 two qualities whose baneful influence would disparage the 
 very best of gifts. He was "imperious," and, in the phrase 
 
46 BARKLNGTOX. 
 
 of bis brother oflicers, "he never gave in." Some absurd 
 impression had been made on him, as a child, that obstinacy 
 and persistency were the noblest of attributes, and that, 
 having said a thing, no event or circumstance could ever 
 occur to induce a change of opinion. 
 
 Such a quality is singularly unfitted to youth, and mar- 
 vellously out of place in a regiment; hence was it that the 
 "Rajah," as he was generally called by his comrades, had 
 few intimates, and not one friend amongst them. 
 
 If I have dwelt somewhat lengthily on these traits, it is 
 because their possessor is one destined to be much before 
 us in this history. I will but chronicle one other feature. 
 I am sorry it should be a disqualifying one. Owing in 
 great measure, perhaps altogether, to his having been 
 brought up in the East, where Hindoo craft and subtlety 
 were familiarized to his mind from infancy, he was given 
 to suspect that few things were ever done from the motives 
 ascribed to them, and that under the open game of life was 
 another concealed game, which was the real one. As yet, 
 this dark and pernicious distrust had only gone the length 
 of impressing him with a sense of his own consummate 
 acuteness, an amount of self-satisfaction, which my reader 
 may have seen tingeing the few words he exchanged with 
 his Colonel before separating. 
 
 Let us see him now as he sits in a great easy-chair, his 
 sprained ankle resting on another, in a little honeysuckle- 
 covered arbor of the garden, a table covered with books and 
 fresh flowers beside him, while Darby stands ready to serve 
 him from the breakfast-table, where a very tempting meal 
 is already spread out. 
 
 " So, then, I can't see your master, it seems," said Con- 
 yers, half peevishly. 
 
 " Faix you can't; he's ten miles off by this. He got a 
 letter by the post, and set out half an hour after for Kil- 
 kenny. He went to your honor's door, but seeing you was 
 asleep he would n't wake you ; ' but, Darby,' says he, ' take 
 care of that 3"oung gentleman, and mind,' says he, ' that he 
 wants for nothing.' " 
 
 " Very thoughtful of him^ — very considerate indeed," said 
 the youth ; but in what precise spirit it is not easy to say. 
 
FEED CONYEllS. 
 
 47 
 
 '*"Who lives about here? What gentlemen's places are 
 there, I mean ? " 
 
 "There's Lord Carrackmore, and Sir Arthur Godfrey, 
 and Moore of Ballyduff, and Mrs. Powerscroft of the 
 Grove — " 
 
 " Do any of these great folks come down here? " 
 
 Darby would like to have given a ready assent, — he would 
 have been charmed to say that they came daily, that they 
 made the place a continual rendezvous ; but as he saw no 
 prospect of being able to give his fiction even twenty-four 
 hours' currency, he merely changed from one leg to the other, 
 and, in a tone of apology, said, " Betimes they does, when 
 the sayson is fine." 
 
 " Who are the persons who are most frequently here?" 
 
48 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "Those two that you saw last night, — the Major and 
 Dr. Dill. They 're up here every second day, fishing, and 
 eating their dinner with the master." 
 
 " Is the fishing good? " 
 
 "The best in Ireland." 
 
 " And what shooting is there, — any partridges? " 
 
 " Partridges, be gorra ! You could n't see the turnips for 
 them." 
 
 ' ' And woodcocks ? " 
 
 "Is it woodcocks ! The sky is black with the sight of 
 them." 
 
 "Any lions?" 
 
 "Well, maybe an odd one now and then," said Darby, 
 half apologizing for the scarcity. 
 
 There was an ineffable expression of self-satisfaction in 
 Conyers's face at the subtlety with which he had drawn 
 Darby into this admission ; and the delight in his own 
 acuteness led him to offer the poor fellow a cigar, which he 
 took with very grateful thanks. 
 
 " From Avhat you tell me, then, I shall find this place 
 stupid enough till I am able to be up and about, eh? Is 
 there any one who can play chess hereabout?" 
 
 " Sure there 's Miss Dinah ; she 's a great hand at it, they 
 tell me." 
 
 "And who is Miss Dinah? Is she young, — is she 
 pretty?" 
 
 Darby gave a very cautious look all around him, and then 
 closing one eye, so as to give his face a look of intense cun- 
 ning, he nodded very significantly twice. 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 " I mane that she'll never see sixty; and for the matter 
 of beauty — " 
 
 " Oh, you have said quite enough; I 'm not curious about 
 her looks. Now for another point. If I should want to get 
 away from this, what other inn or hotel is there in the 
 neighborhood ? " 
 
 "There's Joe M'Cabe's, at Inlstioge ; but you are better 
 where you are. Where will you see fresh butter like that? 
 and look at the cream, the spoon will stand in it. Far and 
 near it's given up to her that nobody can make coffee like 
 
FRED CONYERS. 49 
 
 Miss Dinah ; and when you taste them trout, you '11 tell me 
 if they are not fit for the king." 
 
 "Everything is excellent, — could not be better; but 
 there 's a difficulty. There 's a matter which to me at least 
 makes a stay here most unpleasant. My friend tells me that 
 he could not get his bill, — that he was accepted as a guest. 
 Now I can't permit this — " 
 
 "There it is, now," said Darby, approaching the table, 
 and dropping his voice to a confidential whisper. "That's 
 the master's way. If he gets a stranger to sit down with 
 him to dinner or supper, he may eat and drink as long as he 
 plases, and sorra sixpence he '11 pay ; and it 's that same 
 ruins us, nothing else, for it 's then he '11 call for the best 
 sherry, and that ould Maderia that's worth a guinea a bottle. 
 "What's the use, after all, of me inflaming the bill of the 
 next traveller, and putting down everj^thing maybe double? 
 And worse than all," continued he, in a tone of horror, " let 
 him only hear any one complain about his bill or saying, 
 'What's this?' or 'I didn't get that,' out he'll come, as 
 mighty and as grand as the Lord-Lif tinint, and say, ' I 'm 
 sorry, sir, that we failed to make this place agreeable 
 to you. AVill you do me the favor not to mind the bill at 
 all?' and with that he'd tear it up in little bits and walk 
 away." 
 
 "To me that would only be additional offence. I 'd not 
 endure it." 
 
 "What could you do? You'd maybe slip a five-pound 
 note into my hand, and say, ' Darby my man, settle this 
 little matter for me; you know the ways of the place.' " 
 
 "I '11 not risk such an annoyance, at all events; that I 'm 
 determined on." 
 
 Darby began now to perceive that he had misconceived 
 his brief, and must alter his pleadings as quickly as pos- 
 sible; in fact, he saw he was "stopping an earth" he had 
 meant merely to mask. ".Just leave it all to me, your 
 honor, — leave it all to me, and I '11 have your bill for you 
 every morning on the breakfast-table. And why would n't 
 you? Why would a gentleman like your honor be behouldin' 
 to any one for his meat and drink?" burst he in, with an 
 eager rapidity. "Why wouldn't you say, 'Darby, bring 
 
 VOL. I. — 4 
 
50 BARKINGTON. 
 
 me this, get me that, fetch me the other; expinse is no 
 object in life to me ' ? " 
 
 There was a faint twinkle of humor in the eye of Conyers, 
 and Darby stopped short, and with that half-lisping sim- 
 plicity which a few Irishmen understand to perfection, and 
 can exercise whenever the occasion requires, he said: "But 
 sure isn't your honor laughing at me, isn't it just making 
 fun of me you are? All because I 'm a poor ignorant crayture 
 that knows no better! " 
 
 "Nothing of that kind," said Conyers, frankly. "I was 
 only smiling at thoughts that went through my head at the 
 moment." 
 
 "Well, faix! there's one coming up the path now won't 
 make you laugh," said Darby, as he whispered, "It's Dr. 
 Dill." 
 
 The doctor was early with his patient; if the case was 
 not one of urgency, the sufferer was in a more elevated rank 
 than usually fell to the chances of Dispensary practice. 
 Then, it promised to be one of the nice chronic cases, in 
 which tact and personal agreeability — the two great strong- 
 holds of Dr. Dill in his own estimation — were of far more 
 importance than the materia medica. Now, if Dill's world 
 was not a very big one, he knew it thoroughly. He was a 
 chronicle of all the family incidents of the county, and 
 could recount every disaster of every house for thirty miles 
 round. 
 
 When the sprain had, therefore, been duly examined, and 
 all the pangs of the patient sufficiently condoled with to 
 establish the physician as a man of feeling. Dill proceeded 
 to his task as a man of the world. Conyers, however, 
 abruptly stopped him, by saying, " Tell me how I 'm to get 
 out of this place; some other inn, I mean." 
 
 "You are not comfortable here, then?" asked Dill. 
 
 "In one sense, perfectly so. I like the quietness, the 
 delightful tranquillity, the scenery, — everything, in short, 
 but one circumstance. I'm afraid these worthy people — 
 whoever they are — want to regard me as a guest. Now I 
 don't know them, — never saw them, — don't care to see 
 them. My Colonel has a liking for all this sort of thing. 
 It has to his mind a character of adventure that amuses 
 
FRED CONYERS. 51 
 
 him. It would n't in the least amuse me, and so I want to 
 get away." 
 
 "Yes," repeated Dill, blandly, after him, "wants to get 
 away; desires to change the air." 
 
 "Not at all," broke in Conyers, peevishly; "no question 
 of air whatever. I don't want to be on a visit. 1 want 
 an inn. What is this place they tell me of up the river, 
 — Inis — something ? " 
 
 "Inistioge. M'Cabe's house; the ' Spotted Duck ; ' very 
 small, very poor, far from clean, besides." 
 
 "Is there nothing else? Can't you think of some other 
 place? For I can't have my servant here, circumstanced as 
 I am now." 
 
 The doctor paused to reply. The medical mind is emi- 
 nently ready-witted, and Dill at a glance took in all the 
 dangers of removing his patient. Should he transfer him 
 to his own village, the visit which now had to be requited 
 as a journey of three miles and upwards, would then be an 
 affair of next door. Should be send him to Thomastown, 
 it would be worse again, for then he would be within the 
 precincts of a greater than Dill himself, — a practitioner 
 who had a one-horse phaeton, and whose name was written 
 on brass. "Would you dislike a comfortable lodging in a 
 private family, — one of the first respectability, I may make 
 bold to call it? " 
 
 "Abhor it! — couldn't endure it! I'm not essentially 
 troublesome or exacting, but I like to be able to be either, 
 whenever the humor takes me." 
 
 "I was thinking of a house where you might freely take 
 these liberties — " 
 
 "Liberties! I call them rights, doctor, not liberties! 
 Can't you imagine a man, not very wilful, not very capri- 
 cious, but who, if the whim took him, would n't stand being 
 thwarted by any habits of a so-called respectable family? 
 There, don't throw up your eyes, and misunderstand me. 
 All I mean is, that my hours of eating and sleeping have 
 no rule. I smoke everywhere ; I make as much noise as I 
 please ; and I never brook any impertinent curiosity about 
 what I do, or what I leave undone." 
 
 "Under all the circumstances, you had, perhaps, better 
 remain where you are," said Dill, thoughtfully. 
 
62 BARUINGTON. 
 
 " Of course, if these people will permit me to pay for my 
 board and lodging. If they '11 condescend to let me be a 
 stranger, I ask for nothing better than this place." 
 
 "Might I offer myself as a negotiator?" said Dill, insin- 
 uatingly; "for I opine that the case is not of the ditliculty 
 you suppose. Will you contide it to my hands?" 
 
 " With all my heart. I don't exactly see why there should 
 be a negotiation at all ; but if there must, pray be the spe- 
 cial envoy." 
 
 When Dill arose and set out on his mission, the young 
 fellow looked after him with an expression that seemed to 
 say, " How you all imagine you are humbugging me, while 
 I read every one of you like a book! " 
 
 Let us follow the doctor, and see how he acquitted him- 
 self in his diplomacy. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST. 
 
 Dr. Dill had knocked twice at the door of Miss Barring- 
 ton's little sitting-room, and no answer was returned to his 
 summons. 
 
 "Is the dear lady at home?" asked he, blandly. But, 
 though he waited for some seconds, no reply came. 
 
 "Might Dr. Dill be permitted to make his compli- 
 ments?" 
 
 "Yes, come in," said a sharp voice, very much with the 
 expression of one wearied out by importunity. Miss Bar- 
 rington gave a brief nod in return for the profound obeisance 
 of her visitor, and then turned again to a large map which 
 covered the table before her. 
 
 "I took the opportunity of my professional call here this 
 morning — " 
 
 "How is that young man, — is anything broken?" 
 
 "I incline to say there is no fracture. The flexors, and 
 perhaps, indeed, the annular ligament, are the seat of all 
 the mischief." 
 
 "A common sprain, in fact; a thing to rest for one day, 
 and hold under the pump the day after." 
 
 "The dear lady is always prompt, always energetic; but 
 these sort of cases are often complicated, and require nice 
 management." 
 
 "And frequent visits," said she, with a dry gravity. 
 
 "All the world must live, dear lady, — all the world must 
 live." 
 
 "Your profession does not always sustain your theory, 
 sir; at least, popular scandal says you kill as many as you 
 cure." 
 
 "I know the dear lady has little faith in physic." 
 
54 BAR KINGTON. 
 
 "Say none, sir, and you will be nearer the murk; but, 
 remember, I seek no converts; I ask nobody to deny him- 
 self the luxuries of senna and gamboge because I prefer 
 beef and mutton. You wanted to see my brother, 1 pre- 
 sume," added she, sharply, "but he started early this morn- 
 ing for Kilkenny. The Solicitor-General wanted to say a 
 few words to him on his way dowm to Cork." 
 
 "That weary law! that weary law ! " ejaculated Dill, fer- 
 vently; for he well knew with what little favor Miss Bar- 
 rington regarded litigation. 
 
 "And why so, sir?" retorted she, sharply. "What 
 greater absurdity is there in being hypochondriac about 
 your property than your person? My brother's taste in- 
 clines to depletion by law; others prefer the lancet." 
 
 "Always witty, always smart, the dear lady," said Dill, 
 with a sad attempt at a smile. The flattery passed without 
 acknowledgment of any kind, and he resumed : " I dropped 
 in this morning to you, dear lady, on a matter which, per- 
 haps, might not be altogether pleasing to you." 
 
 "Then don't do it, sir." 
 
 "If the dear lady would let me finish — " 
 
 "I was warning you, sir, not even to begin." 
 
 "Yes, madam," said he, stung into something like resist- 
 ance; "but I would have added, had I been permitted, with- 
 out any due reason for displeasure on your part." 
 
 "And are ijou the fitting judge of that, sir? If you know, 
 as you say you know, that you are about to give me pain, 
 by what presumption do you assert that it must be for 
 my benefit? What 's it all about? " 
 
 " I come on the part of this young gentleman, dear lady, 
 who, having learned — I cannot say where or how — that he 
 is not to consider himself here at an inn, but, as a guest, 
 feels, with all the gratitude that the occasion warrants, 
 that he has no claim to the attention, and that it is one 
 which would render his position here too painful to per- 
 sist in." 
 
 "How did he come by this impression, sir? Be frank 
 and tell me." 
 
 "I am really unable to say, Miss Dinah." 
 
 "Come, sir, be honest, and own that the delusion arose 
 
DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST. 55 
 
 from yourself, — yes, from yourself. It was in perceiving 
 the courteous delicacy with which you declined a fee that 
 he conceived this flattering notion of us; but go back to 
 him, doctor, and say it is a piu-e mistake ; that his break- 
 fast will cost him one shilling, and his dinner two; the 
 price of a boat to fetch him up to Thomastown is half a 
 crown, and that the earlier he orders one the better. Listen 
 to me, sir," said she, and her lips trembled with passion, 
 — " listen to me, while I speak of this for the first and last 
 time. Whenever my brother, recurring to what he once 
 was, has been emboldened to treat a passing stranger as 
 his guest, the choice has been so judiciously exercised as to 
 fall upon one who could respect the motive and not resent the 
 liberty; but never till this moment has it befallen us to be 
 told that the possibility — the bare possibility — of such a 
 presumption should be met by a declaration of refusal. Go 
 back, then, to j-our patient, sir; assure him that he is at an 
 inn, and that he has the right to be all that his purse and 
 his want of manners can insure him." 
 
 "Dear lady, I'm, maybe, a bad negotiator." 
 
 "I trust sincerely, sir, you are a better doctor." 
 
 "Nothing on earth was further from my mind than 
 offence — " 
 
 "Very possibly, sir; but, as you are aware, blisters will 
 occasionally act with all the violence of caustics, so an 
 irritating theme may be pressed at a very inauspicious 
 moment. My cares as a hostess are not in very good favor 
 with me just now. Counsel your young charge to a change 
 of air, and I'll think no more of the matter." 
 
 Had it been a qtieen who had spoken, the doctor could not 
 more palpably have felt that his audience had terminated, 
 and his only duty was to withdraw. 
 
 And so he did retire, with much bowing and graciously 
 smiling, and indicating, by all imaginable contortions, 
 gratitude for the past and humility forever. 
 
 I rejoice that I am not obliged to record as history the low 
 but fervent mutterings that fell from his lips as he closed 
 the door after him, and by a gesture of menace showed his 
 feelings towards her he had just quitted. "Insolent old 
 woman!" he burst out as he went along, "how can she 
 
56 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 presume to forget a statiou that every incident of her daily 
 life recalls? In the rank she once held, and can never 
 return to, such manners would be an outrage; but I '11 not 
 endure it again. It is your last triumph. Miss Dinah; make 
 much of it." Thus sustained by a very Dutch courage, — 
 for this national gift can come of passion as well as drink, 
 — he made his way to his patient's presence, smoothing his 
 brow, as he went, and recalling the medico-chirurgical 
 serenity of his features. 
 
 "I have not done much, but I have accomplished some- 
 thing," said he, blandly. "I am at a loss to understand 
 what they mean by introducing all these caprices into their 
 means of life; but, assuredly, it will uot attract strangers 
 to the house." 
 
 "What are the caprices you allude to?" 
 
 "Well, it is not very easy to say; perhaps I have not 
 expressed my meaning quite correctly; but one thing is 
 clear, a stranger likes to feel that his only obligation in an 
 inn is to discharge the bill." 
 
 "I say, doctor," broke in Conyers, "I have been think- 
 ing the matter over. Why should I not go back to my 
 quarters? There might surely be some means contrived 
 to convey me to the high-road ; after that, there will be no 
 difficulty whatever." 
 
 The doctor actually shuddered at the thought. The 
 sportsman who sees the bird he has just winged flutter away 
 to his neighbor's preserve may understand something, at 
 least, of Dr. Dill's discomfiture as he saw his wealthy 
 patient threatening a departure. He quickly, therefore, 
 summoned to his aid all those terrors which had so often 
 done good service on like occasions. He gave a little 
 graphic sketch of every evil consequence that might come 
 of an imprudent journey. The catalogue was a bulky one ; 
 it ranged over tetanus, mortification, and disease of the 
 bones. It included every sort and description of pain as 
 classified by science, into "dull, weary, and incessant," or 
 "sharp lancinating agony." Now Conyers was as brave 
 as a lion, but had, withal, one of those temperaments which 
 are miserably sensitive under suffering, and to which the 
 mere description of pain is itself an acute pang. When, 
 
DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST. 57 
 
 therefore, the doctor drew the picture of a case very like 
 the present one, where amputation came too late, Conyers 
 burst in with, "For mercy's sake, will you stop! I can't 
 sit here to be cut up piece-meal; there 's not a nerve in m}- 
 body you haven't set ajar." The doctor blandly took out 
 his massive watch, and laid his fingers on the young man's 
 pulse. "Ninety-eight, and slightly intermittent," said he, 
 as though to himself. 
 
 "What does that mean?" asked Conyers, eagerly. 
 
 "The irregular action of the heart implies abnormal con- 
 dition of the nervous system, and indicates, imperatively, 
 rest, repose, and tranquillity." 
 
 "If lethargy itself be required, this is a capital place 
 for it," sighed Conj^ers, drearily. 
 
 "You have n't turned j'our thoughts to what I said awhile 
 ago, being domesticated, as one might call it. in a nice 
 quiet family, with all the tender attentions of a home, and 
 a little music in the evening." 
 
 Simple as these words were, Dill gave to each of them 
 an almost honeyed utterance. 
 
 "No; it would bore me excessively. I detest to be 
 looked after; I abhor what are called attentions." 
 
 "Unobtrusively offered, — tendered with a due delicacy 
 and reserve?" 
 
 "Which means a sort of simpering civility that one has 
 to smirk for in return. No, no; I was bred up in quite a 
 different school, where we clapped our hands twice when 
 we wanted a servant, and the fellow's head paid for it if he 
 was slow in coming. Don't tell me any more about your 
 pleasant family, for they 'd neither endure me, nor I them. 
 Get me well as fast as you can, and out of this confounded 
 place, and I '11 give you leave to make a vascular prepara- 
 tion of me if you catch me here again ! " 
 
 The doctor smiled, as doctors know how to smile when 
 patients think they have said a smartness, and now each 
 was somewhat on better terms with the other. 
 
 "By the way, doctor," said Conyers, suddenly, "you 
 have n't told me what the old woman said. What aiTange- 
 ment did you come to? " 
 
 "Your breakfast will cost one shilling, your dinner two. 
 
58 BARRINGTON. 
 
 She made no mention of your rooms, but only hinted that, 
 whenever you took youi" departure, the charge for the boat 
 was half a crown." 
 
 "Come, all this is very business-like, and to the purpose; 
 but where, in Heaven's name, did any man live in this 
 fashion for so little? We have a breakfast-mess, but it 's 
 jiot to be compared with this, — such a variety of bread, 
 such grilled trout, such a profusion of fruit. After all, 
 doctor, it is very like being a guest, the nominal charge 
 being to escape the sense of a favor. But perhaps one 
 can do here as at one of those ' hospices ' in the Alps, and 
 make a present at parting to requite the hospitality." 
 
 "It is a graceful way to record gratitude," said the 
 doctor, who liked to think that the practice could be ex- 
 tended to other reminiscences. 
 
 "I must have my servant and my books, my pipes and my 
 Spitz terrier. I '11 get a target up, besides, on that cherry- 
 tree, and practise pistol-shooting as I sit here. Could you 
 find out some idle fellow who would play chess or ecarte with 
 me, — a curate or a priest, — I 'm not particular; and when 
 my man Holt comes, I '11 make him string my grass-mat 
 hammock between those two elms, so that I can fish without 
 the bore of standing up for it. Holt is a rare clever fellow, 
 and you '11 see how he'll get things in order here before he 's 
 a day in the place." 
 
 The doctor smiled again, for he saw that his patient de- 
 sired to be deemed a marvel of resources and a mine of 
 original thought. The doctor's smile was apportioned to 
 his conversation, just as he added syrups in his prescrip- 
 tions. It was, as he himself called it, the "vehicle," 
 without special efficac}^ in itself, but it aided to get down 
 the "active principle." But he did more than smile. He 
 promised all possible assistance to carry out his patient's 
 plans. He was almost certain that a friend of his, an old 
 soldier, too, — a Major M'Cormick, — could play ecarte, 
 though, perhaps, it might be cribbage; and then Father 
 Cody, he could answer for it, was wonderful at skittles, 
 though, for the present, that game might not be practicable; 
 and as for books, the library at Woodstay was full of them, 
 if the key could only be come at, for the family was abroad ; 
 
DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST. 59 
 
 and, in fact, be displayed a most generous willingness to 
 oblige, although, when brought to the rude test of reality, 
 his pictures were only dissolving views of pleasures to 
 come. 
 
 When he took his leave at last, he left Conyers in far 
 better spirits than he found him. The young fellow had 
 begun to castle-build about how he should pass his time, 
 and in such architecture there is no room for ennui. And 
 what a rare organ must constructiveness be, when even in its 
 mockery it can yield such pleasure ! We are very prone to 
 envy the rich man, whose wealth sets no limit to his 
 caprices; but is not a rich fancy, that wondrous imagina- 
 tive power which unweariedly invents new incidents, new 
 personages, new situations, a very covetable possession? 
 And can we not, in the gratification of the very humblest 
 exercise of this quality, rudely approximate to the ecstasy 
 of him who wields it in all its force? Not that Fred Con- 
 yers was one of these ; he was a mere tyro in the faculty, 
 and could only carry himself into a region where he saw his 
 Spitz terrier jump between the back rails of a chair, and 
 himself sending bullet after bullet through the very centre 
 of the bull's eye. 
 
 Be it so. Perhaps you and I, too, my reader, have our 
 Spitz terrier and bull's-eye days, and, if so, let us be 
 grateful for them. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE doctor's daughter. 
 
 "Whether it was that Dr. Dill expeuded all the benevolence 
 of his disposition in the course of his practice, and came 
 home utterly exhausted, but so it was, that his familj^ never 
 saw him in those moods of blanduess which he invariably 
 appeared in to his patients. In fact, however loaded he 
 went forth with these wares of a morning, he disposed of 
 every item of his stock before he got back at night; and 
 when poor Mrs. Dill heard, as she from time to time did 
 heai', of the doctor's gentleness, his kindness in suffering, 
 his beautiful and touching sj'mpathj^ with sorrow, she lis- 
 tened with the same sort of semi-stupid astonishment she 
 would have felt on hearing some one eulogizing the climate 
 of Ireland, and going rapturous about the blue sky and the 
 glorious sunshine. Unhappj^ little woman, she only saw 
 him in his dark daj'S of cloud and rain, and she never came 
 into his presence except in a sort of moral mackintosh made 
 for the worst weather. 
 
 The doctor's family consisted of seven children, but our 
 concern is only with the two eldest, — a son and a daughter. 
 Tom was two 3'ears younger than his sister, who, at this 
 period of our storj^, was verging on nineteen. He was an 
 awkward, ungainly youth, large-jointed, but weakly, with 
 a sandy red head and much-freckled face, just such a dis- 
 paraging counterpart of his sister as a coarse American 
 piracy often presents of one of our well-printed, richly 
 papered English editions. "It was all there," but all 
 unseemly, ungraceful, undignified; for Polly Dill was 
 pretty. Her hair was auburn, her eyes a deep hazel, and 
 her skin a marvel of transparent whiteness. You would 
 never have hesitated to call her a very pretty girl if you had 
 
THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER. 61 
 
 not seen her brother, but, having seen him, all the traits 
 of her good looks suffered in the same way that Grisi's 
 "Norma "does from the horrid recollection of Paul Bed- 
 ford's. 
 
 After all, the resemblance went very little further than 
 this "travestie," for while he was a slow, heavy- witted, 
 loutish creature, with low tastes and low ambitions, she was 
 a clever, intelligent girl, very eagerly intent on making 
 something of her advantages. Though the doctor was a 
 general practitioner, and had a shop, which he called "Sur- 
 gery," in the village, he was received at the great houses in 
 a sort of half-intimate, half-patronizing fashion; as one, 
 in short, with whom it was not necessary to be formal, 
 but it might become very inconvenient to have a coldness. 
 These were very sorry credentials for acceptance, but he 
 made no objection to them. 
 
 A few, however, of the "neighbors " — it would be ungen- 
 erous to inquire the motive, for in this world of ours it is 
 just as well to regard one's five-pound note as convertible 
 into five gold sovereigns, and not speculate as to the kind 
 of rags it is made of — were pleased to notice Miss Dill, and 
 occasionally invite her to their larger gatherings, so that 
 she not only gained opportunities of cultivating her social 
 gifts, but, what is often a greater spur to ambition, of com- 
 paring them with those of others. 
 
 Now this same measuring process, if only conducted with- 
 out any envy or ungenerous rivalry, is not without its advan- 
 tage. Polly Dill made it really profitable. I will not pre- 
 sume to say that, in her heart of hearts, she did not envy 
 the social accidents that gave others precedence before her, 
 but into her heart of hearts neither you nor I have any 
 claim to enter. Enough that we know nothing in her out- 
 ward conduct or bearing revealed such a sentiment. As 
 little did she maintain her position by flattery, which many 
 in her ambiguous station would have relied upon as a 
 stronghold. No; Polly followed a very simple policy, 
 which was all the more successful that it never seemed to be 
 a policy at all. She never in any way attracted towards 
 her the attentions of those men who, in the marriageable 
 market, were looked on as the choice lots; squires in pos- 
 
62 BARRINGTON. 
 
 session, elder sous, and favorite nephews, she regarded as 
 so much forbidden fruit. It was a lottery in which she 
 never took a ticket. It is incredible how much kindly 
 notice and favorable recognition accrued to her from this 
 line. 
 
 We all know how pleasant it is to be next to the man at a 
 promiscuous dinner who never eats turtle nor cares for 
 "'Cliquot;" and in the world at large there are people who 
 represent the calabash and the champagne. 
 
 Then Polly played well, but was quite as ready to play as 
 to dance. She sang prettily, too, and had not the slightest 
 objection that one of her simple ballads should be the foil to 
 a grand performance of some young lady, whose artistic 
 agonies rivalled Alboni's. So cleverly did Polly do all 
 this, that even her father could not discover the secret of 
 her success; and though he saw "his little girl" as he 
 called her, more and more sought after and invited, he 
 continued to be persuaded that all this favoritism was only 
 the reflex of his own popularity. How, then, could mere 
 acquaintances ever suspect what to the eye of those nearer 
 and closer was so inscrutable? 
 
 Polly Dill rode very well and very fearlessly, and occa- 
 sionally was assisted to "a mount" by some country gentle- 
 man, who combined gallantry with profit, and knew that the 
 horse he lent could never be seen to greater advantage. 
 Yet, even in this, she avoided display, quite satisfied, as it 
 seemed, to enjoy herself thoroughly, and not attract any 
 notice that could be avoided. Indeed, she never tried for 
 "a place," but rather attached herself to some of the older 
 and heavier weights, who grew to believe that they were 
 especially in charge of her, and nothing was more common, 
 at the end of a hard run, than to hear such self-gratulations 
 as, "I think I took great care of you. Miss Dill?" "Eh, 
 Miss Polly! you see I'm not such a bad leader!" and 
 so on. 
 
 Such was the doctor's "little girl," whom I am about to 
 present to my readers under another aspect. She is at 
 home, dressed in a neatly fitting but very simple cotton 
 dress, her hair in two plain bands, and she is seated at a 
 table, at the opposite of which lounges her brother Tom. 
 
THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER. G3 
 
 with an air of dogged and sleepy indolence, wliicii extends 
 from his ill-trimmed hair to his ill-buttoned waistcoat. 
 
 "Never mind it to-day, Polly," said he, with a yawn. 
 "I 've been up all night, and have no head for work. 
 There 's a good girl, let 's have a chat instead." 
 
 "Impossible, Tom," said she, calmly, but with decision. 
 "To-day is the thii'd. You have only three weeks now 
 and two days before your examination. "We have all the 
 bones and ligaments to go over again, and the whole vascu- 
 lar system. You 've forgotten everj' word of Harrison." 
 
 "It doesn't signify, Polly. They never take a fellow on 
 anything but two arteries for the navy. Grove told me so." 
 
 "Grove is an ass, and got plucked twice. It is a perfect 
 disgrace to quote him." 
 
 "Well, I only wish I may do as well. He's assistant- 
 surgeon to the ' Taurus ' gun-brig on the African station ; 
 and if I was there, it 's little I 'd care for the whole lot of 
 bones and balderdash." 
 
 "Come, don't be silly. Let us go on with the scapula. 
 Describe the glenoid cavity." 
 
 "If you were the girl you might be, I'd not be bored 
 with all this stupid trash, Polly." 
 
 "What do you mean? I don't understand you." 
 
 "It's easy enough to understand me. You are as thick 
 as thieves, you and that old Admiral, — that Sir Charles 
 Cobham. I saw you talking to the old fellow at the meet 
 the other morning. You 've only to say, ' There 's Tom — 
 my brother Tom — wants a navy appointment; he's not 
 passed yet, but if the fellows at the Board got a hint, just 
 as much as, "Don't be hard on him — " ' " 
 
 "I'd not do it to make you a post-captain, sir," said 
 she, severely. "You very much overrate my influence, 
 and very much underrate my integrity, when you ask it." 
 
 "Hoity-toity! ain't we dignified! So you'd rather see 
 me plucked, eh? " 
 
 "Yes, if that should be the only alternative." 
 
 "Thank you, Polly, that's all! thank you," said he; and 
 he drew his sleeve across his eyes. 
 
 "My dear Tom," said she, laying her white soft hand 
 on his coarse brown fingers, "Can you not see that if I even 
 
64 BARRINGTON. 
 
 stooped to anything so unworthy, that it would compromise 
 your whole prospects in life? You'd obtain an assistant- 
 surgeoncy, and never rise above it." 
 
 "And do I ask to rise above it? Do I ask anything 
 beyond getting out of this house, and earning bread that is 
 not grudged me?" 
 
 "Nay, nay; if you talk that way, I 've done." 
 
 '' Well, I do talk that way. He sent me off to Kilkenny 
 last week — you saw it yourself — to bi'ing out that trash for 
 the shop, and he would n't pay the car hire, and made me 
 carry two stone of carbonate of magnesia and a jar of 
 leeches fourteen miles. You were just taking that post and 
 rail out of Nixon's lawn as I came by. You saw me well 
 enough." 
 
 "I am glad to say I did not," said she, sighing. 
 
 "I aSiW you, then, and how that gray carried you! You 
 were waving a handkerchief in your hand; what was that 
 for?" 
 
 "It was to show Ambrose Bushe that the ground was 
 good ; he was afraid of being staked ! " 
 
 "That 's exactly what I am. I 'm afraid of being ' staked 
 up ' at the Hall, and if you 'd take as much trouble about 
 your brother as you did for Ambrose Bushe — " 
 
 "Tom, Tom, I have taken it for eight weary months. I 
 believe I know Bell on the bones, and Harrison on the 
 arteries, by heart ! " 
 
 "Who thanks you?" said he, doggedly. "When you 
 read a thing twice, you never forget it; but it's not so 
 with me." 
 
 "Try what a little work will do, Tom; be assured there 
 is not half as much disparity between people's brains as 
 there is between their industry." 
 
 "I 'd rather have luck than either, I know that. It's the 
 only thing, after all." 
 
 She gave a very deep sigh, and leaned her head on her 
 hand. 
 
 "Work and toil as hard as you may," continued he, with 
 all the fervor of one on a favorite theme, "if you haven't 
 luck you '11 be beaten. Can you deny that, Polly? " 
 
 "If j'ou allow me to call merit what you call luck, I'll 
 
^ V 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
THE DOCTOR'S DAUGHTER. 65 
 
 agree with you. But I 'd much rather go on with our work. 
 What is the insertion of the deltoid? I'm sure you know 
 that!" 
 
 "The deltoid! the deltoid!" muttered he. "I forget all 
 about the deltoid, but, of course, it's like the rest of them. 
 It 's inserted into a ridge or a process, or whatever you 
 call it — " 
 
 "Oh, Tom, this is very hopeless. How can you presume 
 to face 3'our examiners with such ignorance as this? " 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do, Polly; Grove told me he did 
 it, — if I find my pluck failing me, I '11 have a go of brandy 
 before I go in." 
 
 She found it very hard not to laugh at the solemn gravity 
 of this speech, and just as hard not to cry as she looked at 
 him who spoke it. At the same moment Dr. Dill opened 
 the door, calling out sharply, "Where's that fellow, Tom? 
 Who has seen him this morning ? " 
 
 "He's here, papa," said Polly. "We are brushing up 
 the anatomy for the last time." 
 
 "His head must be in capital order for it, after his 
 night's exploit. I heard of j^ou, sir, and your reputable 
 wager. Noonan was up here this morning with the whole 
 story ! " 
 
 "I 'd have won if they 'd not put snuff in the punch — " 
 
 "You are a shameless hound — " 
 
 "Oh, papa! If you knew how he was working, — how 
 eager he is to pass his examination, and be a credit to us 
 all, and owe his independence to himself — " 
 
 "I know more of him than you do, miss, — far more, too, 
 than he is aware of, — and I know something of myself 
 also; and I tell him now, that if he 's rejected at the exam- 
 ination, he need not come back here with the news." 
 
 "And where am I to go, then?" asked the young fellow, 
 half insolently. 
 
 "You may go — " Where to, the doctor was not suffered 
 to indicate, for already Polly had thrown herself into his 
 arms and arrested the speech. 
 
 "Well, I suppose I can 'list; a fellow need not know 
 much about gallipots for that." As he said this, he 
 snatched up his tattered old cap and made for the door. 
 
 VOL. I. — 5 
 
66 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "Stay, sir! I have business for you to do," cried Dill, 
 sternly. "There 's a young gentleman at the ' Fisherman's 
 Home ' laid up with a bad sprain. I have prescribed twenty 
 leeches on the part. Go down and apply them." 
 
 "That 's what old Molly Day used to do," said Tom, 
 angrily. 
 
 "Yes, sir, and knew more of the occasion that required it 
 than you will ever do. See that you apply them all to the 
 outer ankle, and attend well to the bleeding; the patient is 
 a young man of rank, with whom you had better take no 
 liberties." 
 
 "If I go at all — " 
 
 "Tom, Tom, none of this!" said Polly, who drew very 
 close to him, and looked up at him with eyes full of 
 tears. 
 
 "Am I going as your son this time? or did you tell him 
 — as you told Mr. Nixon — that you 'd send your young 
 man ? " 
 
 "There! listen to that!" cried the doctor, turning to 
 Polly. "I hope you are proud of your pupil." 
 
 She made no answer, but whispering some hurried words 
 in her brother's ear, and pressing at the same time some- 
 thing into his hand, she shuffled him out of the room and 
 closed the door. 
 
 The doctor now paced the room, so engrossed by passion 
 that he forgot he was not alone, and uttered threats and 
 mumbled out dark predictions with a fearful energy. Mean- 
 while Polly put by the books and drawings, and removed 
 everything which might recall the late misadventure. 
 
 "What's your letter about, papa?" said she, pointing to 
 a square-shaped envelope which he still held in his hand. 
 
 "Oh, by the way," said he, quietly, "this is from Cob- 
 ham. They ask us up there to dinner to-day, and to stop 
 the night." The doctor tried very hard to utter this speech 
 with the unconcern of one alluding to some every-day 
 occurrence. Nay, he did more; he endeavored to throw 
 into it a certain air of fastidious weariness, as though to 
 say, "See how these people will have me; mark how they 
 persecute me with their attentions ! " 
 
 Polly understood the "situation" perfectly, and it was 
 
THE DOCTOR^'S DAUGHTER. 67 
 
 with actual curiosity in her tone she asked, "Do you mean 
 to go, sir ? " 
 
 "I suppose we must, dear," he said, with a deep sigh. 
 "A professional man is no more the arbiter of his social 
 hours than of his business ones. Cooper always said din- 
 ing at home costs a thousand a year." 
 
 "So much, papa?" asked she, with much semblance of 
 innocence. 
 
 "I don't mean to myself," said he, reddening, "nor to 
 any physician in country practice; but we all lose by it, 
 more or less." 
 
 Polly, meanwhile, had taken the letter, and was reading 
 it over. It was very brief. It had been originally begun, 
 "Lady Cobham presents," but a pen was run through the 
 words, and it ran, — 
 
 " Dear Dr. Dill, — If a short notice will not inconvenience you, 
 will you and your daughter dine here to-day at seven ? There is no 
 moon, and we shall expect you to stay the night. 
 " Truly yours, 
 
 "Georgiana Cobham. 
 
 ♦' The Admiral hopes Miss D. will not forget to bring her music." 
 
 "Then we go, sir?" asked she, with eagerness; for it 
 was a house to which she had never yet been invited, though 
 she had long wished for the entree. 
 
 "I shall go, certainly," said he. "As to you, there will 
 be the old discussion with your mother as to clothes, and 
 the usual declaration that you have really nothing to put 
 on." 
 
 "Oh! but I have, papa. My wonderful-worked muslin, 
 that was to have astonished the world at the race ball, but 
 which arrived too late, is now quite ready to captivate all 
 beholders; and I have just learned that new song, ' Where 's 
 the slave so lowly? ' which I mean to give with a most re- 
 bellious fers^or; and, in fact, I am dying to assault this 
 same fortress of Cobham, and see what it is like inside the 
 citadel." 
 
 "Pretty much like Woodstay, and the Grove, and Mount 
 Kelly, and the other places we' go to," said Dill, pompously. 
 
68 BARRINGTOX. 
 
 "The same sort of rooms, the same sort of dinner, the same 
 company; nothing different but the liveries." 
 
 " Very true, papa ; but there is always an interest in see- 
 ing how people behave in their own house, whom you have 
 never seen except in strangers'. I have met Lady Cobhani 
 at the Beachers', where she scarcely noticed me. 1 am 
 curious to see what sort of reception she will vouchsafe me 
 at home." 
 
 "Well, go and look after your things, for we have eight 
 miles to drive, and Billy has already been at Dangan and 
 over to Mooney's Mills, and he 's not the fresher for it." 
 
 "I suppose 1 'd better take my hat and habit, papa? " 
 
 "What for, child?" 
 
 "Just as you always carry your lancets, papa, — you don't 
 know what may turn up." And she was off before he could 
 answer her. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TOM dill's first PATIENT. 
 
 Before Tom Dill had set out on his errand he had learned 
 all about his father and sister's dinner engagement; nor 
 did the contrast with the way in which his own time was to 
 be passed at all improve his temper. Indeed, he took the 
 opportunity of intimating to his mother how few favors fell 
 to her share or his own, — a piece of information she very 
 philosophically received, all her sympathies being far more 
 interested for the sorrows of "Clarissa Harlowe" than for 
 any incident that occurred around her. Poor old lady ! she 
 had read that story over and over again, till it might seem 
 that every word and every comma in it had become her own ; 
 but she was blessed with a memory that retained nothing, 
 and she could cry over the sorrowful bits, and pant with 
 eagerness at the critical ones, just as passionately, just as 
 fervently, as she had done for years and years before. Dim, 
 vague perceptions she might have retained of the person- 
 ages, but these only gave them a stronger truthfulness, and 
 made them more like the people of the real world, whom she 
 had seen, passingly, once, and was now to learn more about. 
 I doubt if Mezzofahti ever derived one tenth of the pleasure 
 from all his marvellous memory that she did from the 
 want of one. 
 
 Blessed with that one book, she was proof against all the 
 common accidents of life. It was her sanctuary against 
 duns, and difficulties, and the doctor's temper. As the 
 miser feels a sort of ecstasy in the secret of his hoarded 
 wealth, so had she an intense enjoyment in thinking that all 
 dear Clarissa's trials and sufferings were only known to her. 
 Neither the doctor, nor Polly, nor Tom, so much as sus* 
 
70 BARRINGTON. 
 
 pected them. It was like a confidence between Mr. Richard- 
 son and herself, and for nothing on earth would she have 
 betrayed it. 
 
 Tom had no such resources, and he set out on his mission 
 with no very remarkable good feeling towards the world at 
 large. Still, Polly had pressed into his hand a gold half- 
 guinea, — some very long- treasured keepsake, the birthday 
 fift of a godmother in times remote, and now to be con- 
 verted into tobacco and beer, and some articles of fishing- 
 gear which he greatly needed. 
 
 Seated in one of those light canoe-shaped skiffs, — "cots," 
 as they are called on these rivers, — he suffered himself to be 
 carried lazily along by the stream, while he tied his flies and 
 adjusted his tackle. There is, sometimes, a stronger sense 
 of unhappiness attached to what is called being "hardly 
 used" by the world, than to a direct palpable misfortune; 
 for though the sufferer may not be able, even to his own 
 heart, to set out, with clearness, one single count in the 
 indictment, yet a general sense of hard treatment, unfair- 
 ness, and so forth, brings with it great depression, and a 
 feeling of desolation. 
 
 Like all young fellows of his stamp, Tom only saw his 
 inflictions, not one of his transgressions. He knew that his 
 father made a common drudge of him, employed him in all 
 that was wearisome and even menial in his craft, admitted 
 him to no confidences, gave him no counsels, and treated 
 him In every way like one who was never destined to rise 
 above the meanest cares and lowest duties. Even those 
 little fleeting glances at a brighter future which Polly would 
 now and then open to his ambition, never came from his 
 father, who would actually ridicule the notion of his obtain- 
 infy a degree, and make the thought of a commission in the 
 service a subject for mockery. 
 
 He was low in heart as he thought over these things. "If 
 it were not for Polly," so he said to himself, "he 'd go and 
 enlist;" or, as his boat slowly floated into a dark angle of 
 the stream where the water was still and the shadow deep, 
 he even felt he could do worse. "Poor Polly! " said he, as 
 he moved his hand to and fro in the cold clear water, "you 'd 
 be very, very sorry for me. You, at least, knew that I was 
 
TOM DILL'S FIRST PATIENT. 71 
 
 not all bad, and that I wanted to be better. It was no fault 
 of mine to have a head that couldn't learn. I'd be clever 
 if I could, aud do everything as well as she does; but when 
 they see that I have no talents, that if they put the task 
 before me I cannot master it, sure they ought to pity me, 
 not blame me." And then he bent over the boat and looked 
 down eagerly into the water, till, by long dint of gazing, he 
 saw, or he thought he saw, the gravelly bed beneath; aud 
 again he swept his hand through it, — it was cold, and 
 caused a slight shudder. Then, suddenly, with some fresh 
 impulse, he threw off his cap, and kicked his shoes from 
 him. His trembling hands buttoned and unbuttoned his 
 coat with some infirm, uncertain purpose. He stopped and 
 listened ; he heard a sound ; there was some one near, — 
 quite near. He bent down aud peered under the branches 
 that hung over the stream, and there he saw a very old and 
 infirm man, so old and infirm that he could barely creep. 
 He had been carrying a little bundle of fagots for firewood, 
 and the cord had given way, and his burden fallen, scat- 
 tered, to the ground. This was the noise Tom had heard. 
 For a few minutes the old man seemed overwhelmed with 
 his disaster, and stood motionless, contemplating it; then, 
 as it were, taking courage, he laid down "his staff, and 
 bending on his knees, set slowly to work to gather up his 
 fagots. 
 
 There are minutes in the lives of all of us when some 
 simple incident will speak to our hearts with a force that 
 human words never carried, — when the most trivial event 
 will teach a lesson that all our wisdom never gave us. 
 "Poor old fellow," said Tom, "he has a stout heart left to 
 him still, and he '11 not leave his load behind him! " And 
 then his own craven spirit flashed across him, and he hid 
 his face in his hand and cried bitterly. 
 
 Suddenly rousing himself with a sort of convulsive shake, 
 he sent the skiff with a strong shove in shore, and gave the 
 old fellow what remained to him of Polly's present; and 
 then, with a lighter spirit than he had known for many a 
 day, rowed manfully on his way. 
 
 The evening — a soft, mellow, summer evening — was just 
 falling as Tom reached the little boat quay at the "Fisher- 
 
72 BARRING TON, 
 
 man's Home," — a spot it was seldom his fortune to visit, 
 but one for whose woodland beauty and trim comfort he 
 had a deep admiration. He would have liked to have lin- 
 gered a little to inspect the boat-house, and the little aviary 
 over it, and the small cottage on the island, and the little 
 terrace made to fish from ; but Darby had caught sight of 
 him as he landed, and came hurriedly down to say that the 
 young gentleman was growing very impatient for his com- 
 ing, and was even hinting at sending for another doctor if 
 he should not soon appear. 
 
 If Conyers was as impatient as Darby represented, he had, 
 at least, surrounded himself with every appliance to allay 
 the fervor of that spirit. He had dined under a spreading 
 sycamore- tree, and now sat with a table richly covered be- 
 fore him. Fruit, flowers, and wine abounded, with a pro- 
 fusion that might have satisfied several guests ; for, as he 
 understood that he was to consider himself at an inn, he 
 resolved, by ordering the most costly things, to give the 
 house all the advantage of his presence. The most delicious 
 hothouse fruit had been procured from the gardener of an 
 absent proprietor in the neighborhood, and several kinds of 
 wine figured on the table, over which, and half shadowed by 
 the leaves, a lamp had been suspended, throwing a fitful 
 light over all, that imparted a most picturesque effect to the 
 scene. 
 
 And yet, amidst all these luxuries and delights, Bal- 
 shazzar was discontented; his ankle pained him; he had 
 been hobbling about on it all day, and increased the inflam- 
 mation considerably; and, besides this, he was lonely; he 
 had no one but Darby to talk to, and had grown to feel for 
 that sapient functionary a perfect abhorrence, — his ever- 
 lasting compliance, his eternal coincidence with everything, 
 being a torment infinitely worse than the most dogged and 
 mulish opposition. When, therefore, he heard at last the 
 doctor's son had come with the leeches, he hailed him as a 
 welcome guest. 
 
 "What a time you have kept me waiting! " said he, as the 
 loutish young man came forward, so astounded by the scene 
 before him that he lost all presence of mind. "I have been 
 looking out for you since three o'clock, and pottering down 
 
TOM DILL'S FIRST PATIENT. 73 
 
 the river and back so often, that I have made the leg twice 
 as thick again." 
 
 •'Why didn't you sit quiet?" said Tom, in a hoarse, 
 husky tone. 
 
 "Sit quiet! " replied Conyers, staring half angrily at him; 
 and then as quickly perceiving that no impertinence had 
 been intended, which the other's changing color and evident 
 confusion attested, he begged him to take a chair and fill 
 his o-lass. "That next you is some sort of Rhine wine: this 
 is sherry; and here is the very best claret I ever tasted." 
 
 "Well, I '11 take that," said Tom, who, accepting the 
 recommendation amidst luxuries all new and strange to 
 him, proceeded to fill his glass, but so tremblingly that he 
 spilled the wine all about the table, and then hurriedly 
 wiped it up with his handkerchief, 
 
 Conyers did his utmost to set his guest at his ease. He 
 passed his cigar-case across the table, and led him on, as 
 well as he might, to talk. But Tom was awestruck, not 
 alone by the splendors around him, but by the condescen- 
 sion of his host; and he could not divest himself of the 
 notion that he must have been mistaken for somebody else, 
 to whom all these blandishments might be rightfully due. 
 
 "Are you fond of shooting?" asked Conyers, trying to 
 engage a conversation. 
 
 "Yes," was the curt reply. 
 
 "There must be good sport hereabouts, I should say. Is 
 the game well preserved ? " 
 
 "Too well for such as me. I never get a shot without the 
 risk of a jail, and it would be cheaper for me to kill a cow 
 than a woodcock ! " There was a stern gravity in the way 
 he said this that made it irresistibly comic, and Conyers 
 laughed out in spite of himself. 
 
 "Haven't you a game license?" asked he. 
 
 "Haven't I a coach-aud-six? Where would I get four 
 pounds seven and ten to pay for it?" 
 
 The appeal was awkward, and for a moment Conyers was 
 silent. At last he said, "You fish, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes; I kill a salmon whenever I get a quiet spot that 
 nobody sees me, and I draw the river now and then with a 
 net at night." 
 
74 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "That's poaching, I take it." 
 
 "It's uot the worse for that! " said Tom, whose pluck 
 was by this time considerably assisted by the claret. 
 
 "Well, it's an unfair way, at all events, and destro3'S 
 real sport." 
 
 "Real sport is filling your basket." 
 
 "No, no; there's no real sport in doing anything that's 
 unfair, — anything that's uu — " He stopped short, and 
 swallowed off a glass of wine to cover his confusion. 
 
 "That's all mighty fine for you, who can not only pay 
 for a license, but you 're just as sure to be invited here, 
 there, and everywhere there 's game to be killed. But think 
 of ?»e, that never snaps a cap, never throws a line, but he 
 knows it 's worse than robbing a hen-roost, and often, 
 maybe, just as fond of it as yourself! " 
 
 Whether it was that, coming after Darby's mawkish and 
 servile agreement with everything, this rugged nature 
 seemed more palatable, I cannot say ; but so it was, Con- 
 yers felt pleasure in talking to this rough unpolished crea- 
 ture, and hearing his opinions in turn. Had there been in 
 Tom Dill's manner the slightest shade of any pretence, was 
 there any element of that which, for want of a better word, 
 we call "snobbery," Conyers would not have endured him 
 for a moment, but Tom was perfectly devoid of this vul- 
 garity. He was often coarse in his remarks, his expres- 
 sions were rarely measured by any rule of good manners; 
 but it was easy to see that he never intended offence, nor 
 did he so much as suspect that he could give that weight to 
 any opinion which he uttered to make it of moment. 
 
 Besides these points in Tom's favor, there was another, 
 which also led Conyers to converse with him. There is 
 soine very subtle self-flattery in the condescension of one 
 well to do in all the gifts of fortune associating, in an 
 assumed equality, with some poor fellow to whom fate has 
 assigned the shady side of the highway. Scarcely a sub- 
 ject can be touched without suggesting something for self- 
 gratulation; every comparison, every contrast is in his 
 favor, and Conyers, without being more of a puppy than the 
 majority of his order, constantly felt how immeasurably 
 above all his guest's views of his life and the world were 
 
TOM DILL'S FIRST PATIENT. 75 
 
 his own, — not alone that he was more moderate in language 
 and less prone to attribute evil, but with a finer sense of 
 honor and a wider feeling of liberality. 
 
 When Tom at last, with some shame, remembered that 
 he had forgotten all about the real object of his mission, 
 and had never so much as alluded to the leeches, Couyers 
 only laughed and said, "Never mind them to-night. Come 
 back to-morrow and put them on ; and mind, — come to 
 breakfast at ten or eleven o'clock." 
 
 "What am I to say to my father? " 
 
 "Say it was a whim of mine, which it is. You are quite 
 ready to do this matter now. I see it; but I say no. Is n't 
 that enough ? " 
 
 "I suppose so!" muttered Tom, with a sort of dogged 
 misgiving. 
 
 "It strikes me that you have a very respectable fear of 
 your governor. Am I right? " 
 
 "Ain't you afraid of yours?" bluntly asked the other. 
 
 "Afraid of mine! " cried Conyers, with a loud laugh; "I 
 should think not. Why, my father and myself are as thick 
 as two thieves. I never was in a scrape that I did n't tell 
 him. I 'd sit down this minute and write to him just as I 
 would to any fellow in the regiment." 
 
 "Well, there 's only one in all the world I'd tell a secret 
 to, and it is n't my father! " 
 
 "Who is it, then?" 
 
 "My sister Polly!" It was impossible to have uttered 
 these words with a stronger sense of pride. He dwelt 
 slowly upon each of them, and, when he had finished, looked 
 as though he had said something utterly undeniable. 
 
 "Here 's her health, — in a bumper too! " cried Conyers. 
 
 "Hurray, hurray! " shouted out Tom, as he tossed off his 
 full glass, and set. it on the table with a bang that smashed 
 it. "Oh, I beg pardon! I didn't mean to break the 
 tumbler." 
 
 "Never mind it, Dill ; it 's a trifle. I half hoped you had 
 done it on purpose, so that the glass should never be drained 
 to a less honored toast. Is she like yon ? " 
 
 "Like me, — like me?" asked he, coloring deeply. 
 "Polly like me .^" 
 
76 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "I mean is there a family resemblance? Could you be 
 easily known as brother and sister?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it. Polly is the prettiest girl in this county, 
 and she 's better than she 's handsome. There 's nothing 
 she can't do. I taught her to tie flies, and she can put 
 wings on a green-drake now that would take in any salmon 
 that ever swam. Martin Keene sent her a pound-note for 
 a book of ' brown hackles,' and, by the way, she gave it to 
 me. And if you saw her on the back of a horse! — Ambrose 
 Bushe's gray mare, the wickedest devil that ever was bridled, 
 one buck jump after another the length of a field, and the 
 mare trying to get her head between her fore-legs, and Polly 
 handling her so quiet, never out of temper, never hot, but 
 always saying, ' Ain't you ashamed of yourself. Dido? 
 Don't you see them all laughing at us? ' " 
 
 "I am quite curious to see her. Will you present me one 
 of these days? " 
 
 Tom mumbled out something perfectly unintelligible. 
 
 "I hope that I may be permitted to make her acquaint- 
 ance," repeated he, not feeling very certain that his former 
 speech was quite understood. 
 
 "Maybe so," grumbled he out at last, and sank back in 
 his chair with a look of sulky ill-humor; for so it was that 
 poor Tom, in his ignorance of life and its ways, deemed the 
 proposal one of those free-and-easy suggestions which might 
 be made to persons of very inferior station, and to whom 
 the fact of acquaintanceship should be accounted as a great 
 honor. 
 
 Conyers was provoked at the little willingness shown to 
 meet his offer, — an offer he felt to be a very courteous piece 
 of condescension on his part, — and now both sat in silence. 
 At last Tom Dill, long struggling with some secret impulse, 
 gave way, and in a tone far more decided and firm than 
 heretofore, said, "Maybe you think, from seeing what sort 
 of a fellow I am, that my sister ought to be like me ; and 
 because 1 have neither manners nor education, that she 's 
 the same? But listen to me now; she 's just as little like 
 me as you are yourself. You 're not more of a gentleman 
 than she 's a lady! " 
 
 "I never imagined anything else." 
 
TOM DILL'S FIRST PATIENT. 77 
 
 "And what made you talk of bringing her up here to 
 present her to you, as you called it? Was she to be trotted 
 out in a eavasin, like a filly ? " 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Conyers, good-humoredly, "you 
 never made a greater mistake. 1 begged that you would 
 present me to your sister. I asked the sort of favor which 
 is very common in the world, and in the language usually 
 employed to convey such a request. I observed the recog- 
 nized etiquette — " 
 
 " What do / know about etiquette? If you'd have said, 
 ' Tom Dill, I want to be introduced to your sister,' I 'd have 
 guessed what you were at, and I 'd have said, ' Come back in 
 the boat with me to-morrow, and so you shall.'" 
 
 "It's a bargain, then. Dill. I want two or three things 
 in the village, and 1 accept your offer gladly." 
 
 Not only was peace now ratified between them, but a 
 closer feeling of intimacy established ; for poor Tom, not 
 much spoiled by any excess of the world's sympathy, was so 
 delighted by the kindly interest shown him, that he launched 
 out freely to tell all about himself and his fortunes, how 
 hardly treated he was at home, and how ill usage had made 
 him despondent, and despondency made him dissolute. " It 's 
 all very well to rate a fellow about his taste for low pleasures 
 and low companions ; but what if he 's not rich enough for 
 better? He takes them just as he smokes cheap tobacco, 
 because he can afford no other. And do you know," con- 
 tinued he, " you are the first real gentleman that ever said a 
 kind word to me, or asked me to sit down in his company. 
 It 's even so strange to me yet, that maybe when I 'm rowing 
 home to-night I '11 think it 's all a dream, — that it was the 
 wine got into my head." 
 
 " Is not some of this your own fault? " broke in Conyers. 
 "What if 3'ou had held your head higher — " 
 
 " Hold my head higher ! " interrupted Tom. " With this 
 on it, eh ? " And he took up his ragged and worn cap from 
 the ground, and showed it. "Pride is a very fine thing 
 when you can live up to it ; but if you can't it 's only ridicu- 
 lous. I don't say," added he, after a few minutes of silence, 
 " but if I was far away from this, where nobody knew me, 
 where I did n't owe little debts on every side, and was n't 
 
78 BARRINGTON. 
 
 obliged to be intimate with every idle vagabond about — I 
 don't say but I 'd try to be somelhiug better. If, for 
 instance, I could get into the navy — " 
 
 " Why not the army? You 'd like it better." 
 
 "Ay! but it's far harder to get into. There's many a 
 rough fellow like myself aboard ship that they would n't 
 take in a regiment. Besides, how could I get in without 
 interest? " 
 
 "My father is a Lieutenant-General. I don't know 
 whether he could be of service to you." 
 
 "A Lieutenant-General!" repeated Tom, with the rever- 
 ential awe of one alluding to an actual potentate. 
 
 " Yes. He has a command out in India, where I feel full 
 sure he could give you something. Suppose you were to go 
 out there? I'd write a letter to my father and ask him to 
 befriend you." 
 
 " It would take a fortune to pay the journey," said Tom, 
 despondingly. 
 
 ' ' Not if you went out on service ; the Government would 
 send you free of cost. And even if you were not, I think we 
 might manage it. Speak to your father about it." 
 
 " No," said he, slowly. " No ; but I '11 talk it over with 
 Polly. Not but I know well she '11 say, ' There you are, 
 castle-building and romancing. It 's all moonshine ! No- 
 body ever took notice of you, — nobody said he 'd interest 
 himself about you.'" 
 
 "That's easily remedied. If you like it, I'll tell your 
 sister all about it myself. I '11 tell her it 's my plan, and I '11 
 show her what I think are good reasons to believe it will be 
 successful." 
 
 " Oh ! would you — would you ! " cried he, with a choking 
 sensation in the throat; for his gratitude had made him 
 almost hysterical. 
 
 " Yes," resumed Conyers. " When you come up here to- 
 morrow, we '11 arrange it all. I '11 turn the matter all over in 
 my mind, too, and I have little doubt of our being able to 
 carry it through." 
 
 " You '11 not tell my father, though? " 
 
 " Not a word, if you forbid it. At the same time, you 
 must see that he'll have to hear it all later on." 
 
TOM DILL'S FIRST PATIENT. 79 
 
 " I suppose so," muttered Tom, moodily, and leaned his 
 head thoughtfully on his hand. But one half-hour back and 
 he would have told Couyers why he desired this conceal- 
 ment ; he would have declared that his father, caring more 
 for his services than his future good, would have thrown 
 every obstacle to his promotion, and would even, if need 
 were, have so represented him to Conyers that he would have 
 appeared utterly unworthy of his interest and kindness ; but 
 now not one word of all this escaped hiin. He never hinted 
 another reproach against his father, for already a purer 
 spring had opened in his nature, the rocky heart had been 
 smitten by words of gentleness, and he would have revolted 
 against that which should degrade him in his own esteem. 
 
 " Good night," said Conyers, with a hearty shake of the 
 hand, '• and don't forget your breakfast engagement to- 
 morrow." 
 
 "What's this?" said Tom, blushing deeply, as he found 
 a crumpled bank-note in his palm. 
 
 "It's your fee, my good fellow, that's all," said the 
 other, laughingly. 
 
 " But I can't take a fee. I have never done so. I have 
 no right to one. I am not a doctor yet." 
 
 " The very first lesson in your profession is not to anger 
 your patient ; and if you would not provoke me, say no more 
 on this matter." There was a half-semblance of haughti- 
 ness in these words that perhaps the speaker never intended ; 
 at all events, he was quick enough to remedy the effect, for 
 he laid his hand good-naturedly on the other's shoulder and 
 said, "For my sake. Dill, — for my sake." 
 
 " I wish I knew what I ought to do," said Tom, whose pale 
 cheek actually trembled with agitation. " I mean," said he, 
 in a shaken voice, " I wish I knew what would make you 
 think best of me." 
 
 " Do you attach so much value to my good opinion, then? " 
 
 "Don't you think I might? When did I ever meet any 
 one that treated me this way before?" 
 
 The agitation in which he uttered these few words imparted 
 such a semblance of weakness to him that Conyers pressed 
 him down into a chair, and filled up his glass with wine. 
 
 "Take that off, and you '11 be all right presently," said 
 he, in a kind tone. 
 
80 BAllRLN'GTOX. 
 
 Tom tried to carry the glass to his lips, but his hand 
 trembled so that he had to set it dowu ou the table. 
 
 •' i don't know how to say it," began he, " and I don't 
 know whether I ought to say it, but somehow I feel as if I 
 could give my heart's blood if everybody would behave to 
 me the way you do. I don't mean, mind you, so generously, 
 but treating me as if — as if — as if — " gulped he out at 
 last, ^ as if 1 was a gentleman." 
 
 "And why not? As there is nothing in your station that 
 should deny that claim, why should any presume to treat 
 you otherwise ? " 
 
 "Because I'm not one!" blurted he out; and covering 
 his face with his hands, he sobbed bitterly. 
 
 " Come, come, my poor fellow, don't be down-hearted. 
 I 'm not much older than yourself, but I 've seen a good deal 
 of life ; and, mark my words, the price a man puts on himself 
 is the very highest penny the world will ever bid for him ; 
 he'll not alwaj's get that^ but he '11 never — no, never, get a 
 farthing beyond it ! " 
 
 Tom stared vacantly at the speaker, not very sure whether 
 he understood the speech, or that it had any special applica- 
 tion to him. 
 
 " "When you come to know life as well as I do," con- 
 tinued Conyers, who had now launched into a \Qvy favorite 
 theme, "j^ou'll learn the truth of what I say. Hold your 
 head high ; and if the world desires to see you, it must at 
 least look up ! " 
 
 "Ay, but it might laugh too!" said Tom, with a bitter 
 gravity, which considerably disconcerted the moralist, who 
 pitched away his cigar impatiently, and set about selecting 
 another. 
 
 "I suspect I understand yonr nature. For," said he, 
 after a moment or two, " I have rather a knack in reading 
 people. Just answer me frankly a few questions." 
 
 "Whatever you like," said the other, in a half-sulky sort 
 of manner. 
 
 " Mind," said Conyers, eagerly, " as there can be no 
 offence intended, you '11 not feel any by whatever I may 
 say." 
 
 " Go on," said Tom, in the same dry tone. 
 
TOM DILL'S FIRST PATIENT. 81 
 
 " Aiu't you obstinate? " 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " I knew it. "We Iiad not talked half an hour together 
 when I detected it, and I said to myself, ' That fellow is one 
 so rooted in his own convictions, it is scarcely possible to 
 shake him.' " 
 
 '' AVhat next? " asked Tom. 
 
 " You can't readily forgive an injury ; you find it very hard 
 to pardon the man who has wronged you." 
 
 " I do not ; if he did u't go on persecuting me, I wouldn't 
 think of him at all." 
 
 "Ah, that's a mistake. Well, I know you better than 
 you know yourself ; you do keep up the memory of an old 
 grudge, — you can't help it." 
 
 "Maybe so, but I never knew it." 
 
 " You have, however, just as strong a sentiment of grati- 
 tude. " 
 
 "I never knew that, either," muttered he; "perhaps be- 
 cause it has had so little provocation ! " 
 
 "Bear in mind," said Conyers, who was rather discon- 
 certed by the want of concurrence he had met with, "that I 
 am in a great measure referring to latent qualities, — things 
 which probably require time and circumstances to develop." 
 
 "Oh, if that 's it," said Dill, "I can no more object than I 
 could if you talked to me about what is down a dozen 
 fathoms in the earth under our feet. It may be granite or 
 it may be gold, for what I know; the only thing that / see 
 is the gravel before me." 
 
 "I '11 tell you a trait of your character you can't gainsa}-," 
 said Conyers, who was growing more irritated by the oppo- 
 sition so unexpectedly met with, " and it 's one you need not 
 dig a dozen fathoms down to discover, — you are very 
 reckless." 
 
 " Reckless — reckless, — you call a fellow reckless that 
 throws away his chance, I suppose?" 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 "But what if he never had one? " 
 
 "Every man has a destiny; every man has that in his 
 fate which he may help to make or to mar as he inclines to. 
 I suppose you admit that?" 
 
 VOL. I. — 6 
 
82 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "I don't know," was the sullen reply. 
 
 "Not know? Surely you needn't be told such a fact to 
 recognize it! " 
 
 "All I know is this," said Tom, resolutely, "that I 
 scarcely ever did anything in my life that it was n't found 
 out to l3e wrong, so that at last 1 've come to be pretty care- 
 less what I do; and if it was n't for Polly, — if it was n't 
 for Polly — " He stopped, drew his sleeve across his eyes, 
 and turned away, unable to finish. 
 
 "Come, then," said Conyers, laying his hand affectionately 
 on the other's shoulder, "add my friendship to her love for 
 you, and see if the two will not give you encoui-agement ; 
 for I mean to be your friend. Dill." 
 
 "Do you?" said Tom, with the tears in his eyes. 
 
 "There 's my hand on it." 
 
CHAPTER Vm. 
 
 FIXE ACQUAINTANCES. 
 
 There is a law of compensation even for the small things 
 of this life, and by the wise enactments of that law, human 
 happiness, on the whole, is pretty equally distributed. The 
 rich man, probably, never felt one tithe of the enjoyment 
 in his noble demesne that it yielded to some poor artisan 
 who strolled through it on a holiday, and tasted at once the 
 charms of a woodland scene with all the rapturous delight 
 of a day of rest. 
 
 Arguing from these premises, I greatly doubt if Lady 
 Cobham, at the head of her great household, with her house 
 crowded with distinguished visitors, surrounded by every 
 accessory of luxury and splendor, tasted anything approach- 
 ing to the delight felt by one, the very humblest of her 
 guests, and who for a brief twenty-four hours partook of 
 her hospitality. 
 
 Polly Dill, with all her desire and ambition for notice 
 amongst the great people of the county, had gone to this 
 dinner-party with considerable misgivings. She only knew 
 the Admiral in the hunting-field; of her Ladyship she had 
 no knowledge whatever, save in a few dry sentences uttered 
 to her from a carriage one day at "the meet," when the 
 Admiral, with more sailor-like frankness than politeness, 
 presented her by saying, "This is the heroine of the day's 
 run. Dr. Dill's daughter." And to this was responded a 
 stare through a double eye-glass, and a cold smile and a 
 few still colder words, affecting to be compliment, but 
 sounding far more like a correction and a rebuke. 
 
 No wonder, then, if Polly's heart was somewhat faint 
 about approaching as a hostess one who could be so repell- 
 ing as a mere acquaintance.' Indeed, one less resolutely 
 
84 BARRINGTON. 
 
 beut on her object would not have encountered all the mor- 
 tiflcation and misery her anticipation pictured; but Polly 
 fortilied herself by the philosophy that said, "There is but 
 one road to this goal; 1 must either take that one, or 
 abandon the journey." And so she did take it. 
 
 Either, however, that she had exaggerated the grievance 
 to her own mind, or that her Ladyship was more courteous 
 at home than abroad; but Polly was charmed with the 
 kindness of her reception. Lad}' Cobham had shaken 
 hands with her, asked her had she been hunting lately, and 
 was about to speak of her horsemanship to a grim old lady 
 beside her, when the arrival of other guests cut short the 
 compliment, and Polly passed on — her heart lightened of 
 a great load — to mix with the general company. 
 
 I have no doubt it was a pleasant country-house ; it was 
 called the pleasantest in the county. On the present occa- 
 sion it counted amongst its guests not only the great fam- 
 ilies of the neighborhood, but several distinguished visitors 
 from a distance, of whom two, at least, are noteworthy, — 
 one, the great lyric poet ; the other, the first tragic actress 
 of her age and country. The occasion which assembled 
 them was a project originally broached at the Admiral's 
 table, and so frequently discussed afterwards that it 
 matured itself into a congress. The plan was to get up 
 theatricals for the winter season at Kilkenny, in which all 
 the native dramatic ability should be aided by the first 
 professional talent. Scarcely a country-house that could 
 not boast of, at least, one promising performer. Ruth- 
 ven and Campion and Probart had in their several walks 
 been applauded by the great in art, and there were many 
 others wiio in the estimation of friends were just as certain 
 of a high success. 
 
 Some passing remark on Polly's good looks, and the 
 suitability of her face and style for certain small characters 
 in comedy, — the pink ribboned damsels who are made love 
 to by smart valets, — induced Lady Cobham to include her 
 in her list; and thus, on these meagre credentials, was she 
 present. She did not want notice or desire recognition; 
 she was far too happy to be there, to hear and see and 
 mark and observe all around her, to care for any especial 
 
FINE ACQUAINTANCES. 85 
 
 attention. If the haughty Arabellas and Georgianas who 
 swept past her without so much as a glance, were not, in her 
 own estimation, superior in personal attractions, she knew 
 well that they were so in all the accidents of station and the 
 advantages of dress ; and perhaps — who knows ? — the 
 reflection was not such a discouraging one. 
 
 No memorable event, no incident worth recording, marked 
 her visit. In the world of such society the machinery moves 
 with regularity and little friction. The comedy of real life 
 is admirably played out by the well-bred, and Polly was 
 charmed to see with what courtesy, what consideration, 
 what deference people behaved to each other ; and all with- 
 out an effort, — perhaps without even a thought. 
 
 It was on the following day, when she got home and sat 
 beside her mother's chair, that she related all she had seen. 
 Her heart was filled with joy; for, just as she was taking 
 her leave. Lady Cobham had said, " You have been prom- 
 ised to us for Tuesday next, Miss Dill. Pray don't forget 
 it!" And now she was busily eugaged in the cares of 
 toilette; and though it was a mere question of putting bows 
 of a sky-blue ribbon on a muslin dress, — one of those little 
 travesties by which rustic beauty emulates ball-room splen- 
 dor, — to her eyes it assumed all the importance of a grand 
 preparation, and one which she could not help occasionally 
 rising to contemplate at a little distance. 
 
 "Won't it be lovely, mamma," she said, "with a moss- 
 rose — a mere bud — on each of those bows ? But I have n't 
 told you of how he sang. He was the smallest little crea- 
 ture in the world, and he tripped across the room with his 
 tiny feet like a bird, and he kissed Lady Cobham's hand 
 with a sort of old-world gallantry, and pressed a little sprig 
 of jasmine she gave him to his heart, — this way, — and then 
 he sat down to the piano. I thought it strange to see a 
 man play! " 
 
 "Effeminate, — very," muttered the old ladj^ as she wiped 
 her spectacles. 
 
 "Well, I don't know, mamma, — at least, after a moment, 
 I lost all thought of it, for I never heard anything like his 
 singing before. He had not much voice, nor, perhaps, 
 great skill, but there was an expression in the words, a 
 
86 BAR KINGTON. 
 
 rippliug melody with which the verses ran from his lips, 
 while the accompauiment tinkled on beside them, perfectly 
 rapturous. It all seemed as if words and air were begotten 
 of the moment, as if, inspired on the instant, he poured 
 forth the verses, on which he half dwelt, while thinking 
 over what was to follow, imparting an actual anxiety as 
 you listened, lest he should not be ready Avith his rhyme; 
 and through all there was a triumphant joy that lighted up 
 his face and made his eyes sparkle with a fearless lustre, 
 as of one who felt the genius that was within him, and could 
 trust it." And then he had been so complimentary to her- 
 self, called her that charming little " rebel," after she had 
 sung "Where 's the Slave," and told her that until he had 
 heard the words from her lips he did not know they were 
 half so treasonable. "But, mamma dearest, I have made 
 a conquest ; and such a conquest, — the hero of the whole 
 society, — a Captain Stapylton, who did something or 
 captured somebody at Waterloo, — a bold dragoon, with a 
 gorgeous pelisse all slashed with gold, and such a mass of 
 splendor that he was quite dazzling to look upon." She 
 went on, still very rapturously, to picture him. "Not very 
 young ; that is to say, he might be thirty-five, or perhaps a 
 little more, — tall, stately, even dignified in appearance, 
 with a beard and moustache almost white, — for he had 
 served much in India, and he was dark-skinned as a 
 native." And this fine soldier, so sought after and so 
 courted, had been markedly attentive to her, danced with 
 her twice, and promised she should have his Arab, "lyiah- 
 moud," at her next visit to Cobham. It was very evident 
 that his notice of her had called forth certain jealousies 
 from young ladies of higher social pretensions, nor was 
 she at all indifferent to the peril of such sentiments, though 
 she did not speak of them to her mother, for, in good truth, 
 that worthy woman was not one to investigate a subtle prob- 
 lem, or suggest a wise counsel ; not to say that her interests 
 were far more deeply engaged for Miss Harlowe than for her 
 daughter Polly, seeing that in the one case every motive, 
 and the spring to every motive, was familiar to her, while 
 in the other she possessed but some vague and very strange 
 notions of what was told her. Clarissa had made a full 
 
FIXE ACQUAINTANCES. 87 
 
 confidence to her: she had wept out her sorrows on her 
 bosom, and sat sobbing on her shoulder. Polly came to her 
 with the frivolous narrative of a ball-room flirtation, which 
 threatened no despair nor ruin to any one. Here were no 
 heart-consuming miseries, no agonizing terrors, no dreadful 
 casualties that might darken a whole existence; and so Mrs. 
 Dill scarcely followed Polly's story at all, and never with 
 any interest. 
 
 Polly went in search of her brother, but he had left home 
 early that morning with the boat, no one knew whither, and 
 the doctor was in a towering rage at his absence. Tom, 
 indeed, was so full of his success with young Conyers that 
 he never so much as condescended to explain his plans, and 
 simply left a message to say, "It was likely he 'd be back by 
 dinner-time." Now Dr. Dill was not in one of his blandest 
 humors. Amongst the company at Cobham, he had found a 
 great physician from Kilkenny, plainly showing him that all 
 his social sacrifices were not to his professional benefit, and 
 that if colds and catarrhs were going, his own services 
 would never be called in. Captain Stapylton, too, to whom 
 Polly had presented him, told him that he "feared a young 
 brother officer of his, Lieutenant Conyers, had fallen into 
 the hands of some small village practitioner, and that he 
 would take immediate measures to get him back to head- 
 quarters," and then moved off, without giving him the time 
 for a correction of the mistake. 
 
 He took no note of his daughter's little triumphs, the 
 admiration that she excited, or the flatteries that greeted 
 her. It is true he did not possess the same means of meas- 
 urins: these that she had, and in all that dreary leisure which 
 besets an unhonored guest, he had ample time to mope and 
 fret and moralize, as gloomily as might be. If, then, he 
 did not enjoy himself on his visit, he came away from it 
 soured and ill-humored. 
 
 He denounced "junketings " — by which unseemly title he 
 designated the late entertainment — as amusements too 
 costly for persons of his means. He made a rough calcula- 
 tion — a very rough one — of all that the "precious tom- 
 foolery" had cost: the turnpike which he had paid, and the 
 perquisites to sers'ants — which he had not; the expense of 
 
88 BAHKLN'GTON. 
 
 Polly's finery, — a hazarded guess she would have been 
 charmed to have had confirmed ; and, ending the whole with 
 a startling total, declared that a reign of rigid domestic 
 economy must commence from that hour. The edict was 
 something like what one reads from the French Government, 
 when about to protest against some license of the press, 
 and which opens by proclaiming that "the latitude hitherto 
 conceded to public discussion has not been attended with 
 those gratifying results so eagerly anticipated by the Impe- 
 rial administration." Poor Mrs. Dill — like a mere jour- 
 nalist — never knew she had been enjoying blessings till she 
 was told she had forfeited them forever, and she heard with 
 a confused astonishment that the household charges would 
 be still further reduced, and yet food and fuel and light be 
 not excluded from the supplies. He denounced Polly's 
 equestrianism as a most ruinous and extravagant pursuit. 
 Poor Polly, whose field achievements had always been on a 
 borrowed mount! Tom was a scapegrace, whose debts 
 would have beggared half-a-dozen families, — wretched dog, 
 to whom a guinea was a gold-mine ; and Mrs. Dill, unhappy 
 Mrs. Dill, who neither hunted, nor smoked, nor played 
 skittles, after a moment's pause, he told her that his hard- 
 earned pence should not be wasted in maintaining a "circu- 
 lating library." Was there ever injustice like this? Talk 
 to a man with one meal a day about gluttony, lecture the 
 castaway at sea about not giving way to his appetites, you 
 might just as well do so as to preach to Mrs. Dill — with 
 her one book, and who never wanted another — about the 
 discursive costliness of her readings. 
 
 Could it be that, like the cruel jailer, who killed the spider 
 the prisoner had learned to love, he had resolved to rob her of 
 Clarissa? The thought was so overwhelming that it stunned 
 her; and thus stupefied, she saw the doctor issue forth on 
 his daily round, without venturing one word in answer. 
 And he rode on his way, — on that strange mission of 
 merc}^ meanness, of honest sympathy, or mock philan- 
 thropy, as men's hearts and natures make of it, — and set 
 out for the "Fisherman's Home." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A COUNTRY DOCTOR. 
 
 Ix a story, as in a voj-age, one must occasionally travel 
 with uncongenial companions. Now I have no reason for 
 hoping that any of my readers care to keep Dr. Dill's com- 
 pany, and yet it is with Dr. Dill we must now for a brief 
 space foregather. He was on his way to visit his patient 
 at the "Fisherman's Home," having started, intentionally 
 very early, to be there before Stapylton could have inter- 
 posed with any counsels of removing him to Kilkenny. 
 
 The world, in its blind confidence in medical skill, and its 
 unbounded belief in certain practitioners of medicine, is 
 but scantily just to the humbler members of the craft in 
 regard to the sensitiveness with which they feel the with- 
 drawal of a patient from their care, and the substitution of 
 another physician. The doctor who has not only heard, but 
 felt Babington's adage, that the difference between a good 
 physician and a bad one is only "the difference between a 
 pound and a guinea," naturally thinks it a hard thing that 
 his interests are to be sacrificed for a mere question of 
 five per cent. He knows, besides, that they can each work 
 on the same materials with the same tools, and it can be 
 only through some defect in his self-confidence that he can 
 bring himself to believe that the patient's chances are not 
 pretty much alike in his hands or his rival's. Now Dr. Dill 
 had no feelings of this sort; no undervaluing of himself 
 found a place in his nature. He regarded medical men as 
 tax-gatherers, and naturally thought it mattered but little 
 which received the impost; and, thus reflecting, he bore no. 
 good will towards that gallant Captain, who, as we have 
 seen, stood so well in his daughter's favor. Even hardened 
 men of the world — old footsore pilgrims of life — have their 
 
90 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 prejudices, and one of these is to be pleased at thinking 
 they had augured unfavorably of any one they had after- 
 wards learned to dislike. It smacks so much of acuteness 
 to be able to say, "I was scarcely presented to him; we 
 had not exchanged a dozen sentences when I saw this, that, 
 and t'other." Dill knew this man was overbearing, inso- 
 lent, and oppressive, that he was meddlesome and interfer- 
 ing, giving advice unasked for, and presuming to direct 
 where no guidance was required. He suspected he was not 
 a man of much fortune ; he doubted he was a man of good 
 family. All his airs of pretensions — very high and mighty 
 they were — did not satisfy the doctor. As he said him- 
 self, he was a very old bird, but he forgot to add that he 
 had always lived in an extremely small cage. 
 
 The doctor had to leave his horse on the high-road and 
 take a small footpath, which led through some meadows till 
 it reached the little copse of beech and ilex that sheltered 
 the cottage and effectually hid it from all view from the 
 road. The doctor had just gained the last stile, when he 
 suddenly came upon a man repairing a fence, and whose 
 labors were being overlooked by Miss Barrington. He had 
 scarcely uttered his most respectful salutations, when she 
 said, "It is, perhaps, the last time you will take that path 
 through the Lock Meadow, Dr. Dill. We mean to close it 
 up after this week." 
 
 " Close it up, dear lady! — a right of way that has existed 
 Heaven knows how long. I remember it as a boy myself." 
 
 "Very probably, sir, and what you say vouches for great 
 antiquity ; but things may be old and yet not respectable. 
 Besides, it never was what you have called it, — a right of 
 way. If it was, where did it go to? " 
 
 "It went to the cottage, dear lady. The ' Home' was a 
 mill in those days." 
 
 "Well, sir, it is no longer a mill, and it will soon cease 
 to be an inn." 
 
 "Indeed, dear lady! And am I to hope that I may con- 
 gratulate such kind friends as you have ever been to me on 
 a change of fortune?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; we have grown so poor that, to prevent utter 
 destitution, we have determined to keep a private station; 
 
A COUNTRY DOCTOR. 91 
 
 aucl with reference to that, may I ask you when this young 
 gentleman could bear removal without injury?" 
 
 "I have not seen him to-day, dear lady; but judging 
 from the inflammatory symptoms I remarked yesterday, and 
 the great nervous depression — " 
 
 "I know nothing about medicine, sir; but if the nervous 
 depression be indicated by a great appetite and a most 
 noisy disposition, his case must be critical." 
 
 "Noise, dear lady! " 
 
 "Yes, sir; assisted by your son, he sat over his wine till 
 past midnight, talking extremely loudly, and occasionally 
 singing. They have now been at breakfast since ten o'clock, 
 and you will very soon be able to judge by your own ears 
 of the well-regulated pitch of the conversation." 
 
 "My son, Miss Dinah! Tom Dill at breakfast here?" 
 
 "I don't know whether his name be Tom or Harry, sir, 
 nor is it to the purpose ; but he is a red-haired youth, with 
 a stoop in the shoulders, and a much- abused cap." 
 
 Dill groaned over a portrait which to him was a pho- 
 tograph. 
 
 "I '11 see to this, dear lady. This shall be looked into," 
 muttered he, with the purpose of a man who pledged him- 
 self to a course of action; and with this he moved on. Nor 
 had he gone many paces from the spot when he heard the 
 sound of voices, at first in some confusion, but afterwards 
 clearly and distinctly. 
 
 "I '11 be hanged if I 'd do it, Tom," cried the loud voice 
 of Couyers. "It's all very fine talking about paternal 
 authority and all that, and so long as one is a boy there *8 
 no help for it; but you and I are men. We have a right 
 to be treated like men, haven't we?" 
 
 "I suppose so," muttered the other, half sulkily, and not 
 exactly seeing what was gained by the admission. 
 
 "Well, that being so," resumed Conyers, "I'd say to 
 the governor, ' What allowance are you going to make 
 me?"' 
 
 "Did you do that with your father?" asked Tom, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 "No, not exactly," stammered out the other. "There 
 was not, in fact, any need for it, for my governor is a rare 
 
92 BARRINGTON. 
 
 jolly fellow, — such a trump ! What he said to me was, 
 ' There 's a check-book, George; don't spare it.' " 
 
 "Which was as much as to say, ' Draw what you like.' " 
 
 "Yes, of course. He knew, in leaving it to my honor, 
 there was no risk of my committing any excess; so you see 
 there was no necessity to make my governor ' book up.' 
 But if I was in your place I 'd do it. I pledge you my word 
 I would." 
 
 Tom only shook his head very mourufull}', and made no 
 answer. He felt, and felt trul}', that there is a worldly 
 wisdom learned only in poverty and in the struggles of 
 narrow fortune, of which the well-to-do know absolutely 
 nothing. Of what avail to talk to him of an unlimited 
 credit, or a credit to be bounded only by a sense of honor? 
 It presupposed so much that was impossible, that he would 
 have laughed if his heart had been but light enough. 
 
 "Well, then," said Conyers, "if you have n't courage for 
 this, let me do it; let me speak to your father." 
 
 "What could you say to him?" asked Tom, doggedly. 
 
 "Say to him? — what could I say to him? " repeated he, 
 as be lighted a fresh cigar, and affected to be eagerly inter- 
 ested in the process. "It 's clear enough what I 'd say to 
 him." 
 
 "Let us hear it, then," growled out Tom, for he had a 
 sort of coarse enjoyment at the other's embarrassment. 
 "I '11 be the doctor now, and listen to you." And with this 
 he squared his chair full in front of Conyers, and crossed 
 his arms imposingly on his chest. "You said you wanted 
 to speak to me about my sou Tom, Mr. Conyers; what is 
 it you have to say ? " 
 
 "AVell, I suppose I'd open the matter delicately, and, 
 perhaps, adroitly. I 'd say, ' I have remarked, doctor, that 
 your son is a young fellow of very considerable abilities — ' " 
 
 "For what?" broke in Tom, huskily. 
 
 "Come, you 're not to interrupt in this fashion, or I can't 
 continue. I 'd say something about your natural cleverness ; 
 and what a pity it would be if, with very promising talents, 
 you should not have those fair advantages which lead a man 
 to success in life." 
 
 "And do you know what he V? say to all that? " 
 
A COUNTRY DOCTOR. 93 
 
 *'No." 
 
 ''Well, I'll tell you. He'd say 'Bother!' Just 
 'bother.'" 
 
 "What do you mean by ' bother ' ? " 
 
 "That what you were saying was all nonsense. That you 
 did n't know, nor you never could know, the struggles of a 
 man like himself, just to make the two ends meet; not to 
 be rich, mind you, or lay by money, or have shares in this, 
 or stocks in that, but just to live, and no more." 
 
 "Well, I'd say, 'Give him a few hundred pounds, and 
 start him.' " 
 
 "Why don't you say a few thousands? It would sound 
 grander, and be just as likely. Can't you see that every- 
 body has n't a Lieutenant-General for a father? and that 
 what you 'd give for a horse — that would, maybe, be staked 
 to-morrow — would perhaps be a fortune for a fellow like 
 me? What 's that I hear coming up the river? That 's the 
 doctor, I 'm sure. I '11 be off till he 's gone." And without 
 waiting to hear a word, he sprang from his chair and dis- 
 appeared in the wood. 
 
 Dr. Dill only waited a few seconds to compose his feat- 
 ures, somewhat excited by what he had overheard; and 
 then coughing loudly, to announce his approach, moved 
 gravely along the gravel path. 
 
 "And how is my respected patient?" asked he, blandly. 
 "Is the inflammation subsiding, and are our pains di- 
 minished?" 
 
 "My ankle is easier, if you mean that," said Conyers, 
 bluntly. 
 
 "Yes, much easier, — much easier," said the doctor, ex- 
 amining the limb; "and our cellular tissue has less effusion, 
 the sheaths of the tendons freei", and we are generally 
 better. I perceive you have had the leeches applied. Did 
 Tom — my son — give you satisfaction? Was he as atten- 
 tive and as careful as you wished ? " 
 
 "Yes, I liked him. I wish he 'd come up every day while 
 I remain. Is there any objection to that arrangement?" 
 
 "None, dear sir, — none. His time is fully at your ser- 
 vice; he ought to be working hard. It is true he should be 
 reading eight or ten hours a day, for his examination; but 
 
94 BARRIXGTON. 
 
 it is bard to persuade him to it. Young men will be young 
 men ! " 
 
 "I hope so, with all my heart. At least, I, for one, don't 
 want to be an old one. Will you do me a favor, doctor? 
 and will you forgive me if I don't know how to ask it with 
 all becoming delicacy? I'd like to give Tom a helping 
 hand. He 's a good fellow, — I 'm certain he is. Will you 
 let me send him out to India, to my father? He has lots of 
 places to give away, and he 'd be sure to find something to 
 suit him. You have heard of General Conyers, perhaps, 
 the political resident at Delhi? That 's my governor." lu 
 the hurry and rapidity with which he spoke, it was easy to 
 see how he struggled with a sense of shame and confusion. 
 
 Dr. Dill was profuse of acknowledgments ; he was even 
 moved as he expressed his gratitude. "It was true," he 
 remarked, "that his life had been signalled b}' these sort of 
 graceful services, or rather offers of services; for we are 
 proud if we are poor, sir. ' Dill aut nil ' is the legend of 
 our crest, which means that we are ourselves or nothing." 
 
 "I conclude everybody else is in the same predicament," 
 broke in Conyers, bluutl}'. 
 
 "Not exactly, young gentleman, — not exactly. I think 
 I could, perhaps, explain — " 
 
 "No, no; never mind it. I 'm the stupidest fellow in the 
 world at a nice distinction; besides, I'll take your word for 
 the fact. You have heard of my father, have n't 3'ou? " 
 
 "I heard of him so late as last night, from a brother 
 officer of yours. Captain Stapylton." 
 
 "Where did you meet Stapylton? " asked Conj-ers, 
 quickly. 
 
 "At Sir Charles Cobham's. I was presented to him by 
 my daughter, and he made the most kindly inquiries after 
 you, and said that, if possible, he 'd come over here to-day 
 to see you." 
 
 "I hope he won't; that's all," muttered Conyers. Then, 
 correcting himself suddenly, he said: "I mean, I scarcely 
 know him ; he has only joined us a few months back, and 
 is a stranger to every one in the regiment. I hope you 
 did n't tell him where I was." 
 
 "I 'm afraid that I did, for I remember his adding, ' Oh! 
 
A COUNTRY DOCTOR. 95 
 
 I must carry him off. I must get him back to head- 
 quarters.' " 
 
 "Indeed! Let us see if he will. That's the style of 
 these ' Company's ' officers, — he was in some Native corps 
 or other, — they always fancy they can bully a subaltern ; 
 but Black Stapylton will find himself mistaken this time." 
 
 "He was afraid that you had not fallen into skilful hands; 
 and, of course, it would not have come well from me to 
 assure him of the opposite." 
 
 "Well, but what of Tom, doctor? You have given me no 
 answer." 
 
 "It is a case for reflection, my dear young friend, if I 
 may be emboldened to call you so. It is not a matter I can 
 say yes or no to on the instant. I have only two grown-up 
 children: my daughter, the most affectionate, the most 
 thoughtful of girls, educated, too, in a way to grace any 
 sphere — " 
 
 "You needn't tell me that Tom is a wild fellow," broke 
 in Conyers, — for he well understood the antithesis that 
 was coming; "he owned it all to me, himself. I have no 
 doubt, too, that he made the worst of it; for, after all, what 
 signifies a dash of extravagance, or a mad freak or two? 
 You can't expect that we should all be as wise and as pru- 
 dent and as cool-headed as Black Stapylton." 
 
 "You plead very ably, young gentleman," said Dill, with 
 his smoothest accent, "but you must give me a little time." 
 
 "Well, I'll give you till to-morrow, — to-morrow, at this 
 hour; for it wouldn't be fair to the poor fellow to keep 
 him in a state of uncertainty. His heart is set on the plan ; 
 he told me so." 
 
 "I'll do my best to meet your wishes, my dear young 
 gentleman; but please to bear in mind that it is the whole 
 future fate of my son I am about to decide. Your father 
 may not, possibly, prove so deeply interested as you are ; he 
 mav — not unreasonably, either — take a colder view of this 
 project; he may chance to form a lower estimate of my 
 poor boy than it is your good nature to have done." 
 
 "Look here, doctor; I know my governor something bet- 
 ter than you do, and if I wrote to him, and said, * I want 
 this fellow to come home with a lac of rupees,' he'd start 
 
96 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 him to-morrow with half the money. If I were to say, * You 
 are to give him the best thing in your gift,' there 's nothino^ 
 he 'd stop at; he 'd make him a judge, or a receiver, or some 
 one of those fat things that send a man back to England 
 with a fortune. What 's that fellow whispering to you 
 about? It's something that concerns me," 
 
 This sudden interruption was caused by the approach of 
 Darby, who had come to whisper something in the doctor's 
 •ear. 
 
 "It is a message he has brought me; a matter of little 
 consequence. I '11 look to it. Darby. Tell j-our mistress it 
 shall be attended to." Darby lingered for a moment, but 
 the doctor motioned him away, and did not speak again till 
 he had quitted the spot. " How these fellows will wait to 
 pick up what passes between their betters," said Dill, while 
 he continued to follow him with his eyes. "I think I men- 
 tioned to you once, already, that the persons who keep this 
 house here are reduced gentry, and it is now my task to add 
 that, either from some change of fortune or from caprice, 
 they are thinking of abandoning the inn, and resuming — 
 so far as may^ be possible for them — their former standing. 
 This project dates before your arrival here; and now, it 
 ■would seem, they are growing impatient to effect it; at 
 least, a very fussy old lady — Miss Barrington — has sent 
 me word by Darby to saj' her brother will be back here to- 
 morrow or next day, with some friends from Kilkenny, and 
 she asks at what time your convalescence is likely to permit 
 removal." 
 
 " Turned out, in fact, doctor, — ordered to decamp! You 
 must say, I 'm ready, of course; that is to say, that I '11 go 
 at once. I don't exactly see how I 'm to be moved in this 
 helpless state, as no carriage can come here ; but you '11 look 
 to all that for me. At all events, go immediately, and say 
 I shall be off within an hour or so." 
 
 "Leave it all to me, — leave it in ni}' hands. I think I 
 see what is to be done," said the doctor, with one of his 
 confident little smiles, and moved away. 
 
 There was a spice of irritation in Conyers's manner as he 
 spoke. He was very little accustomed to be thwarted in 
 anything, and scarcely knew the sensation of having a 
 
A COUNTRY DOCTOR. 97 
 
 wish opposed, or an obstacle set against him, but simply 
 because there was a reason for his quitting the place, grew 
 all the stronger his desire to remain there. He looked 
 around him, and never before had the foliage seemed so 
 graceful; never had the tints of the copper-beech blended 
 so harmoniously with the stone-pine and the larch; never 
 had the eddies of the river laughed more joyously, nor the 
 blackbirds sung with a more impetuous richness of melody. 
 "And to say that I must leave all this, just when I feel 
 myself actually clinging to it. I could spend my whole life 
 here. I glory in this quiet, unbroken ease; this life, that 
 slips along as waveless as the stream there! Why should n't 
 I buy it ; have it all my own, to come down to whenever I 
 was sick and weary of the world and its dissipations ? The 
 spot is small; it couldn't be very costly; it would take a 
 mere nothing to maintain. And to have it all one's own! " 
 There was an actual ecstasy in the thought ; for in that same 
 sense of possession there is a something that resembles the 
 sense of identity. The little child with his toy, the aged 
 man with his proud demesne, are tasters of the same 
 pleasure. 
 
 "You are to use your own discretion, my dear young gen- 
 tleman, and go when it suits you, and not before," said the 
 doctor, returning triumphantly, for he felt like a successful 
 envoy. "And now I will leave you. To-morrow you shall 
 have my answer about Tom." 
 
 Conyers nodded vaguely; for, alas! Tom, and all about 
 him, had completely lapsed from his memory. 
 
 VOL. I. — 7 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 BEING " BORED." 
 
 It is a high testimou}' to that order of architecture which we 
 call castle-building, that no man ever lived in a house so fine 
 he could not build one more stately still out of his imagina- 
 tion. Nor is it only to grandeur and splendor this supe- 
 riority extends, but it can invest lowly situations and homely 
 places with a charm which, alas ! no reality can rival. 
 
 Couyers was a fortunate fellow in a number of ways ; he 
 was young, good-looking, healthy, aud rich. Fate had made 
 place for him on the very sunniest side of the causeway, aud, 
 with all that, he was happier on that day, through the mere 
 play of his fancy, than all his wealth could have made him. 
 He had fashioned out a life for himself in that cottage, very 
 charming, and very enjoyable in its way. He would make it 
 such a spot that it would have resources for him on every 
 hand, aud he hugged himself in the thought of coming down 
 here with a friend, or, perhaps, two friends, to pass days of 
 that luxurious indolence so fascinating to those who are, or 
 fancy they are, wearied of life's pomps and vanities. 
 
 Now there are no such scoffers at the frivolity aud empti- 
 ness of human wishes as the well-to-do young fellows of two 
 or three-and-twenty. They know the " whole thing," and 
 its utter rottenness. They smile compassionately at the 
 eagerness of all around them ; they look with bland pity at 
 the race, and contemptuously ask, of what value the prize 
 when it is won ? They do then- very best to be gloomy mor- 
 alists, but they cannot. They might as well try to shiver 
 when they sit in the sunshine. The vigorous beat of young 
 hearts, aud the full tide of 3'oung pulses, will tell against all 
 the mock misanthropy that ever was fabricated ! It would 
 not be exactly fair to rank Conyers in this school, and yet 
 
BEING "BORED." 99 
 
 he was not totally exempt from some of its teachings. Who 
 knows if these little imaginary glooms, these brain-created 
 miseries, are not a kind of moral " alterative" which, though 
 depressing at the instant, render the constitution only more 
 vigorous after? 
 
 At all events, he had resolved to have the cottage, and, 
 going practically to work, he called Darby to his counsels to 
 tell him the extent of the place, its boundaries, and whatever 
 information he could afford as to the tenure and its rent. 
 
 " You 'd be for buying it, your honor ! " said Darby, with 
 the keen quick-sightedness of his order. 
 
 " Perhaps I had some thoughts of the kind ; and, if so, I 
 should keep you on." 
 
 Darby bowed his gratitude very respectfully. It was too 
 long a vista for him to strain his eyes at, and so he made no 
 profuse display of thankfulness. With all their imaginative 
 tendencies, the lower Irish are a very bird-in-the-hand sort 
 of people. 
 
 ' ' Not more than seventeen acres ! " cried Conyers, in 
 astonishment. "Why, I should have guessed about forty, 
 at least. Is n't that wood there part of it ? " 
 
 "Yes, but it's only a strip, and the trees that you see 
 yonder is in Carriclough ; and them two meadows below the 
 salmon weir is n't ours at all ; and the island itself we have 
 only a lease of it." 
 
 " It's all in capital repair, well kept, well looked after? " 
 
 "Well, it is, and isn't!" said he, with a look of dis- 
 agreement. "He'd have one thing, and she'd have an- 
 other ; he 'd spend every shilling he could get on the place, 
 and she 'd grudge a brush of paint, or a coat of whitewash, 
 just to keep things together." 
 
 " I see nothing amiss here," said Conyers, looking around 
 him. " Nobody could ask or wish a cottage to be neater, 
 better furnished, or more comfortable. I confess I do not 
 perceive anything wanting." 
 
 "Oh, to be sure, it's ver}^ nate, as your honor says; 
 but then — " And he scratched his head, and looked 
 confused. 
 
 " But then, what — out with it?" 
 
 "The earwigs is dreadful; wherever there's roses and 
 
100 BARRINGTON. 
 
 sweetbrier there 's no livin' with them. Open the window 
 and the place is full of them." 
 
 Mistaking the surprise he saw depicted in his hearer's 
 face for terror, Darby launched forth into a description of 
 insect and reptile tortures that might have suited the tropics; 
 to hear him, all the stories of the white ant of India, or the 
 gallinipper of Demerara, were nothing to the destructive 
 powers of the Irish earwig. The place was known for them 
 all over the country, and it was years and years lying 
 empty, "by rayson of thim plagues." 
 
 Now, if Conyers was not intimidated to the full extent 
 Darby intended by this account, he was just as far from 
 guessing the secret cause of this representation, which was 
 simply a long-settled plan of succeeding himself to the own* 
 ership of the "Fisherman's Home," when, either from the 
 course of nature or an accident, a vacancy would occur. It 
 was the grand dream of Darby's life, the island of his 
 Government, his seat in the Cabinet, his Judgeship, his 
 Garter, his everything, in short, that makes human ambition 
 like a cup brimful and overflowing; and what a terrible re- 
 verse would it be if all these hopes were to be dashed just 
 to gratify the passing caprice of a mere traveller! 
 
 "I don't suppose your honor cares for money, and, 
 maybe, you 'd as soon pay twice over the worth of anything; 
 but here, between our two selves, I can tell you, you 'd buy 
 an estate in the county cheaper than this little place. They 
 think, because they planted most of the trees and made the 
 fences themselves, that it 's like the King's Park. It 's a 
 fancy spot, and a fancy price, they '11 ask for it. But I 
 know of another worth ten of it, — a real, elegant place ; to 
 be sure, it's a trifle out of repair, for the ould naygur that 
 has it won't lay out a sixpence, but there 's every con- 
 vaniency in life about it. There 's the finest cup potatoes, 
 the biggest turnips ever I see on it, and fish jumpin' into 
 the parlor-window, and hares runuin' about like rats." 
 
 "I don't care for all that; this cottage and these grounds 
 here have taken my fancy." 
 
 "And why would n't the other, when you seen it? The 
 ould Major that lives there wants to sell it, and you 'd get it 
 a raal bargain. Let me row your honor up there this even- 
 
BEING "BORED." 101 
 
 ing. It's not two miles off, and the river beautiful all the 
 way." 
 
 Conyers rejected the proposal abruptly, haughtily. Darby 
 had dared to throw down a very imposing card-edifice, and 
 for the moment the fellow was odious to him. All the 
 golden visions of his early morning, that poetized life he 
 was to lead, that elegant pastoralism, which was to blend 
 the splendor of LucuUus with the simplicity of a Tityrus, 
 all rent, torn, and scattered by a vile hind, who had not 
 even a conception of the ruin he had caused. 
 
 And yet Darby had a misty consciousness of some suc- 
 cess. He did not, indeed, know that his shell had exploded 
 in a magazine; but he saw, from the confusion in the garri- 
 son, that his shot had told severely somewhere. 
 
 "Maybe your honor would rather go to-morrow? or maybe 
 you 'd like the Major to come up here himself, and speak to 
 you? " 
 
 "Once for all, I tell you. No! Is that plain? No! And 
 I may add, my good fellow, that if you knew me u little 
 better, you 'd not tender me any advice I did not ask for." 
 
 "And why would I? Would n't I be a baste if I did? " 
 
 "I think so," said Conyers, dryly, and turned away. He 
 was out of temper with everything and everybody, — the 
 doctor, and his abject manner; Tom, and his roughness; 
 Darby, and his roguish air of self-satisfied craftiness; all, 
 for the moment, displeased and offended him. "I '11 leave 
 the place to-morrow; I'm not sure I shall not go to-night. 
 D'ye hear?" 
 
 Darby bowed respectfully. 
 
 "I suppose I can reach some spot, by boat, where a car- 
 riage can be had?" 
 
 "By coorse, your honor. At Hunt's Mills, or Shibna- 
 brack, you '11 get a car easy enough. I won't say it will be 
 an elegant convaniency, but a good horse will rowl you 
 along into Thomastown, where you can change for a shay." 
 
 Strange enough, this very facility of escape annoyed him. 
 Had Darby only told him that there were all manner of diffi- 
 culties to getting away, — that there were shallows in the 
 river, or a landslip across the road, — he would have 
 addressed himself to overcome the obstacles like a man; 
 
102 BARRINGTON. 
 
 but to hear that the course was open, that any one might 
 take it, was intolerable. 
 
 "I suppose, your honor, I 'd better get the boat ready, at 
 all events? " 
 
 "Yes, certainly, — that is, not till I give further orders. 
 I 'm the only stranger here, and I can't imagine there can be 
 much difliculty in having a boat at any hour. Leave me, 
 my good fellow; you only worry me. Go! " 
 
 And Darby moved away, revolving within himself the 
 curious problem, that if, having plenty of money enlarged a 
 man's means of enjoyment, it was strange how little effect 
 it produced upon his manners. As for Conyers, he stood 
 moodily gazing on the river, over whose placid surface a 
 few heavy raindrops were just falling; great clouds, too, 
 rolled heavily over the hillsides, and gathered into 
 ominous-looking masses over the stream, while a low moan- 
 ing sound of very far-off thunder foretold a storm. 
 
 Here, at least, was a good tangible grievance, and he 
 hugged it to his heart. He was weather-bound ! The tree- 
 tops were already shaking wildly, and dark scuds flying 
 fast over the mottled sky. It was clear that a severe storm 
 was near. "No help for it now," muttered he, "if I must 
 remain here till to-morrow." And hobbling as well as he 
 could into the house, he seated himself at the window to 
 watch the hurricane. Too closely pent up between the 
 steep sides of the river for anything like destructive power, 
 the wind only shook the trees violently, or swept along the 
 stream with tiny waves, which warred against the current; 
 but even these were soon beaten down by the rain, — that 
 heavy, swooping, splashing rain, that seems to come from 
 the overflowing of a lake in the clouds. Darker and darker 
 grew the atmosphere as it fell, till the banks of the opposite 
 side were gradually lost to view, while the river itself be- 
 came a yellow flood, surging up amongst the willows that 
 lined the banks. It was not one of those storms whose 
 grand effects of lightning, aided by pealing thunder, create 
 a sense of sublime terror, that has its own ecstasy ; but it 
 was one of those dreary evenings when the dull sky shows 
 no streak of light, and when the moist earth gives up no 
 perfume, when foliage and hillside and rock and stream 
 
BEING "BORED." 103 
 
 are leaden-colored and sad, and one wishes for winter, to 
 close the shutter and draw the curtain, and creep close to 
 the chimney-corner as to a refuge. 
 
 Oh, what comfortless things are these summer storms! 
 They come upon us like some dire disaster in a time of fes- 
 tivity. They swoop down upon our days of sunshine like a 
 pestilence, and turn our joy into gloom, and all our glad- 
 ness to despondency, bringing back to our minds memories 
 of comfortless journeys, weariful ploddings, long nights of 
 suffering. 
 
 I am but telling what Conyers felt at this sudden change 
 of weather. You and I, my good reader, know better. We 
 feel how gladly the parched earth drinks up the refreshing 
 draught, how the seared grass bends gratefully to the skim- 
 ming rain, and the fresh buds open with joy to catch the 
 pearly drops. We know, too, how the atmosphere, long 
 imprisoned, bursts forth into a joyous freedom, and comes 
 back to us fresh from the sea and the mountain rich in odor 
 and redolent of health, making the very air breathe an ex- 
 quisite luxury. We know all this, and much more that he 
 did not care for. 
 
 Now Conyers was only "bored," as if anything could be 
 much worse; that is to say, he was in that state of mind in 
 which resources yield no distraction, and nothing is invested 
 with an interest sufficient to make it even passingly amus- 
 ing. He wanted to do something, though the precise some- 
 thing did not occur to him. Had he been well, and in full 
 enjoyment of his strength, he 'd have sallied out into the 
 storm and walked off his ennui by a wetting. Even a cold 
 would be a good exchange for the dreary blue-devilism of 
 his depression ; but this escape was denied him, and he was 
 left to fret, and chafe, and fever himself, moving from win- 
 dow to chimney-corner, and from chimney-corner to sofa, 
 till at last, baited by self-tormentings, he opened his door 
 and sallied forth to wander through the rooms, taking his 
 chance where his steps might lead him. 
 
 Between the gloomy influences of the storm and the 
 shadows of a declining day he could mark but indistinctly 
 the details of the rooms he was exploring. They presented 
 little that was remarkable; they were modestly furnished. 
 
104 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 nothing costly nor expensive anywhere, but a degree of 
 homely comfort rare to find in an inn. They had, above 
 all, that habitable look which so seldom pertains to a house 
 of entertainment, and, in the loosely scattered books, 
 prints, and maps showed a sort of flattering trustfulness 
 in the stranger who might sojourn there. His wanderings 
 led him, at length, into a somewhat more pretentious room, 
 with a piano and a harp, at one angle of which a little 
 octangular tower opened, with windows in every face, and 
 the spaces between them completely covered by miniatures 
 in oil, or small cabinet pictures. A small table with a 
 chess-board stood here, and an unfinished game yet remained 
 on the board. As Conyers bent over to look, he perceived 
 that a book, whose leaves were held open by a smelling- 
 bottle, lay on the chair next the table. He took this up, 
 and saw that it was a little volume treating of the game, 
 and that the pieces on the board represented a problem. 
 With the eagerness of a man thirsting for some occupation, 
 he seated himself at the table, and set to work at the ques- 
 tion. "A Mate in Six Moves " it was headed, but the pieces 
 had been already disturbed by some one attempting the solu- 
 tion. He replaced them by the directions of the volume, 
 and devoted himself earnestly to the task. He was not a 
 good player, and the problem posed him. He tried it again 
 and again, but ever unsuccessfully. He fancied that up to 
 a certain point he had followed the right track, and repeated 
 the same opening moves each time. Meanwhile the evening 
 was fast closing in, and it was only with difficulty he could 
 see the pieces on the board. 
 
 Bending low over the table, he was straining his eyes at 
 the game, when a low, gentle voice from behind his chair 
 said, "Would you not wish candles, sir? It is too dark to 
 see here." 
 
 Conyers turned hastily, and as hastily recognized that the 
 person who addressed him was a gentlewoman. He arose 
 at once, and made a sort of apology for his intruding. 
 
 "Had I known you were a chess-player, sir," said she, 
 with the demure gravity of a composed manner, " I believe 
 I should have sent you a challenge; for my brother, who 
 is my usual adversary, is from home." 
 
BEING "BORED.' 
 
 105 
 
 "If I should prove a very unworthy enemy, madam, you 
 will find me a very grateful one, for I am sorely tired of my 
 own company." 
 
 "In that case, sir, I beg to offer you mine, and a cup of 
 tea along with it." 
 
 Conyers accepted the invitation joyfully, and followed 
 Miss Barrington to a small but most comfortable little room, 
 where a tea equipage of exquisite old china was already 
 prepared. 
 
 "I see you are in admiration of my teacups; they are the 
 rare Canton blue, for we tea-drinkers have as much epicurism 
 in the form and color of a cup as wine-bibbers profess to 
 
106 BAKRLNGTON. 
 
 have in a bock or a claret glass. Pray take the sofa ; you 
 will find it more comfortable than a chair. I am aware you 
 have had an accident." 
 
 Very few and simple as were her words, she threw into 
 her manner a degree of courtesy that seemed actual kind- 
 ness; and coming, as this did, after his late solitude and 
 gloom, no wonder was it that Couyers was charmed with 
 it. There was, besides, a quaint formality — a sort of 
 old-world politeness in her breeding — which relieved the 
 interview of awkwardness by taking it out of the common 
 category of such events. 
 
 When tea was over, they sat down to chess, at which Con- 
 yers had merely proficiency enough to be worth beating. 
 Perhaps the quality stood him in good stead; perhaps cer- 
 tain others, such as his good looks and his pleasing man- 
 ners, were even better aids to him ; but certain it is, Miss 
 Barrington liked her guest, and when, on arising to say 
 good-night, he made a bungling attempt to apologize for 
 having prolonged his stay at the cottage beyond the period 
 which suited their plans, she stopped him by saying, with 
 much courtesy, " It is true, sir, we are about to relinquish 
 the inn, but pray do not deprive us of the great pleasure we 
 should feel in associating its last day or two with a most 
 agreeable guest. I hope you will remain till my brother 
 comes back and makes your acquaintance." 
 
 Conyers very cordially accepted the proposal, and went 
 off to his bed far better pleased with himself and with all 
 the world than he well believed it possible he could be a 
 couple of hours before. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A NOTE TO BE ANSWERED. 
 
 While Conyers was yet iu bed the following morning, a 
 messenger arrived at the house with a note for him, and 
 waited for the answer. It was from Stapylton, and ran 
 thus : — 
 
 " CoBHAM Hall, Tuesday morning. 
 
 " Dear Cox., — The world here — and part of it is a very pretty 
 world, with silky tresses and trim ankles — has declared that you 
 have had some sort of sHght accident, and are laid up at a miserable 
 wayside inn, to be blue-devilled and doctored a discretion. I strained 
 my shoulder yesterday hunting, — my horse swerved against a tree, 
 — or I should ascertain aU the particulars of your disaster in per- 
 son ; so there is nothing left for it but a note. 
 
 " I am here domesticated at a charming country-house, the host 
 an old Admiral, the hostess a ci-devant belle of London, — in times 
 not very recent, — and more lately what is called in newspapers 
 'one of the ornaments of the Irish Court.' We have abundance of 
 guests, — county dons and native celebrities, clerical, lyrical, and 
 quizzical, several pretty women, a first-rate cellar, and a very toler- 
 able cook. I give you the catalogue of our attractions, for I am 
 commissioned by Sir Charles and my Lady to ask you to partake of 
 them. The invitation is given in all cordiality, and I hope you will 
 not decline it, for it is, amongst other matters, a good opportunity 
 of seeing an Irish ' interior,' a thing of which I have always had my 
 doubts and misgivings, some of which are now solved ; others I 
 should like to investigate with your assistance. In a word, the 
 whole is worth seeing, and it is, besides, one of those experiences 
 which can be had on very pleasant terms. There is perfect liberty ; 
 always something going on, and always a way to be out of it if you 
 like. The people are, perhaps, not more friendly than in England, 
 but they are far more familiar; and if not more disposed to be 
 pleased, they tell you they are, which amounts to the same. Thei-e 
 is a good deal of splendor, a wide hospitahty, and, I need scarcely 
 add, a considerable share of bad taste. There is, too, a costly atten- 
 
108 BARRINGTON. 
 
 tion to the wishes of a guest, wliich will remind you of India, though 
 I must own the Irish Brahmin has not the grand, high-bred air of 
 the Bengalee. But again 1 say, come and see. 
 
 " I have been told (o e.\ plain to you why they don't send their 
 boat. There is something about draught of water, and something 
 about a ' gash,' whatever that is : I oj)ine it to be a ra])id. And 
 then I am directed to say, that if you will have yourself paddled up 
 to Brown's Barn, the Cobham barge will be there to meet you. 
 
 " I write this with some dillieulty, lying on my back on a sofa, 
 while a very pretty girl is impatiently waiting to continue her read- 
 ing to me of a new novel called ' The Antiquary,' a capital story, 
 but strangely disfigured by whole scenes in a Scottish dialect. You 
 must read it when you come over. 
 
 " You have heard of Hunter, of course. I am sure you will be 
 sorry at his leaving us. For myself, I knew him very slightly, and 
 shall not have to regret him like older friends ; not to say that I 
 have been so long in the service that I never believe in a Colonel. 
 Would you go with him if he gave you the offer? There is such a 
 row and uproar all around me, that I must leave off. Have 1 for- 
 gotten to say that if you stand upon the ' dignities,' the Admiral 
 will go in person to invite you, though he has a foot in the gout. I 
 conclude you will not exact this, and I knoiv they will take your 
 acceptance of this mode of invitation as a great favor. Say the 
 hour and the day, and believe me yours always, 
 
 " Horace Stapylton. 
 
 " Sir Charles is come to say that if your accident does not inter- 
 fere with riding, he hopes you will send for your horses. He has 
 ample stabling, and is vainglorious about his beans. That short- 
 legged chestnut you brought from Norris would cut a good figure 
 here, as the fences lie very close, and you must be always ' in hand.' 
 If you saw how the women ride ! There is one here now — a ' half- 
 bred 'un ' — that pounded us all — a whole field of us — last Satur- 
 day. You shall see her. 1 won't promise you '11 follow her across 
 her country." 
 
 The first impression made on the mind of Conyers by this 
 letter was surprise that Stapylton, with whom he had so 
 little acquaintance, should write to him in this tone of inti- 
 macy; Stapylton, whose cold, almost stern manner seemed 
 to repel any approach, and now he assumed all the free-and- 
 easy air of a comrade of his own years and standing. Had 
 he mistaken the man, or had he been misled b}' inferring 
 from his bearing in the regiment what he must be at heart? 
 
A NOTE TO BE ANSWERED. 109 
 
 This, however, "was but a passing thought; the passage 
 which interested him most of all was about Hunter. Where 
 and for what could he have left, then? It was a regiment 
 he had served in since he entered the army. What could 
 have led him to exchange? and why, when he did so, had 
 he not written him one line — even one — to say as much? 
 It was to serve under Hunter, his father's old aide-de-camp 
 in times back, that he had entered that regiment; to be with 
 him, to have his friendship, his counsels, his guidance. 
 Colonel Hunter had treated him like a son in every respect, 
 and Conyers felt in his heart that this same affection and 
 interest it was which formed his strongest tie to the service. 
 The question, "Would you go with him if he gave you the 
 offer? " was like a reflection on him, while no such option 
 had been extended to him. What more natural, after all, 
 than such an offer? so Stapylton thought, — so all the world 
 would think. How he thought over the constantly recurring 
 questions of his brother-otlicers : "Why didn't you go with 
 Hunter? " "How came it that Hunter did not name you on 
 his staff?" "Was it fair — was it generous in one who 
 owed all his advancement to his father — to treat him in this 
 fashion?" "Were the ties of old friendship so lax as all 
 this?" "Was distance such an enemy to every obligation 
 of affection ? " " Would his father believe that such a slight 
 had been passed upon him undeservedly? Would not the 
 ready inference be, ' Hunter knew you to be incapable, — 
 unequal to the duties he required. Hunter must have his 
 reasons for passing you over ' ? " and such like. These 
 reflections, very bitter in their way, were broken in upon by 
 a request from Miss Barrington for his company at break- 
 fast. Strange enough, he had half forgotten that there was 
 such a person in the world, or that he had spent the preced- 
 ing evening very pleasantly in her society. 
 
 "1 hope you have had a pleasant letter," said she, as he 
 entered, with Stapylton's note still in his hand. 
 
 "I can scarcely call it so, for it brings me news that our 
 Colonel — a very dear and kind friend to me — is about to 
 leave us." 
 
 "Are these not the usual chances of a soldier's life? I 
 used to be very familiar once on a time with such topics." 
 
110 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "I have learned the tidings so vaguely, too, that I can 
 make nothing of them. My correspondent is a mere ac- 
 quaintance, — a brother officer, who has lately joined us, and 
 cannot feel how deeply his news has affected me; in fact, 
 the chief burden of his letter is to convey an invitation to 
 me, and he is full of country-house people and pleasures. 
 He writes from a place called Cobham." 
 
 "Sir Charles Cobham's. One of the best houses in the 
 county." 
 
 "Do you know them?" asked Conyers, who did not, till 
 the words were out, remember how awkward they might 
 prove. 
 
 She flushed slightly for a moment, but, speedily recover- 
 ing herself, said: "Yes, we knew them once. They had just 
 come to the country, and purchased that estate, when our 
 misfortunes overtook us. They showed us much attention, 
 and such kindness as strangers could show, and they evinced 
 a disposition to continue it; but, of course, our relative 
 positions made intercourse impossible. I am afraid," said 
 she, hastily, "I am talking in riddles all this time. I ought 
 to have told you that my brother once owned a good estate 
 here. We Barringtons thought a deal of ourselves in those 
 days." She tried to say these words with a playful levity, 
 but her voice shook, and her lip trembled in spite of her. 
 
 Conyers muttered something unintelligible about "hi& 
 having heard before," and his sorrow to have awakened a 
 painful theme; but she stopped him hastily, saying, "These 
 are all such old stories now, one should be able to talk them 
 over unconcernedly; indeed, it is easier to do so than to 
 avoid the subject altogether, for there is no such egotist as 
 your reduced gentleman." She made a pretext of giving 
 him his tea, and helping him to something, to cover the 
 awkward pause that followed, and then asked if he intended 
 to accept the invitation to Cobham. 
 
 "Not if you will allow me to remain here. The doctor 
 says three days more will see me able to go back to my 
 quarters." 
 
 "I hope you will stay for a week, at least, for I scarcely 
 expect my brother before Saturday. Meanwhile, if you 
 have any fancy to visit Cobham, and make your acquaint- 
 
A NOTE TO BE ANSWERED. Ill 
 
 ance with the family there, remember you have all the privi- 
 leges of an inn here, to come and go, and stay at your 
 pleasure." 
 
 "I do not want to leave this. I wish I was never to leave 
 it," muttered he below his breath. 
 
 "Perhaps I guess what it is that attaches you to this 
 place," said she, gently. "Shall I say it? There is 
 something quiet, something domestic here, that recalls 
 ' Home.' " 
 
 "But I never knew a home," said Couyers, falteringly. 
 "My mother died when 1 was a mere infant, and I knew 
 none of that watchful love that first gives the sense of home. 
 You may be right, however, in supposing that I cling to this 
 spot as what should seem to me like a home, for I own to 
 you I feel very happy here." 
 
 "Stay then, and be happy," said she, holding out her 
 hand, which he clasped warmly, and then pressed to his 
 lips. 
 
 "Tell your friend to come over and dine with you any day 
 that he can tear himself from gay company and a great 
 house, and I will do my best to entertain him suitably." 
 
 "No. I don't care to do that; he is a mere acquaintance; 
 there is no friendship between us, and, as he is several years 
 older than me, and far wiser, and more man of the world, 
 I am more chilled than cheered by his company. But you 
 shall read his letter, and I'm certain you '11 make a better 
 guess at his nature than if I were to give you my own ver- 
 sion of him at any length." So saying, he handed Stapyl- 
 ton's note across the table; and Miss Dinah, having delib- 
 erately put on her spectacles, began to read it. 
 
 "It 's a fine manly hand, — very bold and very legible, and 
 says something for the writer's frankness. Eh? ' a miser- 
 able wayside inn ! ' This is less than just to the poor ' Fish- 
 erman's Home.' Positively, you must make him come to 
 dinner, if it be only for the sake of our character. This 
 man is not amiable, sir," said she, as she read on, "though 
 I could swear he is pleasant company, and sometimes witty. 
 But there is little of genial in his pleasantry, and less of 
 good nature in his wit." 
 
 "Go on," cried Conyers; "I 'm quite with you." 
 
112 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "Is he a person of family?" asked she, as she read on 
 some few lines further. 
 
 "We kuow nothing about him; he joined us from a native 
 corps, in India; but he has a good name and, apparently, 
 ample means. His appearance and manner are equal to any 
 station." 
 
 "For all that, I don't like him, nor do I desire that you 
 should like him. There is no wiser caution than that of the 
 Psalmist against ' sitting in the seat of the scornful.' This 
 man is a scoffer." 
 
 "And yet it is not his usual tone. He is cold, retiring, 
 almost shy. This letter is not a bit like anything I ever saw 
 in his chai'acter." 
 
 "Another reason to distrust him. Set my mind at ease 
 by saying ' No ' to his invitation, and let me try if I cannot 
 recompense you by homeliness in lieu of splendor. The 
 young lady," added she, as she folded the letter, "whose 
 horsemanship is commemorated at the expense of her breed- 
 ing, must be our doctor's daughter. She is a very pretty 
 girl, and rides admirably. Her good looks and her courage 
 might have saved her the sarcasm. I have my doubts if the 
 man that uttered it be thorough-bred." 
 
 "Well, I'll go and write my answer," said Conyers, ris- 
 ing. "I have been keeping his messenger waiting all this 
 time. I will show it to you before I send it off." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 *' "Will this do?" said Conyevs, shortly after, entering the 
 room with a very brief note, but which, let it be owned, cost 
 him fully as much labor as more practised hands occasionally 
 bestow on a more length}' despatch. "I suppose it's all 
 that 's civil and proper, and I don't care to make any need- 
 less professions. Pray read it, and give me your opinion." 
 It was so brief that I may quote it : — 
 
 " Dear Captaix Stapylton, — Don't feel any apprehensions 
 about me. I am in better quarters than I ever fell into in my life, 
 and my accident is not worth speaking of. I wish you had told me 
 more of our Colonel, of whose movements I am entirely ignorant. 
 I am sincerely grateful to your friends for thinking of me, and hope, 
 ere I leave the neighborhood, to express to Sir Charles and Lady 
 Cobham how sensible I am of their kind intentions towards me. 
 " I am, most faithfully yours, 
 
 " F. COXYERS." 
 
 "It is very well, and tolerably legible," said Miss Bar- 
 rington, dryly ; "at least I can make out everything but the 
 Kiame at the end." 
 
 " I own I do not shine in penmanship ; the strange char- 
 acters at the foot were meant to represent ' Conyers.' " 
 
 ' ' Conyers ! Conyers ! How long is it since I heard that 
 name last, and how familiar I was with it once ! My 
 nephew's dearest friend was a Conyers." 
 
 " He must have been a relative of mine in some degree; 
 at least, we are in the habit of saying that all of the name 
 are of one family." 
 
 Not heeding what he said, the old lady had fallen back in 
 her meditations to a very remote " long ago," and was think- 
 
 VOL. 1. — 8 
 
114 BARKINGTON. 
 
 iug of a time when every letter from India bore the high- 
 wrought interest of a romance, of which her nephew was the 
 hero, — times of intense anxiet}^, indeed, but full of hope 
 withal, and glowing with all the coloring with which love 
 and an exalted imagination can invest the incidents of an 
 adventurous life. 
 
 "It was a great heart he had, a splendidly generous 
 nature, far too high-souled and too exacting for common 
 friendships, and so it was that he had few friends. I am 
 talking of my nephew," said she, correcting herself sud- 
 denly. "What a boon for a young man to have met him, 
 and formed an attachment to him. I wish you could have 
 known him. George would have been a noble example for 
 you ! " She paused for some minutes, and then suddenly, as 
 it were remembering herself, said, " Did you tell me just 
 now, or was I only dreaming, that you knew Ormsby 
 Conyers ? " 
 
 " Ormsby Conyers is my father's name," said he, quickly. 
 
 " Captain in the 25th Dragoons?" asked she, eagerly. 
 
 *' He was so, some eighteen or twenty years ago." 
 
 " Oh, then, my heart did not deceive me," cried she, 
 taking his hand with both her own, " when I felt towards 
 you like an old friend. After we parted last night, I asked 
 myself, again and again, how was it that I already felt an 
 interest in you? What subtle instinct was it that whispered 
 this is the son of poor George's dearest friend, — this is the 
 son of that dear Ormsby Conyers of whom every letter is 
 full? Oh, the happiness of seeing you under this roof! 
 And what a surprise for my poor brother, who clings only 
 the closer, with every year, to all that reminds him of his 
 boy ! " 
 
 "And you knew my father, then?" asked Conyers, 
 proudly. 
 
 " Never met him; but I believe I knew him better than 
 many who were his daily intimates : for years my nephew's 
 letters were journals of their joint lives — they seemed never 
 separate. But you shall read them yourself. They go back 
 to the time when they both landed at Calcutta, young and 
 ardent spirits, eager for adventure, and urged by a bold 
 ambition to win distinction. From that day they were 
 
THE ANSWER. 115 
 
 Inseparable. They hunted, travelled, lived together ; and so 
 attached had they become to each other, that George writes 
 in one letter : ' They have offered me an appointment on the 
 staff, but as this vfould separate me from Ormsby, it is not 
 to be thought of.' It was to me George always wrote, for 
 my brother never liked letter-writing, and thus I was my 
 nephew's confidante, and intrusted with all his secrets. Nor 
 was there one in which your father's name did not figure. 
 It was, how Ormsby got him out of this scrape, or took his 
 duty for him, or made this explanation, or raised that sum 
 of money, that filled all these. At last — I never knew why 
 or how — George ceased to write to me, and addressed all 
 his letters to his father, marked ' Strictly private ' too, so 
 that I never saw what they contained. My brother, I 
 believe, suffered deeply from the concealment, and there 
 must have been what to him seemed a sufficient reason for it, 
 or he would never have excluded me from that share in his 
 confidence I had always possessed. At all events, it led to 
 a sort of estrangement between us, — the only one of our 
 lives. He would tell me at intervals that George was on 
 leave ; George was at the Hills ; he was expecting his troop ; 
 he had been sent here or there ; but nothing more, till one 
 morning, as if unable to bear the burden longer, he said, 
 ' George has made up bis mind to leave his regiment and 
 take service with one of the native princes. It is an 
 arrangement sanctioned by the Government, but it is one I 
 grieve over and regret greatly.' I asked eagerly to hear 
 further about this step, but he said he knew nothing beyond 
 the bare fact. I then said, ' What does his friend Conyers 
 think of it?' and my brother dryly replied, 'I am not aware 
 that he has been consulted.' Our own misfortunes were fast 
 closing around us, so that really we had little time to think 
 of anything but the difficulties that each day brought forth. 
 George's letters grew rarer and rarer; rumors of him 
 reached us ; stories of his gorgeous mode of living, his 
 princely state and splendid retinue, of the high favor he 
 enjoyed with the Rajah, and the influence he wielded over 
 neighboring chiefs ; and then we heard, still only by rumor, 
 that he had married a native princess, who had some time 
 before been converted to Christianity. The first intimation 
 
116 BARRINGTON. 
 
 of the fact from himself came, when, announcing that he 
 had sent his daughter, a child of about five years old, to 
 Europe to be educated — -" She paused here, and seemed to 
 have fallen into a revery over the past ; when Conyers sud- 
 denly asked, — 
 
 "And what of mj father all this time? "Was the old 
 intercourse kept up between them ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you. I do not remember that his name 
 occurred till the memorable case came on before the House 
 of Commons — the inquiry, as it was called, into Colonel 
 Barrington's conduct in the case of Edwardes, a British-born 
 subject of his Majesty, serving in the army of the Eajah of 
 Luckerabad. You have, perhaps, heard of it?" 
 
 " Was that the celebrated charge of torturing a British 
 subject?" 
 
 ' ' The same ; the vilest conspiracy' that ever was hatched, 
 and the cruellest persecution that ever broke a noble heart. 
 And yet there were men of honor, men of purest fame and 
 most unblemished character, who barkened in to that infa- 
 mous cry, and actuall}' sent out emissaries to India to collect 
 evidence against my poor nephew. For a while the whole 
 country rang with the case. The low papers, which assailed 
 the Government, made it matter of attack on the nature of 
 the British rule in India, and the ministry only sought to 
 make George the victim to screen themselves from public 
 indignation. It was Admiral Byng's case once more. But 
 I have no temper to speak of it, even after this lapse of 
 years ; my blood boils now at the bare memory of that foul 
 and perjured association. If you would follow the story, I 
 will send you the little published narrative to your room, but, 
 I beseech you, do not again revert to it. How I have 
 betra3'ed myself to speak of it I know not. For many a long 
 year I have prayed to be able to forgive one man, who has 
 been the bitterest enemy of our name and race. I have 
 asked for strength to bear the burden of our calamity, but 
 more earnestly a hundred-fold I have entreated that forgive- 
 ness might enter my heart, and that if vengeance for this 
 cruel wrong was at hand, I could be able to say, ' No, the 
 time for such feeling is gone by.' Let me not, then, be 
 tempted by any revival of this theme to recall all the sorrow 
 
THE ANSWER. 117 
 
 and all the indignation it once caused me. This infamous 
 book contains the whole story as the world then believed it. 
 You will read it with interest, for it concerned one whom 
 your father dearly loved. But, again I say, when we meet 
 again let us not return to it. These letters, too, will amuse 
 you ; they are the diaries of your father's early life in India 
 as much as George's, but of them we can talk freely." 
 
 It was so evident that she was speaking with a forced 
 calm, and that all her self-restraint might at any moment 
 prove unequal to the effort she was making, that Couyers, 
 affecting to have a few words to say to Stapyltou's messen- 
 ger, stole away, and hastened to his room to look over the 
 letters and the volume she had given him. 
 
 He had scarcely addressed himself to his task when a 
 knock came to the door, and at the same instant it was 
 opened in a slow, half-hesitating way, and Tom Dill stood 
 before him. Though evidently dressed for the occasion, and 
 intending to present himself in a most favorable guise, Tom 
 looked far more vulgar and unprepossessing than in the 
 worn costume of his every-day life, his bright-buttoned blue 
 coat and yellow waistcoat being only aggravations of the 
 low-bred air that unhappily beset him. Worse even than 
 this, however, was the fact that, being somewhat nervous 
 about the interview before him, Tom had taken what his 
 father would have called a diffusible stimulant, in the shape 
 of " a dandy of punch," and bore the evidences of it in a 
 heightened color and a very lustrous but wandering eye. 
 
 '' Here I am," said he, entering with a sort of easy swag- 
 ger, but far more affected than real, notwithstanding the 
 "dandy." 
 
 "Well, and what then?" asked Couyers, haughtily, for 
 the vulgar presumption of his manner was but a sorry ad- 
 vocate in his favor. " I don't remember that I sent for 
 you." 
 
 " No ; but my father told me what you said to him, and I 
 was to come up and thank you, and say, ' Done ! ' to it all." 
 
 Conyers turned a look — not a very pleased or very flat- 
 tering look — at the loutish figure before him, and in his 
 changing color might be seen the conflict it cost him to keep 
 down his rising temper. He' was, indeed, sorely tried, and 
 
118 BAKKINGTON. 
 
 his band shook as he tossed over the books on his table, and 
 endeavored to seem occupied in other matters. 
 
 " Maj'be you forget all about it," began Tom. " Perhaps 
 you don't remember that you offered to fit me out for India, 
 and send me over with a letter to your father — " 
 
 " No, no, I forget nothing of it ; I remember it all." He 
 had almost said " only too well," but he coughed down the 
 cruel speech, and went on hurriedly: "You have come, 
 however, when I am engaged, — when I have other things to 
 attend to. These letters here — In fact, this is not a 
 moment when I can attend to you. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 " I believe I do," said Tom, growing very pale. 
 
 " To-morrow, then, Or the day after, or next week, will 
 be time enough for all this. I must think over the matter 
 again." 
 
 "I see," said Tom, moodily, as he changed from one foot 
 to the other, and cracked the joints of his fingers, till they 
 seemed dislocated. " I see it all." 
 
 " AVhat do you mean by that? — what do you see? " asked 
 Conyers, angrily. 
 
 "I see that Polly, my sister, was right; that she knew 
 you better than any of us," said Tom, boldly, for a sudden 
 rush of courage had now filled his heart. " She said, ' Don't 
 let him turn your head, Tom, with his fine promises. He 
 was in good humor and good spirits when he made them, 
 and perhaps meant to keep them too ; but he little knows 
 what misery disappointment brings, and he '11 never fret 
 himself over the heavy heart he 's giving you, when he wakes 
 in the morning with a change of mind.' And then, she said 
 another thing," added he, after a pause. 
 
 " And what was the other thing? " 
 
 " She said, 'If you go up there, Tom,' says she, ' dressed 
 out like a shopboy in his Sunday suit, he'll be actually 
 shocked at his having taken an interest in you. He '11 forget 
 all about your hard lot and your struggling fortune, and 
 only see your vulgarity.' 'Your vulgarity,' — that was the 
 word." As he said this, his lip trembled, and the chair he 
 leaned on shook under his grasp. 
 
 "Go back, and tell her, then, that she was mistaken," 
 
THE ANSWER. 
 
 119 
 
 said Conyers, whose own voice now quavered. "Tell her 
 that when I give my word I keep it ; that I will maintain 
 everything I said to you or to your father ; and that when 
 she imputed to me an indifference as to the feelings of others, 
 she might have remembered whether she was not unjust to 
 mine. Tell her that also." 
 
 "I will," said Tom, gravely. "Is there anything more? " 
 "No, nothing more," said Conyers, who with difficulty 
 
 suppressed a smile at the words and the manner of his 
 
 questioner. 
 
 "Good-bye, then. You'll send for me when you want 
 
 me," said Tom; and he was out of the room, and half-way 
 
 across the lawn, ere Conyers could recover himself to 
 
 reply. 
 
120 BARRINGTON. 
 
 Conyers, however, flung open the window, and cried to 
 him to come back. 
 
 "1 was nigh forgetting a most important part of the 
 matter, Tom," said he, as the other entered, somewhat pale 
 and anxious-looking. "You told me, t' other day, that there 
 was some payment to be made, — some sum to be lodged 
 before you could present yourself for examination. What 
 about this ? When must it be done ? " 
 
 "A month before I go in," said Tom, to whom the very 
 thought of the ordeal seemed full of terror and heart- 
 sinking. 
 
 "And how soon do you reckon that may be?" 
 
 "Polly says not before eight weeks at the earliest. She 
 says we '11 have to go over Bell on the Bones all again, and 
 brush up the Ligaments, besides. If it was the Navy, 
 they 'd not mind the nerves ; but they tell me the Army 
 fellows often take a man on the fifth pair, and I know if 
 they do me, it's mighty little of India I'll see." 
 
 "Plucked, eh?" 
 
 "I don't know what you mean by ' plucked,' but I'd be 
 turned back, which is, perhaps, the same. And no great 
 disgrace, either," added he, with more of courage in his 
 voice; "Polly herself says there 's days she could n't remem- 
 ber all the branches of the fifth, and the third is almost as 
 bad." 
 
 "I suppose if your sister could go up in your place, Tom, 
 you 'd be quite sure of your diploma? " 
 
 "It's many and many a day I wished that same," sighed 
 he, heavily. "If you heard her going over the ' Sub- 
 clavian,' you 'd swear she had the book in her hand." 
 
 Conyers could not repress a smile at this strange piece of 
 feminine accomplishment, but he was careful not to let Tom 
 perceive it. Not, indeed, that the poor fellow was in a very 
 observant mood ; Polly's perfections, her memory, and her 
 quickness were the themes that filled up his mind. 
 
 "AVhat a rare piece of luck for you to have had such a 
 sister, Tom ! " 
 
 " Don't I say it to myself? — don't I repeat the very same 
 words every morning when I awake ? Maybe I '11 never come 
 to any good; maybe my father is right, and that I '11 only 
 
THE ANSWER. 121 
 
 be a disgrace as long as I live; but I hope one thing, at 
 least, I '11 never be so bad that I '11 forget Polly, and all 
 she done for me. And I'll tell you more," said he, with 
 a choking fulness in his throat; "if they turn me back at 
 my examination, my heart will be heavier for her than for 
 myself. " 
 
 "Come, cheer up, Tom; don't look on the gloomy side. 
 You '11 pass, I 'm certain, and with credit too. Here 's the 
 thirty pounds you '11 have to lodge — " 
 
 "It is only twenty they require. And, besides, I 
 could n't take it; it 's my father must pay." He stammered, 
 and hesitated, and grew pale and then crimson, while his 
 lips trembled and his chest heaved and fell almost convul- 
 sively. 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, Tom," said Conyers, who had to 
 subdue his own emotion by an assumed sternness. "The 
 plan is all my own, and I will stand no interference with it. 
 I mean that you should pass your examination without your 
 father knowing one word about it. You shall come back 
 to him with your diploma, or whatever it is, in your hand, 
 and say, ' There, sir, the men who have signed their names 
 to that do not think so meanly of me as you do.' " 
 
 "And he'd say, the more fools they! " said Tom, with a 
 grim smile. 
 
 "At all events," resumed Conyers, "I'll have my own 
 way. Put that note in your pocket, and whenever you are 
 gazetted Surgeon-Major to the Guards, or Inspector-General 
 of all the Hospitals in Great Britain, you can repay me, 
 and with interest, besides, if you like it." 
 
 "You 've given me a good long day to be in your debt," 
 said Tom ; and he hurried out of the room before his over- 
 full heart should betray his emotion. 
 
 It is marvellous how ciuickly a kind action done to another 
 reconciles a man to himself. Doubtless conscience at such 
 times condescends to play the courtier, and whispers, 
 " What a good fellow you are ! and how unjust the world is 
 when it calls you cold and haughty and ungenial!" Not 
 that I would assert higher and better thoughts than these 
 do not reward him who, Samaritan-like, binds up the 
 wounds of misery; but I fear me much that few of us resist 
 
122 BARRINGTON. 
 
 self-flattery, or those little delicate adulations one can offer 
 to his own heart when nobody overhears him. 
 
 At all events, Conyers was not averse to this pleasure, 
 and grew actually to feel a strong interest for Tom Dill, 
 all because that poor fellow had been the recipient of his 
 bounty; for so is it the waters of our nature must be 
 stirred by some act of charity or kindness, else their heal- 
 ing virtues have small efficacy, and cure not. 
 
 And then he wondered and questioned himself whether 
 Polly might not possibly be right, and that his "governor" 
 would marvel where and how he had picked up so strange 
 a specimen as Tom. That poor fellow, too, like many an 
 humble flower, seen not disadvantageously in its native 
 wilds, would look strangely out of place when transplanted 
 and treated as an exotic. Still he could trust to the wide 
 and generous nature of his father to overlook small defects 
 of manner and breeding, and take the humble fellow kindly. 
 
 Must I own that a considerable share of his hopefulness 
 was derived from thinking that the odious blue coat and 
 brass buttons could scarcely make part of Tom's kit for 
 India, and that in no other costume known to civilized man 
 could his protege look so unprepossessingly ? 
 
CHAPTER Xni. 
 
 A FEW LEAVES FROil A BLUE-BOOK. 
 
 The journal which Miss Barringtou had placed in Conyers's 
 hands was little else than the record of the sporting adven- 
 tures of two young and very dashing fellows. There were 
 lion and tiger hunts, so little varied in detail that one might 
 serve for all, though doubtless to the narrator each was 
 marked with its own especial intei-est. There were travel- 
 ling incidents and accidents, and straits for money, and mis- 
 haps and arrests, and stories of steeple-chases and balls all 
 mixed up together, and recounted so very much in the same 
 spirit as to show how very little shadow mere misadventure 
 could throw across the sunshine of their every-day life. 
 But every now and then Conyers came upon some entry 
 which closely touched his heart. It was how nobly Ormsby 
 behaved. What a splendid fellow he was! so frank, so 
 generous, such a horseman! "I wish you saw the astonish- 
 ment of the Mahratta fellows as Ormsby lifted the tent-pegs 
 in full career; he never missed one. Ormsby won the rifle- 
 match ; we all knew he would. Sir Peregrine invited Ormsby 
 to go with him to the Hills, but he refused, mainly because 
 I was not asked." Ormsby has been offered this, that, or 
 t'other; in fact, that one name recurred in every second 
 sentence, and always with the same marks of affection. 
 How proud, too, did Harrington seem of his friend. "They 
 have found out that no country-house is perfect without 
 Ormsby, and he is positively persecuted with invitations. 
 I hear the 'G.-G.' is provoked at Ormsby's refusal of a 
 staff appointment. I'm in rare luck; the old Rajah of 
 Tannanoohr has asked Ormsby to a grand elephant-hunt 
 next week, and I 'm to go with him. I 'm to have a leave 
 in October. Ormsby managed it somehow ; he never fails, 
 
124 BAIIRINGTOIT. 
 
 whatever he takes in haud. Such a fright as I got yes- 
 terday ! There was a report in the camp Ormsby was going 
 to England with despatches; it's all a mistake, however, 
 he says. He believes he might have had the opportunity, 
 had he cared for it." 
 
 If there was not much in these passing notices of his 
 father, there was quite enough to impart to them an intense 
 degree of interest. There is a wondrous charm, besides, in 
 reading of the young da3'S of those we have only known in 
 maturer life, in hearing of them when they were fresh, 
 ardent, and impetuous; in knowing, besides, how they were 
 regarded by contemporaries, how loved and valued. It was 
 not merely that Ormsby recurred in almost every page of 
 this journal, but the record bore testimony to his superiority 
 and the undisputed sway he exercised over his companions. 
 This same power of dominating and directing had been the 
 distinguishing feature of his after-life, and many an unruly 
 and turbulent spirit had been reclaimed under Ormsby Con- 
 yers's hands. 
 
 As he read on, he grew also to feel a strong interest for 
 the writer himself; the very heartiness of the affection he 
 bestowed on his father, and the noble generosity with which 
 he welcomed every success of that "dear fellow Ormsby," 
 were more than enough to secure his interest for him. There 
 was a bold, almost reckless dash, too, about Barrington 
 which has a great charm occasionally for very 3'oung men. 
 He adventured upon life pretty much as he would try to 
 cross a river; he never looked for a shallow nor inquired 
 for a ford, but plunged boldly in, and trusted to his brave 
 heart and his strong arms for the rest. No one, indeed, 
 reading even these rough notes, could hesitate to pronounce 
 which of the two would "make the spoon," and which "spoil 
 the horn." Young Conyers was eager to find some mention 
 of the incident to which Miss Barrington had vaguely 
 alluded. He wanted to read George Barrington's own 
 account before he opened the little pamphlet she gave him, 
 but the journal closed years before this event; and although 
 some of the letters came down to a later date, none ap- 
 proached the period he wanted. 
 
 It was not till after some time that he remarked how much 
 
A FEW lea\t:s from a blue-book 125 
 
 more unfrequently his father's name occurred in the latter 
 portion of the correspondence. P^utire pages would contain 
 no reference to him, and la the last letter of all there was 
 this towards the end: "After all, I am almost sorry that I 
 am first for purchase, for I believe Ormsby is most anxious 
 for his troop. I say ' I believe,' for he has not told me so, 
 and when I offered to give way to him, he seemed half 
 offended with me. You know what a bungler I am where 
 a matter of any delicacy is to be treated, and you may easily 
 fancy either that / mismanage the affair grossly, or that I 
 am as grossly mistaken. One thing is certain, I 'd see pro- 
 motion far enough, rather than let it make a coldness beween 
 ns, which could never occur if he were as frank as he used 
 to be. My dear aunt, I wish I had your wise head to 
 counsel me, for I have a scheme in my mind which I have 
 scarcely courage for without some advice, and for many 
 reasons I cannot ask O.'s opinion. Between this and the 
 next mail I '11 think it over carefully, and tell you what I 
 intend. 
 
 "I told you that Ormsby was going to marry one of the 
 Governor-General's daughters. It is all off, — at least, I 
 bear so, — and O. has asked for leave to go home. I sus- 
 pect he is sorely cut up about this, but he is too proud a 
 fellow to let the world see it. Report says that Sir Peregrine 
 heard that he played. So he does, because he does every- 
 thing, and everything well. If he does go to England, he 
 will certainly pay you a visit. Make much of him for my 
 sake; you could not make too much for his own." 
 
 This was the last mention of his father, and he pondered 
 long and thoughtfully over it. He saw, or fancied he saw, 
 the first faint glimmerings of a coldness between them, and 
 he hastily turned to the printed report of the House of 
 Commons inquiry, to see what part his father had taken. 
 His name occurred but once; it was appended to an extract 
 of a letter, addressed to him by the Governor-General. It 
 was a confidential report, and much of it omitted in publi- 
 cation. It was throughout, however, a warm and generous 
 testimony to Barrington's character. "I never knew a 
 man," said he, "less capable of. anything mean or unworthy; 
 nor am I able to imagine any temptation strong enough to 
 
126 BARRINGTON. 
 
 warp him from what he believed to be right. That on a 
 quostiou of policy his judgment might be wrong, I am quite 
 ready to admit, but I will maintain that, on a point of 
 honor, he would, and must, be infallible." Underneath this 
 passage there was written, in Miss Barrington's hand, 
 "Poor George never saw this; it was not published till after 
 his death." So interested did young Conyers feel as to the 
 friendship between these two men, and what it could have 
 been that made a breach between them, — if breach there 
 were, — that he sat a long time without opening the little 
 volume that related to the charge against Colonel Barrington. 
 He had but to open it, however, to guess the spirit in whicli 
 it was written. Its title was, "The Story of Samuel Ed- 
 wardes, with an Account of the Persecutions and Tortures 
 inflicted on him by Colonel George Barrington, when serving 
 in command of the Forces of the Meer Nagheer Assahr, 
 Rajah of Luckerabad, based on the documents produced 
 before the Committee of the House, and private authentic 
 information." Opposite to this lengthy title was an ill- 
 executed wood-cut of a young fellow tied up to a tree, and 
 being flogged by two native Indians, with the inscription at 
 foot: "Mode of celebrating His Majesty's Birthday, 4th of 
 June, 18 — , at the Residence of Luckerabad." 
 
 In the writhing figure of the youth, and the ferocious glee 
 of his executioners, the artist had displaj'ed all his skill 
 in expression, and very unmistakably shown, besides, the 
 spirit of the publication. I have no intention to inflict this 
 upon my reader. I will simply give him — and as briefly as 
 I am able — its substance. 
 
 The Rajah of Luckerabad, an independent sovereign, 
 living on the best of terms with the Government of the 
 Company, had obtained permission to employ an English 
 officer in the chief command of his army, a force of some 
 twenty-odd thousand, of all arms. It was essential that he 
 should be one not only well acquainted with the details 
 of command, but fully equal to the charge of organiza- 
 tion of a force; a man of energy and decision, well versed 
 in Hindostanee, and not altogether ignorant of Persian, 
 in which, occasionally, correspondence was carried on. 
 Amongst the many candidates for an employment so certain 
 
UNIVE 
 
 LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 127 
 
 to insure the fortune of its possessor, Major Barrington, 
 then a brevet Lieutenant-Colonel, was chosen. 
 
 It is not improbable that, in mere technical details of his 
 art, he might have had mauy equal aud some superior to him ; 
 it was well known that his personal requisites were above 
 all rivalry. He was a man of great size and strength, of a 
 most commanding presence, an accomplished linguist in the 
 various dialects of Central India and a great master of all 
 manly exercises. To these qualities he added an Oriental 
 taste for splendor and pomp. It had always been his habit 
 to live in a style of costly extravagance, with the retinue of 
 a petty prince, and when he travelled it was with the follow- 
 ing of a native chief. 
 
 Though, naturally enough, such a station as a separate 
 command gave might be regarded as a great object of ambi- 
 tion by many, there was a good deal of surprise felt at the 
 time that Barrington, reputedly a man of large fortune, 
 should have accepted it; the more so since, by his contract, 
 he bound himself for ten years to the Rajah, and thus for- 
 ever extinguished all prospect of advancement in his own 
 service. There were all manner of guesses afloat as to his 
 reasons. Some said that he was already so embarrassed by 
 his extravagance that it was his only exit out of difficulty; 
 others pretended that he was captivated by the gorgeous 
 splendor of that Eastern life he loved so well; that pomp, 
 display, and magnificence were bribes he could not resist; 
 and a few, who affected to see more nearly, whispered that 
 he was unhappy of late, had grown peevish and uncompan- 
 ionable, and sought any change, so that it took him out of 
 his regiment. Whatever the cause, he bade his brother- 
 officers farewell without revealing it, and set out for his new 
 destination. He had never anticipated a life of ease or 
 inaction, but he was equally far from imagining anything 
 like what now awaited him. Corruption, falsehood, rob- 
 bery, on every hand! The army was little else than a 
 brigand establishment, living on the peasants, and exacting, 
 at the sword point, whatever they wanted. There was no 
 obedience to discipline. The Rajah troubled himself about 
 nothing but his pleasures, and, indeed, passed his days so 
 drugged with opium as to be almost insensible to all around 
 
128 BARKINGTON. 
 
 him. In the tribunals there was nothing hut bribery, and 
 the object of every one seemed to be to amass fortunes as 
 rapidly as possible, and then hasten away from a country 
 so insecure and dangerous. 
 
 For some days after his arrival, Harrington hesitated 
 whether he would accept a charge so apparently hopeless; 
 Lis bold heart, however, decided the doubt, and he resolved 
 to remain. His first care was to look about him for one or 
 two more trustworthy than the masses, if such there should 
 be, to assist him, and the Rajah referred him to his secre- 
 tary for that purpose. It was with sincere pleasure Barring- 
 ton discovered that this man was English, — that is, his 
 father had been an Englishman, and his mother was a 
 Malabar slave in the Rajah's household: his name was 
 Edwardes, but called by the natives Ali Edwardes. He 
 looked about sixty, but his real age was about forty-six 
 when Barrington came to the Residence. He was a man 
 of considerable ability, uniting all the craft and subtlety of 
 the Oriental with the dogged perseverance of the Briton. 
 He had enjoyed the full favor of the Rajah for nigh twenty 
 years, and was strongly averse to the appointment of an 
 English officer to the command of the army, knowing full 
 well the influence it would have over his own fortunes. He 
 represented to the Rajah that the Company was only in- 
 triguing to absorb his dominions with their own; that the 
 new Commander-in-chief would be their servant and not his; 
 that it was by such machinery as this they secretly pos- 
 sessed themselves of all knowledge of the native sovereigns, 
 learned their weakness and their strength, and through such 
 agencies hatched those plots and schemes by which many 
 a chief had been despoiled of his state. 
 
 The Rajah, however, saw that if he had a grasping Gov- 
 ernment on one side, he had an insolent and rebellious army 
 on the other. There was not much to choose between them, 
 but he took the side that he thought the least bad, and left 
 the rest to Fate. 
 
 Having failed with the Rajah, Edwardes tried what he 
 could do with Ban-ington; and certainly, if but a tithe of 
 what he told him were true, the most natural thing in the 
 world would have been that he should give up his appoint- 
 
A FEW LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 129 
 
 meut, and quit forever a land so hopelessly sunk in vice and 
 corruption. Cunning and crafty as he was, however, he 
 made one mistake, and that an irreparable one. When 
 dilating on the insubordination of the army, its lawless ways 
 and libertine habits, he declared that nothing short of a 
 superior force in the field could have any chance of enfor- 
 cing discipline. "As to a command," said he, "it is simply 
 ludicrous. Let any man try it and they will cut him down 
 in the very midst of his staff." 
 
 That unlucky speech decided the question; and Barring- 
 ton simply said, — 
 
 "I have heard plenty of this sort of thing in India; I 
 never saw it, — I '11 stay." 
 
 Stay he did; and he did more: he reformed that rabble, 
 and made of them a splendid force, able, disciplined, and 
 obedient. With the influence of his success, added to that 
 derived from the confidence reposed in him by the Rajah, 
 he introduced many and beneficial changes into the admin- 
 istration; he punished peculators by military law, and 
 brought knavish sutlers to the drum-head. In fact, by the 
 exercise of a salutary despotism, he rescued the state from 
 an impending bankruptcy and ruin, placed its finances in 
 a healthy condition, and rendered the country a model of 
 prosperity and contentment. The Rajah had, like most of 
 his rank and class, been in litigation, occasionally in 
 armed contention, with some of his neighbors, — one espe- 
 cially, an uncle, whom he accused of having robbed him, 
 when his guardian, of a large share of his heritage. This 
 suit had gone on for years, varied at times by little raids 
 into each other's territories, to burn villages and carry away 
 cattle. Though with a force more than sufficient to have 
 earned the question with a strong hand, Barrington pre- 
 ferred the more civilized mode of leaving the matter in 
 dispute to others, and suggested the Company as arbitrator. 
 The negotiations led to a lengthy correspondence, in which 
 Edwardes and his son, a youth of seventeen or eighteen, 
 were actively occupied; and although Barrington was not 
 without certain misgivings as to their trustworthiness and 
 honesty, he knew their capacity, and had not, besides, any 
 one at all capable of replacing them. Wliile these aflfairs 
 
 VOL. I. — 9 
 
130 BAKREN'GTON. 
 
 were yet pending, Bairington married the daughter of the 
 Meer, a j'oung girl whose mother had been a convert to 
 Christianity, and who had herself been educated by a Cath- 
 olic missionary. She died in the second year of her mar- 
 riage, giving birth to a daughter; but Barrington had now 
 become so completely the centre of all action in the state, 
 that the Rajah interfered in nothing, leaving in his hands the 
 undisputed control of the Government; nay, more, he made 
 him his son by adoption, leaving to him not alone all his 
 immense personal property, but the inheritance to his throne. 
 Though Barrington was advised by all the great legal author- 
 ities he consulted in England that such a bequest could not 
 be good in law, nor a British subject be permitted to succeed 
 to the rights of an Eastern sovereignty', he obstinatelj' de- 
 clared that the point was yet untried ; that, however theoret- 
 icall}' the opinion might be correct, practically the question 
 had not been determined, nor had any case yet occurred to 
 rule as a precedent on it. If he was not much of a lawyer, 
 he was of a temperament that could not brook opposition. 
 In fact, to make him take any particular road in life, you 
 had only to erect a barricade on it. When, therefore, he 
 was told the matter could not be, his answer was, "It 
 shall ! " Calcutta lawyers, men deep in knowledge of Orien- 
 tal law and custom, learned Moonshees and Pundits, were 
 despatched by him at enormous cost, to England, to confer 
 with the great authorities at home. Agents were sent over 
 to procure the influence of great Parliamentary speakers and 
 the leaders in the press to the cause. For a matter which, in 
 the beginning, he cared scarcely anything, if at all, he had 
 now grown to feel the most intense and absorbing interest. 
 Half persuading himself that the personal question was 
 less to him than the great privilege and right of an English- 
 man, he declared that he would rather die a beggar in the 
 defence of the cause than abandon it. So possessed was he, 
 indeed, of his rights, and so resolved to maintain them, sup- 
 ported by a firm belief that they would and must be ulti- 
 mately conceded to him, that in the correspondence with 
 the other chiefs every reference which spoke of the future 
 sovereignty of Luckerabad included bis own name and title, 
 and this with an ostentation quite Oriental. 
 
A FEW LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 131 
 
 Whether Edwardes had been less warm and energetic in 
 the canse than Barrington expected, or whether his counsels 
 were less palatable, certain it is he grew daily more and more 
 distrustful of him; but an event soon occurred to make this 
 suspicion a certainty. 
 
 The negotiations between the Meer and his uncle had been 
 so successfully conducted by Barrington, that the latter 
 agreed to give up three "Pegunnahs," or villages he had 
 unrightfully seized upon, and to pay a heavy mulct, besides, 
 for the unjust occupation of them. This settlement had 
 been, as may be imagined, a work of much time and labor, 
 and requiring not only immense forbearance and patience, 
 but intense watchfulness and unceasing skill and craft. 
 Edwardes, of course, was constantly engaged in the affair, 
 with the details of which he had been for years familiar. 
 Now, although Barrington was satis Bed with the zeal he dis- 
 played, he was less so with his counsels, Edwardes always 
 insisting that in every dealing with an Oriental you must 
 inevitably be beaten if you would not make use of all the 
 stratagem and deceit he is sure to employ against you. 
 There was not a day on which the wily secretary did not 
 suggest some cunning expedient, some clever trick; and 
 Barrington' s abrupt rejection of them only impressed him 
 with a notion of his weakness and deficienc3\ 
 
 One morning — it was after many defeats — Edwardes 
 appeared with the draft of a document he had been ordered 
 to draw out, and in which, of his own accord, he had made 
 a large use of threats to the neighboring chief, should he 
 continue to protract these proceedings. These threats very 
 unmistakably pointed to the dire consequences of opposing 
 the great Government of the Company; for, as the writer 
 argued, the succession to the Ameer being already vested 
 in an Englishman, it is perfectly clear the powerful nation 
 he belongs to will take a very summary mode of dealing with 
 this question, if not settled before he comes to the throne. 
 He pressed, therefore, for an immediate settlement, as the 
 best possible escape from difficulty. 
 
 Barrington scouted the suggestion indignantly; he would 
 not hear of it. 
 
 "What," said he, "is it while these very rights are in 
 
132 BAllIUNGTON. 
 
 litigation that I am to employ them as a menace? Who i!» 
 to secure me being one clay Kajah of Luckerabad ? Not you, 
 certainly, who have never ceased to speak coldly of my 
 claims. Throw that draft into the fire, and never propose a 
 like one to me again! " 
 
 The rebuke was not forgotten. Another draft was, how- 
 ever, prepared, and in due time the long-pending negotia- 
 tions were concluded, the Meer's uncle having himself come 
 to Luckerabad to ratify the contract, which, being engrossed 
 on a leaf of the Rajah's Koran, was duly signed and sealed 
 by both. 
 
 It was during the festivities incidental to this visit that 
 Edwardes, who had of late made a display of wealth and 
 splendor quite unaccountable, made a proposal to the Rajah 
 for the hand of his only unmarried daughter, sister to 
 Barrington's wife. The Rajah, long enervated b}' excess 
 and opium, probably cared little about the matter; there 
 were, indeed, but a few moments in each day when he could 
 be fairly pronounced awake. He referred the question to 
 Barrington. Not satisfied with an insulting rejection of the 
 proposal, Barrington, whose passionate moments were 
 almost madness, tauntingly asked by what means Edwardes 
 had so suddenly acquired the wealth which had prompted 
 this demand. He hinted that the sources of his fortune were 
 more than suspected, and at last, carried awaj^ b}^ anger, 
 for the discussion grew violent, he drew from his desk 
 a slip of paper, and held it up. "When your father was 
 drummed out of the 4th Bengal Fusiliers for theft, of which 
 this is the record, the family was scarcely so ambitious." 
 For an instant Edwardes seemed overcome almost to faint- 
 ing; but he rallied, and, with a menace of his clenched 
 hand, but without one word, he hurried away before Bar- 
 rington could resent the insult. It was said that he did not 
 return to his house, but, taking the horse of an orderl}- that 
 he found at the door, rode away from the palace, and on the 
 same night crossed the frontier into a neighboring state. 
 
 It was on the following morning, as Barrington was pass- 
 ing a cavalry regiment in review, that young Edwardes, 
 forcing his way through the staff, insolently asked, "What 
 had become of his father ? " and at the same instant level* 
 
A FEW LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 133 
 
 liug a pistol, he fii-ed. The ball passed through Barrington's 
 shako, and so close to the head that it grazed it. It was 
 only with a loud shout to abstain that Barrington arrested 
 the o-leamiug sabres that now flourished over his head. 
 '•Your father has fled, youngster!" cried he. "When you 
 show him that," — and he struck him across the face with 
 his horsewhip, — "tell him how near you were to have been 
 an assassin ! " With this savage taunt, he gave orders that 
 the voung fellow should be conducted to the nearest frontier, 
 and turned adrift. Neither father nor son ever were seen 
 there again. 
 
 Little did George Barrington suspect what was to come 
 of that morning's work. Through what channel Edwardes 
 worked at first was not known, but that he succeeded in 
 raising up for himself friends in England is certain; by 
 their means the very gravest charges were made against 
 Barrington. One allegation was that by a forged document, 
 claiming to be the assent of the English Government to his 
 succession, he had obtained the submission of several native 
 chiefs to his rule and a cession of territory to the Rajah of 
 Luckerabad; and another charged him with having cruelly 
 tortured a British subject named Samuel Edwardes, — an 
 investigation entered into by a Committee of the House, 
 and becoming, while it lasted, one of the most exciting 
 subjects of public interest. Xor was the anxiety lessened 
 by the death of the elder Edwardes, which occurred during 
 the inquiry, and which Barrington's enemies declared to 
 be caused by a broken heart; and the martyred or mur- 
 dered Edwardes was no uncommon heading to a paragraph 
 of the time. 
 
 Conyers turned to the massive Blue-book that contained 
 the proceedings "in Committee," but only to glance at the 
 examination of witnesses, whose very names were unfamiliar 
 to him. He could perceive, however, that the inquiry was a 
 long one, and, from the tone of the member at whose motion 
 it was instituted, angry and vindictive. 
 
 Edwardes appeared to have prefen-ed charges of long con- 
 tinued persecution and oppression, and there was native tes- 
 timony in abundance to sustain the allegation; while the 
 British Commissioner sent to- Luckerabad came back so 
 
134 BARRINGTON. 
 
 prejudiced against Barrington, from his proud and bauglity 
 bearing, that his report was unfavorable to him in all 
 respects. There was, it is true, letters from various high 
 quarters, all speaking of Barrington's early career as both 
 honorable and distinguished; and, lastly, there was one 
 signed Ormsby Conyers, a warm-hearted testimony "to the 
 most straightforward gentleman and truest friend I have 
 ever known." These Avere words the young man read and 
 re-read a dozen times. 
 
 Conyers turned eagerly to read what decision had been 
 come to by the Committee, but the proceedings had come 
 abruptly to an end by George Barrington's death. A f ew . 
 lines at the close of the pamphlet mentioned that, being 
 summoned to appear before the Governor-General in Coun- 
 cil at Calcutta, Barrington refused. An armed force was 
 despatched to occupy Luckerabad, on the approach of which 
 Barrington rode forth to meet them, attended by a brilliant 
 staff, — with what precise object none knew ; but the sight 
 of a considerable force, drawn up at a distance in what 
 seemed order of battle, implied at least an intention to re- 
 sist. Coming on towards the advanced pickets at a fast 
 gallop, and not slackening speed when challenged, the men, 
 who were Bengal infantry, fired, and Barrington fell, pierced 
 by four bullets. He never uttered a word after, though he 
 lingered on till evening. The force was commanded by 
 Lieutenant-Genei-al Conyers. 
 
 There was little more to tell. The Rajah, implicated in 
 the charges brought against Barrington, and totally unable 
 to defend himself, despatched a confidential minister, Meer 
 Mozarjah, to Europe to do what he might by bribery. This 
 unhappy blunder filled the measure of his ruin, and after a 
 very brief inquiry the Rajah was declared to have forfeited 
 his throne and all his rights of succession. The Company 
 took possession of Luckerabad, as a portion of British India, 
 but from a generous compassion towards the deposed chief, 
 graciously accorded him a pension of ten thousand rupees a 
 month during his life. 
 
 My reader will bear in mind that I have given him this 
 recital, not as it came before Conyers, distorted by false- 
 hood and disfigured by misstatements, but have presented 
 
A FEW LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 135 
 
 the facts as nearly as they might be derived from a candid 
 examination of all the testimony adduced. Ere I retui-n to 
 my own tale, I ought to add that Edwardes, discredited and 
 despised by some, upheld and maintained by others, left 
 Calcutta with the proceeds of a handsome subscription 
 raised in his behalf. Whether he went to reside in Europe, 
 or retired to some other part of India, is not known. He 
 was heard of no more. 
 
 As for the Rajah, his efforts still continued to obtain a 
 revision of the sentence pronounced upon him, and his case 
 was one of those which newspapers slur over and privy 
 councils ti-y to escape from, leaving to Time to solve what 
 Justice has no taste for. 
 
 But every now and then a Blue-book would appear, headed 
 "East India (the deposed Rajah of Luckerabad)," while a 
 line in an evening paper would intimate that the Envoy of 
 Meer Nagheer Assahr had arrived at a certain West-end 
 hotel to prosecute the suit of his Highness before the Judi- 
 cial Committee of the Lords. How pleasantly does a para- 
 graph dispose of a whole life-load of sorrows and of wrongs 
 that, perhaps, are breaking the hearts that carry them ! 
 
 While I once more apologize to my reader for the length 
 to which this narrative has run, I owe it to myself to state 
 that, had I presented it in the garbled and incorrect version 
 which came before Conyers, and had I interpolated all the 
 misconceptions he incui-red, the mistakes he first fell into 
 and then coiTected, I should have been far more tedious and 
 intolerable still ; and now I am again under weigh, with easy 
 canvas, but over a calm sea, and under a sky but slightly 
 clouded. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Harrington's ford. 
 
 CONYERS had scarcely finished his reading when he was 
 startled by the galloping of horses under his window ; so 
 close, indeed, did they come that they seemed to shake the 
 little cottage with their tramp. He looked out, but they 
 had already swept past, and were hidden from his view by 
 the copse that shut out the river. At the same iustaut he 
 heard the confused sound of many voices, and what sounded 
 to him like the plash of horses in the stream. 
 
 Urged by a strong curiosity, he hurried downstairs and 
 made straight for the river by a path that led through the 
 trees ; but before he could emerge from the cover he heard 
 cries of "Not there! not there! Lower down!" "No, 
 no ! up higher ! up higher ! Head up the stream, or you '11 
 be caught in the gash!" "Don't hurry; you've time 
 enough ! " 
 
 When he gained the bank, it was to see three horsemen, 
 who seemed to be cheering, or, as it might be, warning a 
 young girl who, mounted on a powerful black horse, was 
 deep in the stream, and evidently endeavoring to cross it. 
 Her hat hung on the back of her neck by its ribbon, and her 
 hair had also fallen down ; but one glance was enough to 
 show that she was a consummate horsewoman, and whose 
 courage was equal to her skill ; for while steadily keeping 
 her horse's head to the swift current, she was careful not to 
 control him overmuch, or impede the free action of his 
 powers. Heeding, as it seemed, very little the counsels or 
 warnings showered on her by the bystanders, not one of 
 whom, to Conyers's intense amazement, had ventured to 
 accompany her, she urged her horse steadily forward. 
 
BARRINGTON'S FORD. 137 
 
 "Don't hurry, — take it easy!" called out one of the 
 horsemen, as he looked at his watch. " You have fifty- 
 three minutes left, and it's all turf." 
 
 '' She '11 do it, — I know she will ! " " She '11 lose, — she 
 must lose!" "It's ten miles to Foynes Gap!" "It's 
 more!" "It's less!" "There! — see! — she's in, by 
 Jove ! she 's in ! " These varying comments were now ar- 
 rested by the intense interest of the moment, the horse hav- 
 ing impatiently plunged into a deep pool, and struck out to 
 swim with all the violent exertion of an affrighted animal. 
 " Keep his head up ! " " Let him free, quite free ! " " Get 
 your foot clear of the stirrup ! " cried out the bystanders, 
 while in lower tones they muttered, " She would cross 
 here ! " " It's all her own fault ! " Just at this instant she 
 turned in her saddle, and called out something which, 
 drowned in the rush of the river, did not reach them. 
 
 "Don't you see," cried Conyers, passionately, for his 
 temper could no longer endure the impassive attitude of 
 this on-looking, "one of the reins is broken, her bridle is 
 smashed ? " 
 
 And, without another word, he sprang into the river, 
 partly wading, partly swimming, and soon reached the place 
 where the horse, restrained by one rein alone, swam in a 
 small circle, fretted by restraint and maddened b}^ inability 
 to resist. 
 
 "Leave him to me, — let go your rein," said Conyers, as 
 he grasped the bridle close to the bit ; and the animal, ac- 
 cepting the guidance, suffered himself to be led quietly till 
 he reached the shallow. Once there, he bounded wildly for- 
 ward, and, splashing through the current, leaped up the bank, 
 where he was immediately caught by the others. 
 
 By the time Conyers had gained the land, the girl had 
 quitted her saddle and entered the cottage, never so much 
 as once turning a look on him who had rescued her. Tf he 
 could not help feeling mortified at this show of indififerenop, 
 he was not less puzzled by the manner of the others, wh'>, 
 perfectly careless of his dripping condition, discupsed 
 amongst themselves how the bridle broke, and what might 
 have happened if the leather had proved tougher. 
 
 "It's always the way with her," muttered one, sulkily. 
 
"\". 
 
 138 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 " I told her to ride the niateb in a ring-snaffle, but she 's a 
 mule iu obstinacy ! She 'd have won easily — ay, with five 
 minutes to spare — if she'd have crossed at Nuusford. I 
 passed there last week without wetting a girth." 
 
 "She'll not thank you, young gentleman, whoever you 
 are," said the oldest of the party, turning to Conyers, "for 
 your gallantry. She '11 only remember you as having helped 
 her to lose a wager ! " 
 
 "That's true! " cried another. "I never got as much as 
 thank you for catching her horse one day at Lyrath, though 
 it threw me out of the whole run afterwards." 
 'And this was a wager, then? " said Conyers. 
 Yes. An English officer that is stopping at Sir 
 Charles's said yesterday that nobody could ride from 
 Lowe's Folly to Foynes as the crow flies; and four of us 
 took him up — twenty- five pounds apiece — that Polly Dill 
 would do it, — and against time, too, — an hour and forty." 
 
 "On a horse of mine," chimed in another, — "Bayther- 
 shini" 
 
 "I must say it does not tell very well for your chivalry in 
 these parts," said Conyers, angrily. "Could no one be 
 found to do the match without risking a young girl's life 
 on it?" 
 
 A very hearty burst of merriment met this speech, and the 
 elder of the party rejoined, — 
 
 "You must be very new to this country, or you'd not 
 have said that, sir. There 's not a man in the hunt could 
 get as much out of a horse as that girl." 
 
 "Not to say," added another, with a sly laugh, "that the 
 Englishman gave five to one against her when he heard she 
 was going to ride." 
 
 Disgusted by what he could not but regard as a most dis- 
 gi-aceful wager, Conyers turned away, and walked into the 
 house. 
 
 "Go and change your clothes as fast as you can," said 
 Miss Barrington, as she met him in the porch. "I am quite 
 provoked you should have wetted your feet in such a cause." 
 
 It was no time to ask for explanations ; and Conyers hur- 
 ried away to his room, marvelling much at what he had 
 heard, but even more astonished by the attitude of cool and 
 
BARRINGTON'S FORD. 139 
 
 easy indifference as to what might have imperilled a human 
 life. He had often heard of the reckless habits and absurd 
 extravagances of Irish life, but he fancied that they apper- 
 tained to a time long past, and that society had gradually 
 assumed the tone and the temper of the English. Then he 
 began to wonder to what class in life these persons be- 
 longed. The girl, so well as he could see, was certainly 
 handsome, and appeared ladylike ; and yet, why had she not 
 even by a word acknowledged the service he rendered her? 
 And lastl}', what could old Miss Barringtou mean by that 
 scornful speech? These were all great puzzles to him, and 
 like many great puzzles only the more embarrassing the 
 more they were thought over. 
 
 The sound of voices drew him now to the window, and he 
 saw one of the riding-party in converse with Darby at the 
 door. They talked in a low tone together, and laughed; 
 and then the horseman, chucking a half-crown towards 
 Darby, said aloud, — 
 
 " And tell her that we '11 send the boat down for her as soon 
 as we get back." 
 
 Darby touched his hat gratefully, and was about to retire 
 within the house when he caught sight of Conyers at the 
 window. He waited till the rider had turned the angle of 
 the road, and then said, — 
 
 "That 's Mr. St. George. They used to call him the 
 Slasher, he killed so many in duels long ago; but he *s like 
 a lamb now." 
 
 "And the young lady ? " 
 
 "The young lady is it! " said Darby, with the air of one 
 not exactly concurring in the designation. "She's old 
 Dill's daughter, the doctor that attends you." 
 
 "What was it all about? " 
 
 "It was a bet they made with an English captain this 
 morning that she 'd ride from Lowe's Folly to the Gap in an 
 hour and a half. The Captain took a hundred on it, because 
 he thought she'd have to go round by the bridge; and they 
 pretinded the same, for they gave all kinds of directions 
 about clearing the carts out of the road, for it 's market-day 
 at Thomastown ; and away went the Captain as hard as he 
 could, to be at the bridge first, to ' time her,' as she passed. 
 
140 BARRINGTON. 
 
 But he has won the money ! " sighed he, for the thought of 
 so much Irish coin going into a Saxon pocket completely 
 overcame him; "and what's more," added he, "the gentle- 
 man says it was all your fault ! " 
 
 "All my fault!" cried Couyers, indignantly. "All my 
 fault! Do they imagine that I either knew or cared for their 
 trumpery wager! I saw a girl struggling in a danger from 
 which not one of them had the manliness to rescue her I " 
 
 "Oh, take my word for it," burst in Darby, "it's not 
 courage they want! " 
 
 "Then it is something far better than even courage, and 
 I'd like to tell them so." 
 
 And he turned away as much disgusted with Darby as 
 with the rest of his countrymen. Now, all the anger that 
 filled his breast was not in reality provoked by the want of 
 gallantry that he condemned ; a portion, at least, was owing 
 to the marvellous indifference the young lady had manifested 
 to her preserver. Was peril such an every-day incident of 
 Irish life that no one cared for it, or was gratitude a quality 
 not cultivated in this strange land ? Such were the puzzles 
 that tormented him as he descended to the drawing-room. 
 
 As he opened the door, he heard Miss Barrington's voice, 
 in a tone which he rightly guessed to be reproof, and caught 
 the words, "Just as unwise as it is unbecoming," when he 
 entered. 
 
 "Mr. Conyers, Miss Dill," said the old lady, stiffly; "the 
 young gentleman who saved you, the heroine you rescued! " 
 The two allocutions wei-e delivered with a gesture towards 
 each. To cover a moment of extreme awkwardness, Con- 
 yers blundered out something about being too happy, and a 
 slight service, and a hope of no ill consequences to herself. 
 
 "Have no fears on that score, sir," broke in Miss Dinah. 
 "Manly young ladies are the hardiest things in nature. 
 They are as insensible to danger as they are to — " She 
 stopped, and grew crimson, partly from anger and partly 
 from the unspoken word that had almost escaped her. 
 
 "Nay, madam," said Polly, quietly, "I am really very 
 much 'ashamed.'" And, simple as the words were. Miss 
 Barrington felt the poignancy of their application to herself, 
 and her hand trembled over the embroidery she was working. 
 
BARRIXGTOX'S FORD. 141 
 
 She tried to appear calm, but in vain; her color came and 
 went, and the stitches, in spite of her, grew irregular; so 
 that, after a moment's struggle, she pushed the frame awaj, 
 and left the room. While this very brief and painful inci- 
 dent was passing, Conyers was wondering to himself how 
 the dashing horsewoman, with flushed cheek, flashing eye, 
 and dishevelled hair, could possibly be the quiet, demure 
 girl, with a downcast look, and almost Quaker-like sim- 
 plicity of demeanor. It is but fair to add, though he him- 
 self did not discover it, that the contributions of Miss 
 Dinah's wardrobe, to which poor Polly was reduced for 
 dress, were not exactly of a nature to heighten her personal 
 attractions; nor did a sort of short jacket, and a very much 
 beflounced petticoat, set off the girl's figure to advantage. 
 Polly never raised her eyes from the work she was sewing as 
 Miss Barrington withdrew, but, in a low, gentle voice, said, 
 *'It was very good of you, sir, to come to my rescue, but 
 you mustn't thiuk ill of my countrymen for not having 
 done so; they had given their word of honor not to lead 
 a fence, nor open a sate, nor, in fact, aid me in any 
 way." 
 
 "So that, if they could win their wager, your peril was of 
 little matter," broke he in. 
 
 She gave a little low, quiet laugh, perhaps as much at the 
 energy as at the words of his speech. "After all," said she, 
 "a wetting is no great misfortune; the worst punishment 
 of my offence was one that I never contemplated." 
 
 "What do you mean? " asked he. 
 
 "Doing penance for it in this costume," said she, draw- 
 ing out the stiff folds of an old brocaded silk, and display- 
 ing a splendor of flowers that might have graced a peacock's 
 tail ; '■ I never so much as dreamed of this ! " 
 
 There was something so comic in the way she conve3'ed 
 her distress that he laughed outright. She joined him ; and 
 they were at once at their ease together. 
 
 "I think Miss Barrington called you Mr. Conyers," said 
 she; "and if so, I have the happiness of feeling that my 
 gratitude is bestowed where already there has been a large 
 instalment of the sentiment. It is you who have been so 
 generous and so kind to nn^ poor brother." 
 
142 BARRINGTON. 
 
 *'Has he told you, then, what we have been planning 
 together?" 
 
 "He has told me all that you had planned out for him," 
 said she, with a very gracious smile, which very slightly 
 colored her cheek, and gave great softness to her expression. 
 "My only fear was that the poor boy should have lost his 
 head completely, and perhaps exaggerated to himself your 
 intentions towards him; for, after all, I can scarcely 
 think — " 
 
 " What is it that you can scarcely think ? " asked he, after 
 a long pause. 
 
 "Not to say," resumed she, unheeding his question, "that 
 I cannot imagine how this came about. What could have 
 led him to tell you — a perfect stranger to him — his hopes 
 and fears, his struggles and his sorrows? How could you 
 — by what magic did you inspire him with that trustful 
 confidence which made him open his whole heart before you? 
 Poor Tom, who never before had any confessor than 
 myself!." 
 
 "Shall I tell you how it came about? It was talking of 
 you ! " 
 
 "Of me! talking of me!" and her cheek now flushed 
 more deeply. 
 
 "Yes, we had rambled on over fifty themes, not one of 
 which seemed to attach him strongly, till, in some passing 
 allusion to his own cares and difficulties, he mentioned one 
 who has never ceased to guide and comfort him ; who shared 
 not alone his sorrows, but his hard hours of labor, and 
 turned away from her own pleasant paths to tread the dreary 
 road of toil beside him." 
 
 "I think he might have kept all this to himself," said 
 she, with a tone of almost severity. 
 
 "How could he? How was it possible to tell me his 
 story, and not touch upon what imparted the few tints of 
 better fortune that lighted it? I 'm certain, besides, that 
 there is a sort of pride in revealing how much of sympathy 
 and affection we have derived from those better than our- 
 selves, and I could see that he was actually vain of what 
 you had done for him." 
 
 "I repeat, he might have kept this to himself. But let us 
 
BARRLN^GTOX'S FORD. 143 
 
 leave this matter; and now tell me, — for I own I can 
 hardly trust my poor brother's triumphant tale, — tell me 
 seriously what the plan is ? " 
 
 Conyers hesitated for a few seconds, embarrassed how to 
 avoid mention of himself, or to allude but passingly to his 
 own share in the project. At last, as though deciding to 
 dash boldly into the question, he said, "I told him, if he 'd 
 go out to India, I 'd give him such a letter to my father 
 that his fortune would be secure. My governor is some- 
 thing of a swell out there," — and he reddened, partly in 
 shame, partly in pride, as he tried to disguise his feeling 
 by an affectation of ease, — "and that with him, for a friend, 
 Tom would be certain of success. You smile at my confi- 
 dence, but you don't know India, and what scores of fine 
 things are — so to say — to be had for asking ; and although 
 doctoring is all very well, there are fifty other ways to 
 make a fortune faster. Tom could be a Receiver of Revenue ; 
 he might be a Political Resident. You don't know what 
 they get. There 's a fellow at Baroda has four thousand 
 rupees a month, and I don't know how much more for dak- 
 money." 
 
 "I can't help smiling," said she, "at the notion of poor 
 Tom in a palanquin. But, seriously, sir, is all this pos- 
 sible? or might it not be feared that your father, when he 
 came to see my brother — who, with many a worthy quality, 
 has not much to prepossess in his favor, — when, I say, he 
 came to see your protege^ is it not likely that he might — 
 might — hold him more cheaply than you do? " 
 
 "Not when he presents a letter from me; not when it's I 
 that have taken him up. You '11 believe me, perhaps, when 
 I tell you what happened when I was but ten years old. 
 We w^ere up at Rangoon, in the Hills, when a dreadful hur- 
 ricane swept over the country, destroj'ing everything before 
 it; rice, paddy, the indigo-crop, all were carried awaj', and 
 the poor people left totally destitute. A subscription-list 
 was handed about amongst the British residents, to afford 
 some aid in the calamity, and it was my tutor, a native 
 Moonshee, who went about to collect the sums. One 
 morning he came back somewhat disconsolate at his want 
 of success. A payment of eight thousand rupees had to be 
 
144 BARKINGTON. 
 
 made for grain on that day, and he had not, as he hoped 
 and expected, the money ready. He talked freely to me 
 of his disappointment, so that, at last, my feelings being 
 worked upon, I took up my pen and wrote down my name 
 on the list, with the sum of eight thousand rupees to it. 
 Shocked at what he regarded as an act of levity, he carried 
 the paper to my father, who at once said, ' Fred wrote it; 
 his name shall not be dishonored;' and the money was 
 paid. I ask you, now, am I reckoning too much on one who 
 could do that, and for a mere child too? " 
 
 "That was nobly done," said she, with enthusiasm; and 
 though Conyers went on, with warmth, to tell more of his 
 father's generous nature, she seemed less to listen than to 
 follow out some thread of her own reflections. Was it 
 some speculation as to the temperament the son of such a 
 father might possess? or was it some pleasurable revery 
 regarding one who might do any extravagance and yet be 
 forgiven? My reader may guess this, perhaps, — I cannot. 
 "Whatever her speculation, it lent a very charming expres- 
 sion to her features, — that air of gentle, tranquil happiness 
 we like to believe the lot of guileless, simple natures. 
 
 Conyers, like many young men of his order, was very 
 fond of talking of himself, of his ways, his habits, and his 
 temper, and she listened to him very prettily, — so prettily, 
 indeed, that when Darby, slyly peeping in at the half- 
 opened door, announced that the boat had come, he felt 
 well inclined to pitch the messenger into the stream. 
 
 "I must go and say good-bye to Miss Barriugton," said 
 Polly, rising. "I hope that this rustling finery will impart 
 some dignity to my demeanor." And drawing wide the 
 massive folds, she made a very deep courtesy, throwing 
 back her head haughtily as she resumed her height in 
 admirable imitation of a bygone school of manners. 
 
 "Very well, — very well, indeed! Quite as like what it 
 is meant for as is Miss Polly Dill for the station she coun- 
 terfeits ! " said Miss Dinah, as, throwing wide the door, she 
 stood before them. 
 
 "I am overwhelmed by your flattery, madam," said Polly, 
 who, though very red, lost none of her self-possession; "but 
 I feel that, like the traveller who tried on Charlemagne's 
 
BARRINGTON'S FORD. 
 
 145 
 
 armor, I am far more equal to combat in my every-day 
 clothes." 
 
 "Do not enter the lists with me in either," said Miss 
 Dinah, with a look of the haughtiest insolence. "Mr. 
 Conyers, will you let me show you my flower-garden ? " 
 
 "Delighted! But I will first see Miss Dill to her boat." 
 "As you please, sir," said the old lady; and she with- 
 drew with a proud toss of her head that was very unmistak- 
 able in its import. 
 
 "What a severe correction that was!" said Polly, half 
 gayly, as she went along, leaning on his arm. "And you 
 know that, whatever my offending, there was no mimicry 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
146 BARRINGTON. 
 
 in it. I was simply tbiuking of some great-graudmotber 
 wbo bad, perbaps, captivated tbe beroes of Dettiugeu ; aud, 
 talking of beroes, bow courageous of you to come to my 
 rescue ! " 
 
 AVas it tbat ber arm only trembled sligbtly, or did it 
 really press gently ou bis own as sbe said tbis? Certainly 
 Conyers inclined to tbe latter bypotbesis, for be drew ber 
 more closely to bis side, and said, " Of course I stood by 
 you. Sbe was all in tbe wrong, and I mean to tell ber so." 
 
 "Not if you would serve me," said sbe, eagerly. "I 
 bave paid tbe penalty, and I strongly object to be sen- 
 tenced again. Ob, bere 's tbe boat! " 
 
 "Wby it's a mere skiff. Are you safe to trust yourself 
 in sucb a tbing?" asked be, for tbe canoe-sbaped "cot" 
 was new to bim. 
 
 "Of course!" said sbe, ligbtly stepping in. "Tbere is 
 even room for anotber." Tben, bastily cbanging ber tbeme, 
 sbe asked, " May I tell poor Tom wbat you bave said to me, 
 or is it just possible tbat you will come up one of tbese days 
 and see us ? " 
 
 " If I migbt be permitted — " 
 
 " Too mucb bonor for us ! " said sbe, with such a capital 
 imitation of bis voice and manner that he bui'st into a laugh 
 in spite of himself. 
 
 "Mayhap Miss Barnngton was not so far wrong: after 
 all, you are a terrible mimic." 
 
 "Is it a promise, tben? Am I to say to my brother you 
 will come?" said she, seriously. 
 
 "Faithfully! " said he, waving his hand, for the boatmen 
 had already got tbe skiff under weigh, and were sending 
 her along like an arrow from a bow. 
 
 Polly turned and kissed her band to him, and Conyers 
 muttered something over his own stupidity for not being 
 beside her, and tben turned sulkily back towards tbe cottage. 
 A few hours ago and he bad thought he could have passed 
 bis life here; tbere was a charm in tbe unbroken tranquillity 
 tbat seemed to satisfy tbe longings of his heart, and now, 
 all of a sudden, tbe place appeared desolate. Have you 
 never, dear reader, felt, in gazing on some fair landscape, 
 with mountain and stream and forest before you, that the 
 
BARRINGTON'S FORD. 147 
 
 scene was perfect, wanting nothing in form or tone or 
 color, till suddenly a ilash of strong sunlight from behind a 
 cloud lit up some spot with a glorious lustre, to fade away 
 as quickly into the cold tint it had worn before? Have you 
 not felt then, I say, that the picture had lost its marvellous 
 attraction, and that the very soul of its beauty had de- 
 parted ? In vain you try to recall the past impression ; your 
 memory will mourn over the lost, and refuse to be com- 
 forted. And so it is often in life: the momentary charm 
 that came unexpectedly can become all in all to our imagi- 
 nations, and its departure leave a blank, like a death, 
 behind it. 
 
 Nor was he altogether satisfied with Miss Barrington. 
 The "old woman" — alas! for his gallantry, it was so that 
 he called her to himself — was needlessly severe. Why 
 should a mere piece of harmless levity be so visited ? At 
 all events, he felt certain that he himself would have 
 shown a more generous spirit. Indeed, when Polly had 
 quizzed him, he took it all good-naturedl}', and by thus 
 turning his thoughts to his natural goodness and the merits 
 of his character, he at length grew somewhat more well- 
 disposed to the world at large. He knew he was naturally 
 forgiving, and he felt he was very generous. Scores of 
 fellows, bred up as he was, would have been perfectly 
 unendurable; they would have presumed on their position, 
 and done this, that, and t' other. Not one of them would 
 have dreamed of taking up a poor ungainly bumpkin, a 
 country doctor's cub, and making a man of him; not one of 
 them would have had the heart to conceive or the energ}' to 
 carry out such a project. And yet this he would do, Polly 
 herself, sceptical as she was, should be brought to admit 
 tliat he had kept his word. Selfish fellows would limit 
 their plans to their own engagements, and weak fellows 
 could be laughed out of their intentions; but he flattered 
 himself that he was neither of these, and it was really for- 
 tunate that the world should see how little spoiled a fine 
 nature could be, though surrounded with all the temptations 
 that are supposed to be dangerous. 
 
 In this happy frame — for he was now happy — he re- 
 entered the cottage. "What a coxcomb! " will say my 
 
148 BAllRIXGTON. 
 
 reader. Be it so. But it was a coxcomb who wanted to be 
 soinethiug better. 
 
 Miss Barriugton met him in the porch, not a trace of her 
 late displeasure on her face, but with a pleasant smile she 
 said, "I have just got a few lines from my brother. He 
 writes in excellent spirits, for he has gained a lawsuit; 
 not a very important case, but it puts us in a position to 
 carry out a little project we are full of. He will be here by 
 Saturday, and hopes to bring with him an old and valued 
 friend, the Attornej^-General, to spend a few days with us. 
 I am, therefore, able to promise you an ample recompense 
 for all the loneliness of your present life. I have cautiously 
 abstained from telling my brother who you are ; I keep the 
 delightful surprise for the moment of your meeting. Your 
 name, though associated with some sad memories, will 
 bring him back to the happiest period of his life." 
 
 Conyers made some not very intelligible reply about his 
 reluctance to impose himself on them at such a time, but 
 she stopped him with a good-humored smile, and said, — 
 
 "Your father's son should know that where a Barriugton 
 lived he had a home, — not to say you have already paid 
 some of the tribute of this homeliness, and seen me very 
 cross and ill-tempered. Well, let us not speak of that now. 
 I have 3'our word to remain here." And she left him to 
 attend to her household cares, while he sti'olled into the 
 garden, half amused, half embarrassed by all the strange 
 and new interests that had grown up so suddenly around 
 him. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 
 
 Whether from simple caprice, or that Lady Cobham desired 
 to mark her disapprobation of Polly Dill's share in the late 
 wager, is uot open to me to say, but the festivities at Cob- 
 ham were not, on that day, graced or enlivened by her pi-es- 
 ence. If the comments on her absence were brief, they were 
 pungent, and some wise reflections, too, were uttered as to 
 the dangers that must inevitably attend all attempts to lift 
 people into a sphere above their own. Poor human nature ! 
 that unluck}^ culprit who is flogged for everything and for 
 everybody, bore the brunt of these severities, and it was 
 declared that Poll}^ had done what any other girl " in her 
 rank of life " might have done ; and this being settled, the 
 company went to luncheon, their appetites none the worse 
 for the small auto-da-fe they had just celebrated. 
 
 "You'd have lost your money. Captain," whispered 
 Ambrose Bushe to Stapylton, as they stood talking together 
 in a window recess, ' ' if that gu'l had only taken the river 
 three hundred yards higher up. Even as it was, she 'd have 
 breasted her horse at the bank if the bridle had not given 
 way. I suppose you have seen the place?" 
 
 " I regret to say I have not. They tell me it 's one of the 
 strongest rapids in the river." 
 
 " Let me describe it to you," replied he ; and at once set 
 about a picture in which certainly no elements of peril were 
 forgotten, and all the dangers of rocks and rapids were given 
 with due emphasis. Stapylton seemed to listen with fitting 
 attention, throwing out the suitable "Indeed! is it possi- 
 ble ! " and such-like interjections, his mind, however, by no 
 means absorbed by the narrative, but dwelling solely on a 
 chance name that had dropped from the narrator. 
 
150 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " You called the place ' Barrington's Ford,' " said he, at 
 last. "Who is Barrington ? " 
 
 "As good a gentleman by blood and descent as any in 
 this room, but now reduced to keep a little wayside inn, — 
 the ' Fisherman's Home,' it is called. All come of a spend- 
 thrift son, who went out to India, and ran through every 
 acre of the property before he died." 
 
 " What a strange vicissitude! And is the old man much 
 broken by it ? " 
 
 " Some would say he was ; my opinion is, that he bears up 
 wonderfully. Of course, to me, he never makes any men- 
 tion of the past ; but while my father lived, he would fre- 
 quently talk to him over bygones, and liked nothing better 
 than to speak of his son, Mad George as they called him, 
 and tell all his wildest exploits and most harebrained 
 achievements. But you have served 3'ourself in India. 
 Have 3'ou never heard of George Barrington ? " 
 
 Stapylton shook his head, and dryly added that India was 
 very large, and that even in one Presidency a man might 
 never hear what went on in another. 
 
 "Well, this fellow made noise enough to be heard even 
 over here. He married a native woman, and he either shook 
 off his English allegiance, or was suspected of doing so. At 
 all events, he got himself into trouble that finished him. 
 It's a long complicated story, that I have never heard 
 correctly. The upshot was, however, old Barrington was 
 sold out stick and stone, and if it was n't for the ale-house 
 he might starve." 
 
 "And his former friends and associates, do they rally 
 round him and cheer him ? " 
 
 "Not a great deal. Perhaps, however, that's as much 
 his fault as theirs. He is very proud, and very quick to 
 resent anything like consideration for his changed condition. 
 Sir Charles would have him up here, — he has tried it scores 
 of times, but all in vain ; and now he is left to two or three 
 of his neighbors, the doctor and an old half-pay major, who 
 lives on the river, and I believe really he never sees any one 
 else. Old M'Cormick knew George Barrington well; not 
 that they were friends, — two men less alike never lived ; but 
 that 's enough to make poor Peter fond of talking to him. 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 151 
 
 and telling all about some lawsuits George left him for a 
 legacy." 
 
 "This Major that you speak of, does he visit here? I 
 don't remember to have seen him." 
 
 "M'Cormiek!" said the other, laughing. "No, he's a 
 miserly old fellow that has n't a coat fit to go out in, and 
 he 's no loss to any one. It 's as much as old Peter Bar- 
 rington can do to bear his shabby ways, and his cranky 
 temper, but he puts up with everything because he knew 
 his son George. That 's quite enough for old Peter ; and 
 if you were to go over to the cottage, and say, ' I met 
 your son up in Bombay or Madras ; we were quartered 
 together at Ram-something-or-other,' he 'd tell you the place 
 was your own, to stop at as long as you liked, and your 
 home for life." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Stapylton, affecting to feel interested, 
 while he followed out the course of his own thoughts. 
 
 "Not that the Major could do even that much!" con- 
 tinued Bushe, who now believed that he had found an eager 
 listener. "There was only one thing in this world he'd 
 like to talk about, — Walcheren. Go how or when 3'ou liked, 
 or where or for what, — no matter, it was Walcheren you 'd 
 get, and nothing else." 
 
 " Somewhat tiresome this, I take it ! " 
 
 " Tiresome is no name for it ! And I don't know a 
 stronger proof of old Peter's love for his son's memory, 
 than that, for the sake of hearing about him, he can sit and 
 listen to the ' expedition.' " 
 
 There was a half-unconscious mimicry in the way he gave 
 the last word that showed how the Major's accents had 
 eaten their way into his sensibilities. 
 
 " Your portrait of this Major is not tempting," said 
 Stapylton, smiling. 
 
 "Why would it? He's eighteen or twenty years in the 
 neighborhood, and I never heard that he said a kind word 
 or did a generous act by any one. But I get cross if I talk 
 of him. Where are you going this morning? Will you 
 come up to the Long Callows and look at the yearlings? 
 The Admiral is very proud of his young stock, and he thinks 
 he has some of the best bone and blood in Ireland there at 
 this moment." 
 
152 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 "Thanks, no; I have some notion of a long walk this 
 morning. 1 take shame to myself for having seen so little 
 of the country here since I came that I mean to repair my 
 fault and go off on a sort of voyage of discovery." 
 
 " Follow the river from Brown's Barn down to Inistioge, 
 and if you ever saw anything prettier I'm a Scotchman." 
 And with this appalling alternative, Mr. Bushe walked 
 away, and left the other to his own guidance. 
 
 Perhaps Stapylton is not the companion my reader would 
 care to stroll with, even along the grassy path beside that 
 laughing river, with spray-like larches bending overhead, 
 and tender water-lilies streaming, like pennants, in the fast- 
 running current. It may be that he or she would prefer 
 some one more impressionable to the woodland beauty of 
 the spot, and more disposed to enjoy the tranquil loveliness 
 around him ; for it is true the swarthy soldier strode on, 
 little heeding the picturesque effects which made everj' 
 succeeding reach of the river a subject for a painter. He 
 was bent on finding out where M'Cormick lived, and on 
 making the acquaintance of that bland individual. 
 
 " That 's the Major's, and there 's himself," said a country- 
 man, as he pointed to a very shabbily dressed old man 
 hoeing his cabbages in a dilapidated bit of garden-ground, 
 but who was so absorbed in his occupation as not to notice 
 the approach of a stranger. 
 
 " Am I taking too great a liberty," said Stapylton, as he 
 raised his hat, "if I ask leave to follow the river path 
 through this lovely spot ? " 
 
 ''Eh — what? — how did you come? You didn't pass 
 round by the young wheat, eh?" asked M'Cormick, in his 
 most querulous voice. 
 
 " I came along by the margin of the river." 
 
 "That's just it!" broke in the other. "There's no 
 keeping them out that way. But I '11 have a dog as sure as 
 my name is Dan. I'll have a bull-terrier that'll tackle the 
 first of you that's trespassing there." 
 
 "I fancy I'm addressing Major M'Cormick," said 
 Stapylton, never noticing this rude speech; "and if so, I 
 will ask him to accord me the privilege of a brother-soldier, 
 and let me make myself known to him, — Captain Stapylton, 
 of the Prince's Hussars." 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 153 
 
 "By the wars!" muttered old Dan; the exclamation 
 being a favorite one with him to express astonishment 
 at any startling event. Then recovering himself, he added, 
 " I think I heard there were three or four of ye stopping up 
 there at Cobham ; but I never go out myself anywhere. I 
 live very retired down here." 
 
 "I am not surprised at that. When an old soldier can 
 nestle down in a lovely nook like this, he has very little 
 to regret of what the world is busy about outside it." 
 
 "And they are all ruining themselves, besides," said 
 M'Cormick, with one of his malicious grins. "There 's not 
 a man in this county is n't mortgaged over head and ears. I 
 can count them all on my fingers for 3'ou, and tell what they 
 have to live on." 
 
 "You amaze me," said Stapylton, with a show of interest. 
 
 "And the women are as bad as the men: nothing fine 
 enough for them to wear; no jewels rich enough to put on! 
 Did you ever hear them mention vie ? " asked he, suddenly, 
 as though the thought flashed upon him that he had himself 
 been exposed to comment of a very different kind. 
 
 "They told me of an old retired officer, who owned a 
 most picturesque cottage, and said, if I remember aright, 
 that the view from one of the windows was accounted one 
 of the most perfect bits of river landscape in the kingdom." 
 
 "Just the same as where you 're standing, — no difference 
 in life," said M'Cormick, who was not to be seduced by 
 the flattery into any demonstration of hospitality. 
 
 "I cannot imagine anything finer," said Stapylton, as he 
 threw himself at the foot of a tree, and seemed really to 
 revel in enjoyment of the scene. "One might, perhaps, if 
 disposed to be critical, ask for a little opening in that 
 copse yonder. I suspect we should get a peep at the bold 
 cliff whose summit peers above the tree- tops." 
 
 "You'd see the quarry, to be sure," croaked out the 
 Major, "if that's what you mean." 
 
 "May I offer you a cigar?" said Stapj^ltou, whose self- 
 possession was pushed somewhat hard by the other. " An 
 old campaigner is sure to be a smoker." 
 
 '• I am not. I never had a pipe in my mouth since "VYal- 
 cberen." 
 
154 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 "Since Walcheren! You dou't say that j'ou are an old 
 Walcberen man ? " 
 
 "I am, indeed. I was in the second battalion of the 103d, 
 — the Duke's Fusiliers, if ever you heard of them." 
 
 "Heard of them! The whole world has heard of them; 
 but I didn't know there was a man of that splendid corps 
 surviving. Why, they lost — let me see — they lost every 
 officer but — " Here a vigorous effort to keep his cigar 
 alight interposed, and kept him occupied for a few seconds. 
 "How many did you bring out of action, — four was it, or 
 five? I 'm certain you had n't six! " 
 
 "We were the same as the Buffs, man for man," said 
 M'Cormick. 
 
 "The poor Buffs! — very gallant fellows too!" sighed 
 Stapylton. "I have always maintained, and I always will 
 maintain, that the Walcheren expedition, though not a 
 success, Avas the proudest achievement of the British arms." 
 
 "The shakes always began after sunrise, and in less than 
 ten minutes you 'd see your nails growing blue." 
 
 "How dreadful!" 
 
 "And if you felt your nose, you wouldn't know it was 
 your nose; you 'd think it was a bit of a cold carrot." 
 
 "Why was that?" 
 
 "Because there was no circulation; the blood would stop 
 going round ; and you 'd be that way for four hours, — till 
 the sweating took you, — just the same as dead." 
 
 "There, don't go on, — I can't stand it, — my nerves are 
 all ajar already." 
 
 "And then the cramps came on," continued M'Cormick, 
 in an ecstasy over a listener whose feelings he could harrow ; 
 "first in the calves of the legs, and then all along the spine, 
 so that you 'd be bent like a fish." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, spare me! I've seen some rough 
 Avork, but that description of j'ours is perfectly horrifying! 
 And when one thinks it was the glorious old 105th — " 
 
 "No, the 103d; the 105th was at Barbadoes," broke in 
 the Major, testily. 
 
 "So they were, and got their share of the yellow fever at 
 that very time too," said Stapylton, hazarding a not very 
 rash conjecture. 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 155 
 
 "Maybe they did, and maybe they didu't," was the dry 
 rejoinder- 
 It required all Stapylton's nice tact to get the Major once 
 more full swing at the expedition, but he at last accom- 
 plished the feat, and with such success that M'Cormick sug- 
 gested an adjournment within doors, and faintly hinted at a 
 possible something to drink. The wily guest, however, 
 declined this. "He liked," he said, "that nice breezy spot 
 under those fine old trees, and with that glorious reach of 
 the river before them. Could a man but join to these enjoy- 
 ments," he continued, "just a neighbor or two, — an old 
 friend or so that he really liked, — one not alone agreeable 
 from his tastes, but to whom the link of early companion- 
 ship also attached us, with this addition I could call this a 
 paradise." 
 
 "Well, I have the village doctor," croaked out M'Cor- 
 mick, "and there's Barrington — old Peter — up at the 
 'Fisherman's Home.' I have them by way of society. I 
 might have better, and I might have worse." 
 
 "They told me at Cobham that there was no getting you to 
 ' go out; ' that, like a regular old soldier, you liked your own 
 chimney-corner, and could not be tempted away from it." 
 
 "They didn't try very hard, anyhow," said he, harshly. 
 "I '11 be nineteen years here if I live till November, and 
 I think I got two invitations, and one of them to a ' dancing 
 tea,' whatever that is; so that you may observe they did n't 
 push the temptation as far as St. Anthony's! " 
 
 Stapylton joined in the laugh with which M'Cormick 
 welcomed his own drollery. 
 
 "Your doctor," resumed he, "is, I presume, the father of 
 the pretty girl who rides so cleverly? " 
 
 "So they tell me. I never saw her mounted but once, 
 and she smashed a melon-frame for me, and not so much 
 as ' I ask your pardon! ' afterwards." 
 
 "And Barrington," resumed Stapylton, "is the ruined 
 gentleman I have heard of, who has turned innkeeper. An 
 extravagant son, I believe, finished him ? " 
 
 "His own taste for law cost him just as much," muttered 
 M'Cormick. "He had a trunk full of old title-deeds and 
 bonds and settlements, and he was always poring over 
 
156 BARRINGTON. 
 
 them, discovering, bj' the way, flaws in this and omissions 
 in that, and then he 'd draw np a case for counsel, and get 
 consultations on it, and before you could turn round, there 
 he was, trying to break a will or get out of a covenant, with 
 a special jury and the strongest Bar in Ireland. That 's 
 what ruined him." 
 
 "I gather from what you tell me that he is a bold, deter- 
 mined, and perhaps a vindictive man. Am I right?' 
 
 ''You are not; he's an easy- tempered fellow, and care- 
 less, like every one of his name and race. If you said he 
 hadn't a wise head on his shoulders, you 'd be nearer the 
 mark. Look what he 's going to do now! " cried he, warm- 
 ing with his theme: "he 's going to give up the inn — " 
 
 " Give it up ! And why ? " 
 
 "Ay, that's the question would puzzle him to answer; 
 but it 's the haughty old sister persuades him that he ought 
 to take this black girl — George Barrington's daughter — 
 home to live with him, and that a shebeen is n't the place to 
 bring her to, and she a negress. That 's more of the famil}' 
 wisdom ! " 
 
 "There may be affection in it. " 
 
 "Affection! For what, — for a black! Ay, and a black 
 that they never set eyes on ! If it was old AVithering had 
 the affection for her, I wouldn't be surprised." 
 
 "What do you mean? Who is he? " 
 
 "The Attorney-General, who has been fighting the East 
 India Company for her these sixteen years, and making 
 more money out of the case than she '11 ever get back again. 
 Did you ever hear of Barrington and Lot Rammadahn Mohr 
 against the India Company? That's the case. Twelve 
 millions of rupees and the interest on them ! And I believe 
 in my heart and soul old Peter would be well out of it for 
 a thousand pounds." 
 
 "That is, you suspect he must be beaten in the end? " 
 
 "I mean that I am sure of it! We have a saying in Ire- 
 land, ' It 's not fair for one man to fall on twenty,' and it 's 
 just the same thing to go to law with a great rich Company. 
 You 're sure to have the worst of it." 
 
 "Did it never occur to them to make some sort of com- 
 promise? " 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 157 
 
 "Not a bit of it. Old Peter always thinks he has the 
 game in his hand, and nothing would make him throw up 
 the cards. No; I believe if you offered to pay the stakes, 
 he 'd say, ' Play the game out, and let the winner take the 
 money ! ' " 
 
 "His lawyer may, possibly, have something to say to this 
 spirit." 
 
 "Of course he has; they are always bolstering each other 
 up. It is, ' Harrington, my boy, you '11 turn the corner yet. 
 You '11 drive up that old avenue to the house you were born 
 in, Barrington, of Barrington Hall ; ' or, ' Withering, I never 
 heard you greater than on that point before the twelve 
 Judges; ' or, ' Your last speech at Bar was finer than Curran.' 
 They 'd pass the evening that way, and call me a cantan- 
 kerous old hound when my back was turned, just because I 
 did n't hark in to the cry. Maybe I have the laugh at them, 
 after all." And he broke out into one of his most discor- 
 dant cackles to corroborate his boast. 
 
 "The sound sense and experience of an old Walcheren 
 man might have its weight with them. I know it would 
 with me." 
 
 "Ay," muttered the Major, half aloud, for he was think- 
 ing to himself whether this piece of flattery was a bait for 
 a little whiskey-and-water. 
 
 "I 'd rather have the unbought judgment of a shrewd man 
 of the world than a score of opinions based upon the quips 
 and cranks of an attorney's instructions." 
 
 "Ay!" responded the other, as he mumbled to himself, 
 "he's mighty thirsty." 
 
 "And what's more," said Stapylton, starting to his legs, 
 *'I 'd follow the one as implicitly as I'd reject the other. 
 I 'd say, ' M'Cormick is an old friend; we have known each 
 other since boyhood.' " 
 
 "No, we haven't. I never saw Peter Barrington till I 
 came to live here." 
 
 "Well, after a close friendship of years with his son — " 
 
 "Nor that, either," broke in the implacable Major. "He 
 was always cutting his jokes on me, and I never could 
 abide him, so that the close friendship you speak of is a 
 mistake." 
 
158 BAKKLNGTOIN. 
 
 "At all events," said Stapyltou, sharply, "it could be 
 no interest of yours to see an old — an old acquaintance 
 lavishing his money on lawyers and in the pursuit of the 
 most improbable of all results. Yuu have no design upon 
 him. You don't want to marry his sister! " 
 
 "No, by Gemini! " — a favorite expletive of the Major's 
 in urgent moments. 
 
 "Nor the Meer's daughter, either, I suppose?" 
 
 "The black! I think not. Not if she won the lawsuit, 
 and was as rich as — she never will be." 
 
 "I agree with you there, Major, though I know nothing 
 of the case or its merits ; but it is enough to hear that a 
 beggared squire is on one side, and Leadenhall Street on 
 the other, to predict the upshot, and, for my own part, I 
 wonder they go on with it." 
 
 "I'll tell you how it is," said M'Cormick, closing one 
 eye so as to impart a look of intense cunning to his face. 
 "It 's the same with law as at a fox-hunt: when you 're tired 
 out beating a cover, and ready to go off home, one dog — 
 very often the worst in the whole pack — will j^elp out. 
 You know well enough he 's a bad hound, and never found 
 in his life. What does that signify? When you're wish- 
 ing a thing, whatever flatters your hopes is all right, — is n't 
 that true? — and away you dash after the yelper as if he was 
 a good hound." ' 
 
 "You have put the matter most convincingly' before me." 
 
 "How thirsty he is now!" thought the Major; and 
 grinned maliciously at his reflection. 
 
 "And the upshot of all," said Stapylton, like one sum- 
 ming up a case, — "the upshot of all is, that this old man 
 is not satisfied with his ruin if it be not complete; he must 
 see the last timbers of the wreck carried away ere he leaves 
 the scene of his disaster. Strange, sad infatuation! " 
 
 "Ay," muttered the jNIajor, who really had but few sym- 
 pathies with merely moral abstractions. 
 
 "Not what I should have done in a like case; nor ijou 
 either. Major, eh?" 
 
 "Very likely not." 
 
 "But so it is. There are men who cannot be practical, 
 do what they will. This is above them." 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 159 
 
 A sort of grunt gave assent to this proposition; and 
 Stapylton, who began to feel it was a drawn game, arose to 
 take his leave. 
 
 "I owe you a very delightful morning, Major," said he. 
 "I wish I could think it was not to be the last time I 
 was to have this pleasure. Do you ever come up to Kil- 
 kenny? Does it ever occur to you to refresh your old 
 mess recollections ? " 
 
 Had M'Cormick been asked whether he did not occasion- 
 ally drop in at Holland House, and brush up his faculties 
 by intercourse with the bright spirits who resorted there, he 
 could scarcely have been more astounded. That he, old 
 Dan M'Cormick, should figure at a mess- table, — he, whose 
 wardrobe, a mere skeleton battalion thirty years ago, had 
 never since been recruited, — he should mingle with the gay 
 and splendid young fellows of a "crack" regiment! 
 
 "I'd just as soon think of — of — " he hesitated how to 
 measure an unlikelihood — "of marrying a young wife, and 
 taking her off to Paris! " 
 
 "And I don't see any absurdity in the project. There is 
 certainly a great deal of brilliancy about it! " 
 
 "And something bitter too!" croaked out M'Cormick, 
 with a fearful grin. 
 
 "Well, if you '11 not come to see me, the chances are I '11 
 come over and make t/oii another visit before I leave the 
 neighborhood." He waited a second or two, not more, for 
 some recognition of this offer; but none came, and he con- 
 tinued: "I'll get you to stroll down with me, and show me 
 this ' Fisherman's Home,' and its strange proprietor." 
 
 "Oh, I '11 do that/ " said the Major, who had no objection 
 to a plan which by no possibility could involve himself in 
 any cost. 
 
 "As it is an inn, perhaps they 'd let us have a bit of din- 
 ner. ■ What would you say to being my guest there to- 
 morrow ? Would that suit you ? " 
 
 "It would suit 7)ie well enough! " was the strongly marked 
 reply. 
 
 "Well, we '11 do it this wise. You '11 send one of your 
 people over to order dinner for two at — shall we say five 
 o'clock? — yes, five — to-morrow. That will give us a 
 
160 BARRINGTON. 
 
 longer evening, and I '11 call here for you about four. Is 
 that agreed ? " 
 
 "Yes, that might do," was M'Cormick's half-reluctant 
 assent, for, in reality, there were details in the matter that 
 he scarcely fancied. First of all, he had never hitherto 
 crossed that threshold except as an invited guest, and he 
 had his misgivings about the prudence of appearing in any 
 other character, and secondly, there was a responsibility 
 in ordering the dinner, which he liked just as little, and, as 
 he muttered to himself, "Maybe I'll have to order the bill 
 too ! " 
 
 Some unlucky experiences of casualties of this sort had, 
 perhaps, shadowed his early life; for so it was, that long 
 after Stapylton had taken his leave and gone off, the Major 
 stood there ruminating over this unpleasant contingenc}', 
 and ingeniously imagining all the pleas he could put in, 
 should his apprehension prove correct, against his own 
 indebtedness, 
 
 "Tell Miss Dinah," said he to his messenger, — "tell her 
 'tis an officer by the name of Captain Staples, or something 
 like that, that 's up at Cobham, that wants a dinner for two 
 to-morrow at five o'clock; and mind that you don't say 
 who the other is, for it 's nothing to her. And if she asks 
 you what sort of a dinner, say the best in the house, for the 
 Captain — mind you say the Captaiai — is to pay for it, and 
 the other man only dines with him. There, now, you have 
 your orders, and take care that you follow them ! " 
 
 There was a shrewd twinkle in the messenger's eye as he 
 listened, which, if not exactly complimentary, guaranteed 
 how thoroughly he comprehended the instructions that were 
 given to him ; and the Major saw him set forth on his 
 mission, well assured that he could trust his envoy. 
 
 In that nothing-for-nothing world Major M'Cormiek had 
 so long lived in, and to whose practice and ways he had 
 adapted all his thoughts, there was something puzzling in 
 the fact of a dashing Captain of Hussars of "the Prince's 
 Own," seeking him out, to form his acquaintance and invite 
 him to dinner. Now, though the selfishness of an unimagi- 
 native man is the most complete of all, it yet exposes him 
 to fewer delusions than the same quality when found allied 
 
AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 161 
 
 with a hopeful or fanciful temperament. M'Cormick had 
 no "distractions " from such sources. He thought very ill 
 of the world at large; he expected extremely little from its 
 generosit}', and he resolved to be " quits " with it. To his 
 often put question, " "What brought him here? — what did he 
 come for?" he could find no satisfactory reply. He scouted 
 the notion of "love of scenery, solitude, and so forth," and 
 as fully he ridiculed to himself the idea of a stranger caring 
 to hear the gossip and small-talk of a mere country neigh- 
 borhood. "I have it! " cried he at last, as a bright thought 
 darted through his brain, — "I have it at last! He wants 
 to pump me about the 'expedition.' It's for that he's 
 come. He affected surprise, to be sure, when I said I was 
 a "SValcheren man, and pretended to be amazed, besides; 
 but that was all make-believe. He knew well enough who 
 and what I was before he came. And he was so cunning, 
 leading the conversation away in another direction, getting 
 me to talk of old Peter and his son George. Was n't it 
 deep? — was n't it sly? Well, maybe we are not so innocent 
 as we look, ourselves ; maybe we have a trick in our sleeves 
 too! ' With a good dinner and a bottle of port wine,' says 
 he, ' I '11 have the whole story, and be able to write it with 
 the signature "One who was there." ' But you 're mistaken 
 this time, Captain; the sorrow bit of Walchereu you '11 hear 
 out of my mouth to-morrow, be as pleasant and congenial 
 as you like. I '11 give you the Barringtons, father and son, 
 — ay, and old Dinah, too, if you fancy her, — but not a 
 syllable about the expedition. It 's the Scheldt you want, 
 but you'll have to ' take it out' in the Ganges." And his 
 uncouth joke so tickled him that he laughed till his eyes 
 ran over; and in the thought that he was going to obtain a 
 dinner under false pretences, he felt something as nearly like 
 happiness as he had tasted for many a long day before. 
 
 VOL. I. — 11 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 Miss Barrington waited with impatience for Conyers's ap- 
 pearance at the breakfast-table, — she had received such a 
 pleasant note from her brother, and she was so eager to 
 read it. That notion of imparting some conception of a 
 dear friend by reading his own words to a stranger is a 
 very natural one. It serves so readily to corroborate all 
 we have already said, to fill up that picture of which we 
 have but given the mere outline, not to speak of the inex- 
 plicable charm there is in being able to say, " Here is the 
 man without reserve or disguise ; here he is in all the fresh- 
 ness and warmth of genuine feeling; no tricks of style, no 
 turning of phrases to mar the honest expression of his 
 nature. You see him as we see him." 
 
 "My brother is coming home, Mr. Conyers; he will be 
 here to-day. Here is his note," said Miss Dinah, as she 
 shook hands with her guest. "I must read it for you: — 
 
 " 'At last, my dear Dinah — at last I am free, and, with all my 
 love of law and lawyers, right glad to turn my steps homeward. 
 Not but I have had a most brilliant week of it; dined with my old 
 schoolfellow Longmore, now Chief Baron, and was the honored 
 guest of the " Home Circuit," not to speak of one glorious evening 
 with a club called the " Unbriefed," the pleasantest dogs that ever 
 made good speeches for nothing 1 — an amount of dissipation upon 
 which I can well retire and live for the next twelve months. How 
 strange it seems to me to be once more in the " world," and listening 
 to scores of things in which I have no personal interest ; how small 
 it makes my own daily life appear, but how secure and how home- 
 like, Dinah ! You have often heard me grumbling over the decline 
 of social agreeability, and the dearth of those pleasant speeches that 
 could set the table in a roar. You shall never hear the same com- 
 plaint from me again. These fellows are just as good as their 
 
COMDsG HOME. 163 
 
 fathers. If I missed anythino;, it was that glitter of scholarship, that 
 classical turn which in the olden day elevated table-talk, and made 
 it racy with the smart aphorisms and happy conceits of those who, 
 even over their wine, were poets and orators. But perhaps I am 
 not quite fair even in this. At all events, I am not going to dis- 
 parage those who have brought back to my old age some of the 
 pleasant memories of my youth, and satisfied me that even yet I 
 have a heart for those social joys I once loved so dearly ! 
 
 " ' And we have won our suit, Dinah, — at least, a juror was with- 
 drawn by consent, — and Brazier agrees to an arbitration as to the 
 Moyalty lands, the whole of Clanebrach and Barrymaquilty prop- 
 erty being released from the sequestration.' 
 
 " This is all personal matter, and technical besides," said 
 Miss Barrington; " so I skip it." 
 
 " ' Withering was finer than ever I heard him in the speech to 
 evidence. We have been taunted with our defensive attitude so 
 suddenly converted into an attack, and he compared our position to 
 WelUngton's at Torres Vedras. The Chief Justice said Curran, at 
 his best, never excelled it, and they have called me nothing but 
 Lord AVellington ever since. And now, Dinah, to answer the 
 question your impatience has been putting these ten minutes : 
 *' What of the money part of all this triumph?" I fear much, my 
 dear sister, we are to take little by our motion. The costs of the 
 campaign cut up all but the glory ! Hogan's bill extends to thirty- 
 eight folio pages, and there 's a codicil to it of eleven more, headed 
 " Confidential between Client and Attorney," and though I have not 
 in a rapid survey seen anything above five pounds, the gross total 
 is two thousand seven hundred and forty-three pounds three and 
 fourpence. I must and will say, however, it was a great suit, and 
 admirably prepared. There was not an instruction Withering did 
 not find substantiated, and Hogan is equally deUghted with him. 
 With all my taste for field sports and manly games, Dinah, I am 
 firmly convinced that a good trial at bar is a far finer spectacle than 
 the grandest tournament that ever was tilted. There was a skir- 
 mish yesterday that I 'd rather have witnessed than I 'd have seen 
 Brian de Bois himself at Ashby-de-la-Zouch. And, considering 
 that my own share for this passage at arms will come to a trifle 
 above two thousand pounds, the confession may be taken as an 
 honest one. 
 
 " ' And who is your young guest whom I shall be so delighted to 
 see? This gives no clew to him, Dinah, for you know well how I 
 would welcome any one who has impressed you so favorablv. En- 
 treat of him to prolong his stay for a week at least, and if I can 
 
164 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 persuade Withering to come down with me, we '11 try and make his 
 sojourn more agreeable. Look out for me — at least, about five 
 o'clock — and have the green-room ready for W., and let Darby be 
 at Holt's stile to take the trunks, for Withering likes that walk 
 through the woods, and says that he leaves his wig and gown on the 
 holly-bushes there till he goes back.' " 
 
 The next paragraph she skimmed over to herself. It was 
 one about an advance that Ilogan had let him have of two 
 hundred pounds. "Quite ample," W. says, "for our ex- 
 cursion to fetch over Josephine." Some details as to the 
 route followed, and some wise hints about travelling on the 
 Continent, and a hearty concurrence on the old lawyer's part 
 with the whole scheme. 
 
 "These are little home details," said she, hurriedly, •' but 
 you have heard enough to guess what my brother is like. 
 Here is the conclusion : — 
 
 " ' I hope your young friend is a fisherman, which will give me 
 more chance of his company than walking up the partridges, for 
 which I am getting too old. Let him however understand that we 
 mean him to enjoy himself in his own way, to have the most jierfect 
 libertv, and that the only despotism we insist upon is, not to be late 
 for dinner. 
 
 " ' Your loving brother, 
 
 " ' Peter Barrington. 
 
 " ' There is no fatted calf to feast our return, Dinah, but Wither- 
 ing has an old weakness for a roast sucking-pig. Don't you think 
 we could satisfy it ? ' " 
 
 Conyers readily caught the contagion of the joy Miss Bar- 
 rington felt at the thought of her brother's return. Short as 
 the distance was that separated him from home, his absences 
 were so rare, it seemed as though he had gone miles and 
 miles away, for few people ever lived more dependent on 
 each other, with interests more concentrated, and all of whose 
 hopes and fears took exactly the same direction, than this 
 brother and sister, and this, too, with some strong differ- 
 ences on the score of temperament, of which the reader 
 already has an inkling. 
 
 What a pleasant bustle that is of a household that prepares 
 for the return of a well-loved master! What feeling per- 
 
COMING HOME. 165 
 
 vades twenty little offices of every-day routine ! And how 
 dignified by affection are the smallest cares and the very 
 humblest attentions ! " He likes this ! " " He is so fond of 
 that ! " are heard at every moment. It is then that one 
 marks how the observant eye of love has followed the most 
 ordinary tricks of habit, and treasured them as things to be 
 remembered. It is not the key of the street door in your 
 pocket, nor the lease of the premises in your drawer, that 
 make a home. Let us be grateful when we remember that, 
 in this attribute, the humblest shealing on the hillside is not 
 inferior to the palace of the king ! 
 
 Conyers, I have said, partook heartily of Miss Barring- 
 ton's delight, and gave a willing help to the preparations that 
 went forward. All were soon busy within doors and with- 
 out. Some were raking the gravel before the door ; while 
 others were disposing the flower-pots in little pyramids 
 through the grass plats; and then there were trees to be 
 nailed up, and windows cleaned, and furniture changed in 
 various ways. AVhat superhuman efforts did not Conyers 
 make to get an old jet d'eau to play which had not spouted 
 for nigh twenty years ; and how reluctantly he resigned him- 
 self to failure and assisted Betty to shake a carpet ! 
 
 And when all was completed, and the soft and balmy air 
 sent the odor of the rose and the jessamine through the open 
 windows, within which every appearance of ease and comfort 
 prevailed, Miss Barrington sat down at the piano and began 
 to refresh her memory of some Irish airs, old favorites of 
 TTithering's, which he was sure to ask for. There was that 
 in their plaintive wildness which strongly interested Conyers ; 
 while, at the same time, he was astonished at the skill of one 
 at whose touch, once on a time, tears had trembled in the 
 eyes of those who listened, and whose fingei'S had not yet 
 forgot their cunning. 
 
 "Who is that standing without there?" said Miss Bar- 
 rington, suddenly, as she saw a very poor-looking country- 
 man who had drawn close to the window to listen. " Who 
 are you ? and what do you want here ? " asked she, approach- 
 ing him. 
 
 "I'm Terry, ma'am, — Terry Delany, the Major's man," 
 said he, taking off his hat. 
 
166 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " Never heard of- you ; and what 's your business? " 
 
 " 'T is how I was sent, ^'our honor's reverence," began he, 
 faltering at every word, and evidently terrified by her impe- 
 rious style of address. "'Tis how I came here with the 
 master's compliments, — not indeed his own but the other 
 man's, — to say, that if it was plazing to you, or, indeed, 
 anyhow at all, they 'd be here at five o'clock to dinner ; and 
 though it was yesterday I got it, I stopped with my sister's 
 husband at Foynes Gap, and misremembered it all till this 
 morning, and I hope your honor's reverence won't tell it on 
 me, but have the best in the house all the same, for he 's 
 rich enough and can well afford it." 
 
 " What can the creature mean?" cried Miss Barrington. 
 "Who sent you here?" 
 
 "The Major himself; but not for him, but for the other 
 that's up at Cobham." 
 
 " And who is this other? What is he called? " 
 
 "'Twas something like Hooks, or Nails; but I can't 
 remember," said he, scratching his head in sign of utter and 
 complete bewilderment. 
 
 "Did any one ever hear the like! Is the fellow an 
 idiot?" exclaimed she, angrily. 
 
 "No, my lady; but many a one might be that lived 
 with ould M'Cormick!" burst out the man, in a rush of 
 unguardedness. 
 
 "Try and collect yourself, my good fellow," said Miss 
 Barrington, smiling, in spite of herself, at his confession, 
 "and say, if you can, what brought you here?" 
 
 " It's just, then, what I said before," said he, gaining a 
 little more courage. "It's dinner for two ye 're to have; 
 and it 's to be ready at five o'clock ; but ye 're not to look to 
 ould Dan for the money, for he as good as said he would 
 never pay sixpence of it, but 't is all to come out of the other 
 chap's pocket, and well affordin' it. There it is now, and I 
 defy the Pope o' Rome to say that I did n't give the message 
 
 right ! " 
 
 " Mr. Conyers," began Miss Barrington, in a voice shak- 
 ing with agitation, " it is nigh twenty years since a series 
 of misfortunes brought us so low in the world that — " She 
 stopped, partly overcome by indignation, partly by shame; 
 
COMING HOME. 167 
 
 and then, suddenly turning towards the man, she continued, 
 in a firm and resolute tone, "Go back to your master and 
 say, ' Miss Barrington hopes he has sent a fool on his 
 errand, otherwise his message is so insolent it will be far 
 safer he should never present himself here again ! ' Do you 
 hear me? Do you understand me? " 
 
 ' ' If you mane you 'd make them throw him in the river, 
 the divil a straw I 'd care, and I would n't wet my feet to 
 pick him out of it ! " 
 
 "Take the message as I have given it you, and do not 
 dare to mix up anything of your own with it." 
 
 •* Faix, I won't. It 's trouble enough I have without that ! 
 I '11 tell him there 's no dinner for him here to-day, and that, 
 if he 's wise, he won't come over to look for it." 
 
 '•There, go — be off," cried Conyers, impatiently, for he 
 saw that Miss Barrington's temper was being too sorely 
 tried. 
 
 She conquered, however, the indignation that at one 
 moment had threatened to master her, and in a voice of 
 tolerable calm said, — 
 
 •* May I ask you to see if Darby or any other of the work- 
 men are in the garden? It is high time to take down these 
 insignia of our traffic, and tell our friends how we would be 
 regarded in future." 
 
 " Will you let me do it? I ask as a favor that I may be 
 permitted to do it," cried Conyers, eagerly; and without 
 waiting for her answer, hurried away to fetch a ladder. 
 He was soon back again and at work. 
 
 " Take care how you remove that board, Mr. Conyers," 
 said she. " If there be the tiniest sprig of jessamine broken, 
 my brother will miss it. He has been watching anxiously 
 for the time when the white bells would shut out every letter 
 of his name, and I like him not to notice the change immedi- 
 ately. There, you are doing it very handily indeed. There 
 is another holdfast at this corner. Ah, be careful ; that is a 
 branch of the passion-tree, and though it looks dead, you 
 will see it covered with flowers in spring. Nothing could 
 be better. Now for the last emblem of our craft, — can you 
 reach it ? " 
 
 " Oh, easily," said Conyers, as he raised his eyes to 
 
168 BARRINGTON. 
 
 where the little tin fish hung glittering above him. The 
 ladder, however, was too short, and, standing ou one of 
 the highest rungs, still he could not reach the little iron 
 stanchion. "I must have it, though," cried he; "I mean 
 to claim that as my prize. It will be the only fish I ever 
 took with my own hands." lie now cautiously crept up 
 anotlier step of the ladder, supporting himself by the frail 
 creepers which covered the walls. " Help me now with a 
 crooked stick, and I shall catch it." 
 
 ''I'll fetch you one," said she, disappearing within the 
 porch. 
 
 Still wistfully looking at the object of his pursuit, Conyers 
 never turned his eyes downwards as the sound of steps 
 apprised him some one was near, and, concluding it to be 
 Miss Barrington, he said, "I'm half afraid that I have torn 
 some of this jessamine-tree from the wall ; but see here 's 
 the prize!" A slight air of wind had wafted it towards 
 him, and he snatched the fish from its slender chain and held 
 it up in triumph. 
 
 "A poacher caught in the fact, Barrington!" said a 
 deep voice from below; and Conyers, looking down, saw 
 two men, both advanced in life, very gravely watching his 
 proceedings. 
 
 Not a little ashamed of a situation to which he never 
 expected an audience, he hastily descended the ladder; 
 but before he reached the ground Miss Barrington was in 
 her brother's arms, and welcoming him home with all the 
 warmth of true affection. This over, she next shook 
 hands cordially with his companion, whom she called Mr. 
 Withering. 
 
 " And now, Peter," said she, " to present one I have been 
 longing to make known to you. You, who never forget a 
 well-known face, will recognize him." 
 
 "My eyes are not what they used to be," said Barring- 
 ton, holding out his hand to Conyers, "but they are good 
 enough to see the young gentleman I left here when I w^eut 
 
 away." 
 
 "Yes, Peter," said she, hastily; "but does the sight of 
 him bring back to you no memory of poor George?" 
 
 '* George was dark as a Spaniard, and this gentleman — 
 
COMING HOME. 
 
 169 
 
 But pray, sir, forgive this rudeness of ours, and let us make 
 ourselves better acquainted within doors. You mean to stay 
 some time here, I hope." 
 
 " I only wish I could ; but I have already overstayed my 
 
 leave, and waited here only to shake j^our hand before 1 
 left." 
 
 "Peter, Peter," said Miss Dinah, impatiently, "must I 
 then tell whom you are speaking to?" 
 
170 BAllRINGTON. 
 
 Barrington seemed puzzled. He looked from the stranger 
 to bis sister, and back again. 
 
 She drew near and whispered in his ear: "The son of 
 poor George's dearest friend on earth, — the son of Ormsby 
 Conyers." 
 
 "Of whom?" said Barrington, in a startled and half- 
 angry voice. 
 
 " Of Ormsby Conyers." 
 
 Barrington trembled from head to foot ; his face, for an 
 instant crimson, became suddenly of an ashy paleness, and 
 his voice shook as he said, — 
 
 "I was not — I am not — prepared for this honor. I 
 mean, I could not have expected that Mr. Conyers would 
 have desired — Say this — do this for me. Withering, for 
 I am not equal to it," said the old man, as, with his hands 
 pressed over his face, he hurried within the house, followed 
 by his sister. 
 
 " I cannot make a guess at the explanation my friend has 
 left me to make," cried Withering, courteously; "but it is 
 plain to see that your name has revived some sorrow con- 
 nected with the great calamity of his life. You have heard 
 of his son, Colonel Barrington?" 
 
 " Yes, and it was because my father had been his dearest 
 friend that Miss Barrington insisted on my remaining here. 
 She told me, over and over again, of the joy her brother 
 would feel on meeting me — " 
 
 "Where are you going, — what's the matter?" asked 
 Withering, as a man hurriedly passed out of the house and 
 made for the river. 
 
 " The master is taken bad, sir, and I 'm going to Inistioge 
 for the doctor." 
 
 " Let me go with you," said Conyers ; and, only returning 
 by a nod the good-bye of Withering, he moved past and 
 stepped into the boat. 
 
 ' ' What an afternoon to such a morning ! " muttered he to 
 himself, as the tears started from his eyes and stole heavily 
 along his cheeks. 
 
CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 A SHOCK. 
 
 If Conyers had been in the frame of mind to notice it, the 
 contrast between the neat propriety of the " Fisherman's 
 Home," and the disorder and slovenliness of the little inn at 
 Inistioge could not have failed to impress itself upon him. 
 The "Spotted Duck" was certainly, in all its details, the 
 very reverse of that quiet and picturesque cottage he had 
 just quitted. But what did he care at that moment for the 
 roof that sheltered him, or the table that was spread before 
 him? For days back he had been indulging in thoughts of 
 that welcome which Miss Barrington had promised him. 
 He fancied how, on the mere mention of his father's name, 
 the old man's affection would have poured forth in a flood of 
 kindest words ; he had even prepared himself for a scene of 
 such emotion as a father might have felt on seeing one who 
 brought back to mind his own son's earlier years ; and 
 instead of all this, he found himself shunned, avoided, re- 
 pulsed. If there was a thing on earth in which his pride 
 was greatest, it was his name ; and yet it was on the utter- 
 ance of that word, " Conyers," old Barrington turned away 
 and left him. 
 
 Over and over again had he found the spell of his father's 
 name and title opening to him society, securing him atten- 
 tions, and obtaining for him that recognition and acceptance 
 which go so far to make life pleasurable; and now that 
 word, which would have had its magic at a palace, fell 
 powerless and cold at the porch of a humble cottage. 
 
 To say that it was part of his creed to believe his father 
 could do no wrong is weak. It was his whole belief, — his 
 entire and complete conviction. To his mind his father 
 
172 BAKKINGTON. 
 
 embodied all that was noble, high-hearted, and chivalrous. 
 It was not alone the testimony of those who served under 
 him could be appealed to. All ludia, the Government at 
 home, his own sovereign knew it. From his earliest in- 
 fancy he had listened to this theme, and to doubt it seemed 
 like to dispute the fact of his existence. How was it, then, 
 that this old man refused to accept what the whole world 
 had stamped with its value? Was it that he impugned the 
 services which had made his father's name famous through- 
 out the entire East? 
 
 He endeavored to recall the exact words Barringtou had 
 used towards him, but he could not succeed. There was 
 something, he thought, about intruding, unwarrantably 
 intruding; or it might be a mistaken impression of the wel- 
 come that awaited him. Which was it? or was it either of 
 them? At all events, he saw himself rejected and repulsed, 
 and the indignity was too great to be borne. 
 
 While he thus chafed and fretted, hours went by; and Mr. 
 M'Cabe, the landlord, had made more than one excursion 
 into the room, under pretence of looking after the fire, or 
 seeing that the windows were duly closed, but, in reality, 
 very impatient to learn his guest's intentions regarding 
 dinner. 
 
 "Was it your honor said that you 'd rather have the 
 chickens roast than biled?" said he at last, in a very sub- 
 missive tone. 
 
 "I said nothing of the kind." 
 
 " Ah, it was No. 5 then, and I mistook ; I crave your 
 honor's pardon." Hoping that the chord he had thus 
 touched might vibrate, he stooped down to arrange the turf, 
 and give time for the response, but none came. Mr. 
 M'Cabe gave a faint sigh, but returned to the charge. 
 "When thei'e 's the laste taste of south in the wind, there 's 
 no making this chimney draw." 
 
 Not a word of notice acknowledged this remark. 
 
 " But it will do finely yet; it 's just the outside of the turf 
 is a little wet, and no wonder; seven weeks of rain — glory 
 be to Him that sent it — has nearly desthroyed us." 
 
 Still Conyers vouchsafed no reply. 
 
 "And when it begins to rain here, it never laves off. It 
 
A SHOCK. 173 
 
 is n't like in your honor's country'. Your honor is 
 English?" 
 
 A grunt, — it might be assent, it sounded like malediction. 
 
 " 'T is azy seen. When your honor came out of the boat, 
 I said, ' Shusy,' says I, ' he's English; and there's a coat 
 they couldn't make in Ireland for a king's ransom.' " 
 
 "What conveyances leave this for Kilkenny?" asked 
 Conyers, sternly. 
 
 "Just none at all, not to mislead you," said M'Cabe, in a 
 voice quite devoid of its late whining intonation. 
 
 "Is there not a chaise or a car to be had? " 
 
 "Sorrow one. Dr. Dill has a car, to be sure, but not 
 for hire." 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Dill lives here. I forgot that. Go and tell 
 him I wish to see him." 
 
 The landlord withdrew in dogged silence, but returned in 
 about ten minutes, to say that the doctor had been sent for 
 to the "Fisherman's Home," and Mr. Barrington was so ill 
 it was not likely he would be back that night. 
 
 "So ill, did you say?" cried Conyers. "What was the 
 attack, — what did they call it?" 
 
 " 'T is some kind of a 'plexy, they said. He 's a full man, 
 and advanced in years, besides." 
 
 "Go and tell young Mr. Dill to come over here." 
 
 "He 's just gone off with the cuppin' instruments. I saw 
 him steppin' into the boat." 
 
 "Let me have a messenger; I want a man to take a note 
 up to Miss Barrington, and fetch my writing-desk here." 
 
 In his eager anxiety to learn how Mr. Barrington was, 
 Conyers hastily scratched off a few lines; but on reading 
 them over, he tore them up: they implied a degree of interest 
 on his part which, considering the late treatment extended 
 to him, was scarcely dignified. He tried again; the error 
 was as marked on the other side. It was a cold and for- 
 mal inquiry. "And yet," said he, as he tore this in frag- 
 ments, "one thing is quite clear, — this illness is owing to 
 me! But for my presence there, that old man had now 
 been hale and hearty; the impressions, rightfully or 
 wrongfully, which the sight of me and the announcement of 
 my name produced are the cause of this malady. I cannot 
 
174 BARRINGTON. 
 
 deny it." With this revulsion of feeling he wrote a short 
 but kindly worded note to Miss Barrington, in which, with 
 the very faintest allusion to himself, he begged for a few 
 lines to say how her brother was. He would have added 
 something about the sorrow he experienced in requiting 
 all her kindness by this calamitous return, but he felt that 
 if the case should be a serious one, all reference to himself 
 would be misplaced and impertinent. 
 
 The messenger despatched, he sat down beside his fire, 
 the only light now in the room, which the shade of coming 
 night had darkened. He was sad and dispirited, and ill 
 at ease with his own heart. Mr. M'Cabe, indeed, appeared 
 with a suggestion about candles, and a shadowy hint that 
 if his guest speculated of dining at all, it was full time to 
 intimate it; but Couyers dismissed him with a peremptory 
 command not to dare to enter the room again until he was 
 summoned to it. So odious to him was the place, the 
 landlord, and all about him, that he would have set out on 
 foot had his ankle been only strong enough to bear him. 
 " What if he were to write to Stapylton to come and fetch 
 him away? He never liked the man; he liked him less 
 since the remark Miss Barrrington had made upon him 
 from mere reading of his letter, but what was he to do?" 
 While he was yet doubting what course to take, he heard 
 the voices of some new arrivals outside, and, strange 
 enough, one seemed to be Stapylton's. A minute or two 
 after, the travellers had entered the room adjoining his own, 
 and from which a very frail partition of lath and plaster 
 alone separated him. 
 
 "Well, Barney," said a harsh, grating voice, addressing 
 the landlord, "what have you got in the larder? We mean 
 to dine with you." 
 
 "To dine here. Major!" exclaimed M'Cabe. "Well, 
 well, wondhers will never cease." And then hurriedly seek- 
 ing to cover a speech not very flattering to the Major's habits 
 of hospitality, "Sure, I've a loin of pork, and there's two 
 chickens and a trout fresh out of the water, and there's 
 a cheese; it isn't mine, to be sure, but Father Cody's, but 
 he'll not miss a slice out of it; and barrin' you dined at 
 the ' Fisherman's Home,' you 'd not get betther." 
 
A SHOCK. 175 
 
 "That's where we were to have dined by right," said the 
 Major, crankily, — ''myself aud my friend here, — but 
 we 're disappointed, and so w-e stepped in here, to do the 
 best we can." 
 
 "Well, by all accounts, there won't be many dinners up 
 there for some time." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "Ould Barrington was took with a fit this afternoon, and 
 they say he won't get over it." 
 
 "How was it? — what brought it on?" 
 
 "Here's the way I had it. Ould Peter was just come 
 home from Kilkenny, aud had brought the Attorney- 
 General with him to stay a few days at the cottage, aud 
 what was the first thing he seen but a man that come all the 
 way from India with a writ out against him for some of mad 
 George Barrington's debts; and he was so overcome by the 
 shock, that he fainted away, and never came rightly to 
 himself since." 
 
 "This is simply impossible," said a voice Conyers well 
 knew to be Stapylton's. 
 
 "Be that as it may, I had it from the man that came for 
 the doctor, and what 's more, he was just outside the win- 
 dow, and could hear ould Barrington cursin' and swearin' 
 about the man that ruined his son, and brought his poor 
 boy to the grave; but I'll go aud look after your honor's 
 dinner, for I know more about that." 
 
 " I have a strange half-curiosity to know the correct ver- 
 sion of this story," said Stapj^lton, as the host left the room. 
 "The doctor is a friend of yours, I think. Would he step 
 over here, and let us hear the matter accurately ? " 
 
 "He 's up at the cottage now, but I '11 get him to come in 
 here when he returns." 
 
 If Conyers was shocked to hear how even this loose ver- 
 sion of what had occurred served to heighten the anxiety 
 his own fears created, he was also angry with himself at 
 having learned the matter as he did. It was not in his 
 nature to play the eavesdropper, and he had, in reality, 
 heard what fell between his neighbors, almost ere he was 
 aware of it. To apprise them, therefore, of the vicinity of 
 a stranger, he coughed and sneezed, poked the fire noisily, 
 
176 BARRINGTON. 
 
 and moved the chairs about; but though the disturbance 
 served to prevent him from hearing, it did not tend to im- 
 press any greater caution upon them, for they talked away 
 as before, and more than once above the din of his own 
 tumult, he heard the name of Barrington, and even his 
 own, uttered. 
 
 Unable any longer to suffer the irritation of a position so 
 painful, he took his hat, and left the house. It was now 
 night, and so dark that he had to stand some minutes on 
 the door-sill ere he could accustom his sight to the obscurity. 
 By degrees, however, he was enabled to guide his steps, and, 
 passing through the little square, he gained the bridge; and 
 here he resolved to walk backwards and forwards till such 
 time as he hoped his neighbors might have concluded their 
 convivialities, and turned homeward. 
 
 A thin cold rain was falling, and the night was cheerless, 
 and without a star; but his heart was heavy, and the 
 dreariness without best suited that within him. For more 
 than an hour he continued his lonely walk, tormented by all 
 the miseries his active ingenuity could muster. To have 
 brought sorrow and mourning beneath the roof where you 
 have been sheltered with kindness is sad enough, but far 
 sadder is it to connect the calamity you have caused with 
 one dearer to you than yourself, and whose innocence, while 
 assured of, you cannot vindicate. "My father never 
 wronged this man, for the simple reason that he has never 
 been unjust to any one. It is a gross injustice to accuse 
 him! If Colonel Barrington forfeited my father's friend- 
 ship, who could doubt where the fault lay? But I will not 
 leave the matter questionable. I will write to my father 
 and ask him to send me such a reply as may set the issue 
 at rest forever; and then I will come down here, and, with 
 my father's letter in my hand, say, ' The mention of my 
 name was enough, once on a time, to make you turn away 
 from me on the very threshold of your own door — ' " When 
 he had got thus far in his intended appeal, his ear was sud- 
 denly struck by the word '.'Conyers," uttered by one of two 
 men who had passed him the moment before, and now stood 
 still in one of the projections of the bridge to talk. He as 
 hastily recognized Dr. Dill as the speaker. He went on 
 
A SHOCK. 177 
 
 thus: "Of course it -was mere raving, but one must bear in 
 mind that memory very often is the prompter of these -wan- 
 derings ; and it was strange how persistently he held to the 
 one theme, and continued to call out, ' It was not fair, sir! 
 It was not manly! You know it yourself, Conyers; you 
 cannot deny it! ' " 
 
 "But you attach no importance to such wanderings, doc- 
 tor?" asked one whose deep-toned voice betrayed him to 
 be Stapylton. 
 
 "I do; that is, to the extent I have mentioned. They are 
 incohereucies, but they are not without some foundation. 
 This Conyers may have had his share in that famous accu- 
 sation against Colonel Barrington, — that well-known charge 
 I told you of; and if so, it is easy to connect the name 
 with these ravings." 
 
 "And the old man will die of this attack," said Stapj'l- 
 ton, half musingly. 
 
 "I hope not. He has great vigor of constitution; and 
 old as he is, I think he will rub through it." 
 
 "Young Conyers left for Kilkenny, then, immediately?" 
 asked he. 
 
 "No; he came down here, to the village. He is now at 
 the inn." 
 
 "At the inn, here? I never knew that. I am sorry I was 
 not aware of it, doctor; but since it is so, I will ask of you 
 not to speak of having seen me here. He would naturally 
 take it ill, as his brother officer, that I did not make him 
 out, while, as you see, I was totally ignorant of his 
 vicinity." 
 
 "I will say nothing on the subject, Captain," said the 
 doctor. "And now one word of advice from you on a per- 
 sonal matter. This young gentleman has offered to be of 
 service to my son — " 
 
 Conyers, hitherto spellbound while the interest attached 
 to his father, now turned hastily from the spot and walked 
 away, his mind not alone charged with a heavy care, but 
 full of an eager anxiety as to wherefore Stapylton should 
 have felt so deeply interested in Barrington's illness, and 
 the causes that led to it, — Stapylton, the most selfish of 
 men, and the very last in the world to busy himself in the 
 
 VOL. I. — 12 
 
178 BARRINGTOX. 
 
 sorrows or misfortunes of a stranger. Again, too, why had 
 he desired the doctor to preserve his presence there as a 
 secret? Con3'er8 was exactly in the frame of mind to exag- 
 gerate a suspicion, or make a mere doubt a grave question. 
 While he thus mused, Stapyltou and the doctor passed him 
 on their way towards the village, deep in converse, and, to 
 all seeming, in closest confidence. 
 
 "Shall I follow him to the inn, and declare that I over- 
 heard a few words on the bridge which give me a claim to 
 explanation? Shall I say, 'Captain Stapylton, you spoke 
 of my father, just now, sufficiently aloud to be overheard by 
 me as I passed, and in your tone there was that which 
 entitles me to question you ? Then if he should say, ' Go on ; 
 what is it you ask for?' shall I not be sorely puzzled to con- 
 tinue? Perhaps, too, he might remind me that the mode in 
 which I obtained my information precludes even a reference 
 to it. He is one of those fellows not to throw away such an 
 advantage, and I must prepare myself for a quarrel. Oh, 
 if I only had Hunter by me! What would I not give for the 
 brave Colonel's counsel at such a moment as this? " 
 
 Of this sort were his thoughts as he strolled up and down 
 for hours, wearing away the long "night watches," till a 
 faint grayish tinge above the horizon showed that morning 
 was not very distant. The whole landscape was wrapped 
 in that cold mysterious tint in which tower and hill-top and 
 spire are scarcely distinguishable from each other, while 
 out of the low-lying meadows already arose the bluish vapor 
 that proclaims the coming day. The village itself, over- 
 shadowed by the mountain behind it, lay a black, unbroken 
 mass. 
 
 Not a light twinkled from a window, save close to the 
 river's bank, where a faint gleam stole forth and flickered 
 on the Avater. 
 
 Who has not felt the sti-ange interest that attaches to a 
 solitary light seen thus in the tranquil depth of a silent night? 
 How readily do we associate it with some incident of sor- 
 row! The watcher beside the sick-bed rises to the mind, or 
 the patient sufferer himself trying to cheat the dull hours by 
 a book, or perhaps some poor son of toil arising to his 
 daily round of labor, and seated at that solitary meal which 
 
A SHOCK. 179 
 
 no kind word enlivens, no companionship beguiles. And 
 as I write, in what corner of earth are not such scenes pass- 
 ing," — such dark shadows moving over the battlefield of 
 life? 
 
 In such a feeling did Conyers watch this light as, leaving 
 the high-road, he took a path that led along the river 
 towards it. As he drew nigher, he saw that the light came 
 from the open window of a room which gave upon a little 
 garden, — a mere strip of ground fenced off from the path 
 by a low paling. With a curiosit}^ he could not master, he 
 stopped and looked in. At a large table, covered with 
 books and papers, and on which a skull also stood, a young 
 man was seated, his head leaning on his hand, apparently in 
 deep thought, while a girl was slowly pacing the little cham- 
 ber as she talked to him. 
 
 "It does not require," said she, in a firm voice, "any 
 great effort of memory to bear in • mind that a nerve, an 
 artery, and a vein always go in company." 
 
 "Not for you, perhaps, — not for you, Polly." 
 
 "Not for any one, I 'm sure. Your fine dragoon friend 
 with the sprained ankle might be brought to that amount of 
 instruction by one telling of it." 
 
 "Oh, he's no fool, I promise you, Polly. Don't despise 
 him because he has plenty of money and can lead a life of 
 idleness." 
 
 "I neither despise nor esteem him, nor do I mean that he 
 should divert our minds from what we are at. Now for 
 the popliteal space. Can you describe it? Do you know 
 where it is, or anything about it? " 
 
 "I do," said he, doggedly, as he pushed his long hair back 
 from his eyes, and tried to think, — "I do, but I must have 
 time. You mustn't hurry me." 
 
 She made no reply, but continued her walk in silence. 
 
 "I know all about it, Polly, but I can't describe it. I 
 can't describe anything; but ask me a question about it." 
 
 "Where is it, — where does it lie?" 
 
 "Isn't it at the lower third of the humerus, where the 
 flexors divide?" 
 
 "You are too bad, — too stupid!" cried she, angrily. 
 " I cannot believe that anything short of a purpose, a deter- 
 
180 BARKINGTON. 
 
 miualion to be ignorant, could make a person so unteach- 
 able. If we have gone over this once, we liave done so fifty 
 times. It haunts me in my sleep, from very iteration." 
 
 " I wish it would haunt me a little when I 'm awake," said 
 he, sulkily. 
 
 "And when may that be, I'd like to know? Do you 
 fancy, sir, that your present state of intelligence is a very 
 vigilant one ? " 
 
 ' ' I know one thing. I hope there w^on't be the like of 
 you on the Court of Examiners, for I would n't bear the 
 half of what you 've said to me from another." 
 
 " Rejection will be harder to bear, Tom. To be sent 
 back as ignorant and incapable will be far heavier as a 
 punishment than an}' words of mine. What are you laugh- 
 ing'at, sir? Is it a matter of mirth to you? " 
 
 " Look at the skull, Polly, — look at the skull." And he 
 pointed to where he had stuck his short, black pipe, between 
 the grinning teeth of the skeleton. 
 
 She snatched it angrily away, and threw it out of the 
 window, saying, "You may be ignorant, and not be able to 
 help it. I will take care 3'ou shall not be irreverent, sir." 
 
 "There's my short clay gone, anyhow," said Tom, sub- 
 missively, "and I think I '11 go to bed." And he yawned 
 drearily as be spoke. 
 
 " Not till you have done this, if we sit here till break- 
 fast-time," said she, resolutely. "There's the plate, and 
 there 's the reference. Read it till you know it ! " 
 
 " What a slave-driver you 'd make, Polly ! " said he, with 
 a half-bitter smile. 
 
 " What a slave I am ! " said she, turning away her 
 head. 
 
 "That's true," cried he, in a voice thick with emotion; 
 " and when I 'm thousands of miles away, I '11 be longing 
 to hear the bitterest words you ever said to me, rather than 
 never see you any more." 
 
 "My poor brother," said she, laying her hand softly on 
 his rough head, " I never doubted your heart, and I ought 
 to be better tempered with you, and I will. Come, now, 
 Tom," — and she seated herself at the table next him, — 
 " see, now, if I cannot make this easy to you." And then 
 
A SHOCK. 
 
 181 
 
 the two heads were bent together over the table, and the soft 
 brown hair of the gii'l half mingled with the rough wool of 
 the graceless numskull beside her. 
 
 "I will stand by him, if it were only for lier sake," said 
 Conyers to himself. And he stole slowly away, and gained 
 the inn. 
 
 So intent upon his purpose was he that he at once set 
 about its fulfilment. He began a long letter to his father, 
 and, touching slightly on the accident by which he made 
 Dr. Dill's acquaintance, professed to be deeply his debtor 
 for kindness and attention. With this prelude he introduced 
 Tom. Hitherto his pen had glided along flippantly enougli. 
 In that easy mixture of fact and fancy by which he opened 
 
182 BARRINGTON. 
 
 his case, no grave difficulty presented itself ; but Tom was 
 now to be presented, and the task was about as puzzling as 
 it would have been to have conducted hiui bodily into 
 society. 
 
 " I was ungenerous enough to be prejudiced against this 
 poor fellow when I first met him," wrote he. "Neither 
 his figure nor his manners are in his favor, and in his very 
 dillidence there is an apparent rudeness and forwardness 
 which are not really in his nature. These, however, are not 
 mistakes you, my dear father, will fall into. With your 
 own quickness you will see what sterling qualities exist 
 beneath this rugged outside, and you will befriend him at 
 first for my sake. Later on, I trust he will open his own 
 account in your heart. Bear in mind, too, that it was all 
 my scheme, — the whole plan mine. It was I persuaded 
 him to try his luck in India ; it was through me he made the 
 venture ; and if the poor fellow fail, all the fault will fall 
 back upon me." From this he went into little details of 
 Tom's circumstances, and the narrow means by which he 
 was surrounded, adding how humble he was, and how ready 
 to be satisfied with the most moderate livelihood. " In that 
 great wide world of the East, what scores of things there 
 must be for such a fellow to do; and even should he not 
 turn out to be a S3'denham or a Harvey, he might administer 
 justice, or collect revenue, or assist in some other way the 
 process of that system which we call the British rule in 
 India. In a word, get him something he may live by, and 
 be able, in due time, to help those he has left behind here, in 
 a land whose • Paddy-fields ' are to the full as pauperized as 
 those of Bengal." 
 
 He had intended, ha^ing disposed of Tom Dill's case, to 
 have addressed some lines to his father about the Barring- 
 tons, sufl3ciently vague to be easily answered if the subject 
 were one distasteful or unpleasing to him ; but just as he 
 reached the place to open this, he was startled by the arrival 
 of a jaunting-car at the inn-door, whose driver stopped to 
 take a drink. It was a chance conveyance, returning to 
 Kilkenny, and Conyers at once engaged it; and, leaving an 
 order to send on the reply when it arrived from the cottage, 
 he wrote a hasty note to Tom Dill and departed. This note 
 
A SHOCK. 183 
 
 was simply to say that he had already fulfilled his promise of 
 interesting his father in his behalf, and that whenever Tom 
 had passed his examination, and was in readiness for his 
 voyage, he should come or write to him, and he would find 
 him fully disposed to serve and befriend him. "Mean- 
 while," wrote he, " let me hear of you. I am really anxious 
 to learn how you acquit yourself at the ordeal, for which you 
 have the cordial good wishes of your friend, F. Conyers." 
 
 Oh, if the great men of our acquaintance — and we all of 
 us, no matter how hermit-like we may live, have our " great 
 men " — could only know and feel what ineffable pleasure 
 will sometimes be derived from the chance expressions they 
 employ towards us, — words which, little significant in them- 
 selves, perhaps have some touch of good fellowship or good 
 feeling, now reviving a "bygone," now far-seeing a future, 
 tenderly thrilling through us by some little allusion to a trick 
 of our temperament, noted and observed by one in whose 
 interest we never till then knew we had a share, — if, I say, 
 they were but aware of this, how delightful they might make 
 themselves ! — what charming friends ! — and, it is but fair 
 to own, what dangerous patrons ! 
 
 I leave my reader to apply the reflection to the case before 
 him, and then follow me to the pleasant quarters of a well- 
 maintained country-house, full of guests and abounding in 
 gayety. 
 
CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 COBHAM. 
 
 My reader is already aware that I am telling of some forty 
 years ago, and therefore I have no apologies to make for 
 habits and ways which our more polished age has pronounced 
 barbarous. Now, at Cobham, the men sat after dinner over 
 their wine when the ladies had withdrawn, and, I grieve to 
 say, fulfilled this usage with a zest and enjoyment that 
 unequivocally declared it to be the best hour of the whole 
 twenty-four. 
 
 Friends could now get together, conversation could range 
 over personalities, egotisms have their day, and bygones be 
 disinterred without need of an explanation. Few, indeed, 
 who did not unbend at such a moment, and relax in that 
 genial atmosphere begotten of closed curtains, and comfort, 
 and good claret. I am not so certain that we are wise in our 
 utter abandonment of what must have often conciliated a 
 difference or reconciled a grudge. How many a lurking dis- 
 content, too subtle for intervention, must have been dissi- 
 pated in the general burst of a common laugh, or the racy 
 enjoyment of a good story ! Decidedly the decanter has 
 often played peacemaker, though popular prejudice inclines 
 to give it a different mission. 
 
 On the occasion to which I would now invite my reader, 
 the party were seated — by means of that genial discovery, 
 a horseshoe-table — around the fire at Cobham. It was a 
 true country-house society of neighbors who knew each 
 other well, sprinkled with guests, — strangers to every one. 
 There were all ages and all temperaments, from the hardy 
 old squire, whose mellow cheer was known at the fox-cover, 
 to the 3'oung heir fresh from Oxford and loud about Leices- 
 tershire ; gentlemen-farmers and sportsmen, and parsons and 
 
COBHAM. 185 
 
 soldiers, blended together with just enough disparity of pur- 
 suit to season talk and freshen experiences. 
 
 The conversation, which for a while was partly on sport- 
 ing matters, varied with little episodes of personal achieve- 
 ment, and those little boastings which end in a bet, was 
 suddenly interrupted by a hasty call for Dr. Dill, who was 
 wanted at the " Fisherman's Home." 
 
 "Can't you stay to finish this bottle, Dill?" said the 
 Admiral, who had not heard for whom he had been sent. 
 
 " I fear not, sir. It is a long row down to the cottage." 
 
 " So it 's poor Barriugton again ! I 'm sincerely sorry for 
 it! And now I'll not ask you to delay. By the way, take 
 my boat. Elwes," said he to the servant, "tell the men to 
 get the boat ready at once for Dr. Dill, and come and say 
 when it is so." 
 
 The doctor's gratitude was profuse, though probably a 
 dim vista of the "tip" that might be expected from him 
 detracted from the fulness of the enjoyment. 
 
 "Find out if I could be of any use. Dill," whispered the 
 Admiral, as the doctor arose. " Your own tact will show if 
 there be anything I could do. You understand me ; I have 
 the deepest regard for old Barrington, and his sister too." 
 
 Dill promised to give his most delicate attention to the 
 point, and departed. 
 
 "VThile this little incident was occurring, Stapylton, who 
 sat at an angle of the fireplace, was amusing two or three 
 listeners by an account of his intended dinner at the 
 " Home," and the haughty refusal of Miss Barrington to 
 receive him. 
 
 "You must tell Sir Charles the story!" cried out Mr. 
 Bushe. "He'll soon recognize the old Major from your 
 imitation of him." 
 
 " Hang the old villain ! he shot a dog-fox the other morn- 
 ing, and he knows well how scarce they are getting in the 
 country," said another. 
 
 " I '11 never forgive myself for letting him have a lease of 
 that place," said a third ; " he 's a disgrace to the neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 "You're not talking of Barrington, surely," called out 
 Sir Charles. 
 
186 BARllINGTON. 
 
 "Of course not. I was speaking of M'Cormick. Bar- 
 ringtou is another stamp of man, and liere 's his good 
 health ! " 
 
 "He'll need all your best wishes, Jack," said the host, 
 "for Dr. Dill has just been called away to see him." 
 
 "To see old Peter! Why, I never knew him to have a 
 day's illness ! " 
 
 "He's dangerously ill now," said the Admiral, gravel}'. 
 " Dill tells me that he came home from the Assizes hale and 
 hearty, in high spirits at some verdict in his favor, and 
 brought back the Attorney-General to spend a day or two 
 with him ; but that, on arriving, he found a young fellow 
 whose father or grandfather — for I have n't it correctly — 
 had been concerned in some way against George Harrington, 
 and that high words passed between old Peter and this youth, 
 who was turned out on the spot, while poor Harrington, over- 
 come by emotion, was sti'uck down with a sort of paralysis. 
 As I have said, I don't know the story accurately, for even 
 Dill himself only picked it up from the servants at the cot- 
 tage, neither Miss Barrington nor Withering having told him 
 one word on the subject." 
 
 " That is the very same story I heard at the village where 
 we dined," broke in Stapylton, "and M'Cormick added that 
 he remembered the name. Conyers — the young man is 
 called Conyers — did occur in a certain famous accusation 
 against Colonel Barrington." 
 
 "Well, but," interposed Bushe, "isn't all that an old 
 story now? Is n't the whole thing a matter of twenty years 
 ago?" 
 
 " Not so much as that," said Sir Charles. " I remember 
 reading it all when I was in command of the ' Madagascar,' — 
 I forget the exact year, but I was at Corfu." 
 
 " At all events," said Bushe, " it 's long enough past to be 
 forgotten or forgiven ; and old Peter was the very last man 
 I could ever have supposed likely to carry on an ancient 
 grudge against any one." 
 
 " Not where his son was concerned. Wherever George's 
 name entered, forgiveness of the man that wronged him was 
 impossible," said another. 
 
 " You are scarcely just to my old friend," interposed the 
 
I 
 
 COBHAM. 187 
 
 Admiral. " First of all, we have not the facts before us. 
 Many of us here have never seen, some have never heard of 
 the great Barrington Inquir}', and of such as have, if their 
 memories be not better than mine, they can't discuss the 
 matter with much profit." 
 
 '"I followed the case when it occurred," chimed in the 
 former speaker, "but I own, with Sir Charles, that it has 
 gone clean out of my head since that time." 
 
 "You talk of injustice, Cobham, injustice to old Peter 
 Barrington," said an old man from the end of the table; 
 "but I would ask, are we quite just to poor George? I knew 
 him well. My son served in the same regiment with him 
 before he went out to India, and no finer nor nobler-hearted 
 fellow than George Barrington ever lived. Talk of him 
 ruining his father by his extravagance! Why, he'd have 
 cut off his right hand rather than caused him one pang, one 
 moment of displeasure. Barrington ruined himself; that 
 insane passion for law has cost him far more than half what 
 he was worth in the world. Ask Withering; he '11 tell you 
 something about it. Why, Withering's own fees in that 
 case before ' the Lords ' amount to upwards of two thousand 
 guineas." 
 
 "I won't dispute the question with you, Fowndes," said 
 the Admiral. "Scandal says j^ou have a taste for a trial 
 at bar yourself." 
 
 The hit told, and called for a hearty laugh, in which 
 Fowndes himself joined freely. 
 
 "J'7?i a burned child, however, and keep away from the 
 fire," said he, good-humoredly ; "but old Peter seems rather 
 to like being singed. There he is again with his Privy 
 Council case for next term, and with, I suppose, as much 
 chance of success as I should have in a suit to recover a 
 Greek estate of some of my Phcenician ancestors." 
 
 It was not a company to sympathize deeply with such a 
 litigious spirit. The hearty and vigorous tone of squire- 
 dom, young and old, could not understand it as a passion 
 or a pursuit, and they mainly agreed that nothing but some 
 strange perversion could have made the generous nature of 
 old Barrington so fond of law. Gradual!}^ the younger 
 members of the party slipped away to the drawing-room, till. 
 
188 BARRINGTON. 
 
 in the changes that ensued, Stapylton found himself next to 
 Mr. Fowndes. 
 
 "I'm glad to see, Captain," said the old squire, "that 
 modern fashion of deserting the claret-jug has not invaded 
 your mess. I own I like a man who lingers over his wine." 
 
 "We have no pretext for leaving it, remember that," said 
 Stapylton, smiling. 
 
 "Very true. The p^aceus uxor is sadly out of place in a 
 soldier's life. Your married officer is but a sorry comrade; 
 besides, how is a fellow to be a hero to the enemy who is 
 daily bullied by his wife?" 
 
 "I think you said that you had sei-ved?" interposed 
 Stapylton. 
 
 "No. My son was in the army; he is so still, but holds 
 a Governorship in the West Indies. He it was who knew 
 this Barrington we were speaking of." 
 
 "Just so," said Stapylton, drawing his chair closer, so as 
 to converse more confidentially. 
 
 "You may imagine what very uneventful lives we country 
 gentlemen live," said the old squire, "when we can con- 
 tinue to talk over one memorable case for something like 
 twenty years, just because one of the parties to it was our 
 neighbor." 
 
 "You appear to have taken a lively interest in it," said 
 Stapylton, who rightly conjectured it was a favorite theme 
 with the old squire. 
 
 "Yes. Barrington and my son were friends; they came 
 down to my house together to shoot ; and with all his eccen- 
 tricities — and they were many — I liked Mad George, as 
 the}' called him." 
 
 "He was a good fellow, then?" 
 
 "A thoroughly good fellow, but the shyest that ever lived; 
 to all outward seeming rough and careless, but sensitive as 
 a woman all the while. He would have walked up to a 
 cannon's mouth with a calm step, but an affecting story 
 would bring tears to his eyes; and then, to cover this weak- 
 ness, which he was well ashamed of, he 'd rush into fifty 
 follies and extravagances. As he said himself to me one 
 day, alluding to some feat of rash absurdity, ' I have been 
 taking another inch off the dog's tail,' — he referred to the 
 
COBHAM. 189 
 
 story of Alcibiades, who docked his dog to take off public 
 attention from his heavier transgressions." 
 
 "There was no truth in these accusations against him? " 
 
 "Who knows ? George was a passionate fellow, and he 'd 
 have made short work of the man that angered him. I my- 
 self never so entirely acquitted him as many who loved him 
 less. At all events, he was hardly treated ; he was regularly 
 hunted down. I imagine he must have made many enemies, 
 for witnesses sprung up against him on all sides, and he 
 was too proud a fellow to ask for one single testimony in 
 his favor! If ever a man met death broken-hearted, he 
 did ! " 
 
 A pause of several minutes occurred, after which the old 
 squire resumed, — 
 
 "My son told me that after Barriugton's death there was 
 a strong revulsion in his favor, and a great feeling that he 
 had been hardly dealt by. Some of the Supreme Council, it 
 is said, too, were disposed to behave generously towards 
 his child, but old Peter, in an evil hour, would hear of 
 nothing short of restitution of all the territory, and a regular 
 rehabilitation of George's memory, besides; in fact, he 
 made the most extravagant demands, and disgusted the two 
 or three who were kindly and well disposed towards his 
 cause. Had the}', indeed, — as he said, — driven his son to 
 desperation, he could scarcely' ask them to declare it to the 
 world; and yet nothing short of this would satisfy him! 
 ' Come forth,' wrote he, — I read the letter myself, — ' come 
 forth and confess that your evidence was forged and your 
 witnesses suborned ; that you wanted to annex the territory, 
 and the only road to your object was to impute treason to the 
 most loyal heart that ever served the King! ' Imagine what 
 chance of favorable consideration remained to the man who 
 penned such words as these." 
 
 "And he prosecutes the case still?" 
 
 "Ay, and will do to the day of his death. Withering — 
 who was an old schoolfellow of mine — has got me to try 
 what I could do to persuade him to come to some terms; 
 and, indeed, to do old Peter justice, it is not the money 
 part of the matter he is so obstinate about; it is the ques- 
 tion of what he calls George's fair fame and honor; and one 
 
190 BAKRIXGTON. 
 
 cannot exactly say to him, ' AVho on earth cares a brass but- 
 ton whether George Barrington was a rebel or a true man? 
 Whether he deserved to die an independent Rajah of some 
 place with a hard name, or the loyal subject of his Majesty 
 George the Third?' I own I, one day, did go so close to 
 the wind, on that subject, that the old man started up and 
 said, ' I hope I misapprehend you, Harry Fowndes. I hope 
 sincerely that I do so, for if not, I '11 have a shot at you, as 
 sure as my name is Peter Barrington. ' Of course I ' tried 
 back ' at once, and assured him it was a pure misconception 
 of my meaning, and that until the East India folk fairly 
 acknowledged that they had wronged his son, he could not, 
 with honor, approach the question of a compromise in the 
 money matter." 
 
 "That day, it may be presumed, is very far off," said 
 Stapylton, half languidly. 
 
 "Well, Withering opines not. He says that they are 
 weary of the whole case. They have had, perhaps, some 
 misgivings as to the entire justice of what they did. Per- 
 haps they have learned something during the course of the 
 proceedings which may have influenced their judgment; and 
 not impossible is it that they pity the old man fighting out 
 his life; and perhaps, too, Barrington himself may have 
 softened a little, since he has begun to feel that his grand- 
 daughter — for George left a child — had interests which 
 his own indignation could not rightfully sacrifice; so that 
 amongst all these perhapses, who knows but some happy 
 issue may come at last?" 
 
 "That Barrington race is not a very pliant one," said 
 Stapylton, half dreamily; and then, in some haste, added, 
 "at least, such is the character they give them here." 
 
 "Some truth there may be in that. Men of a strong tem- 
 perament and with a large share of self-dependence gener- 
 ally get credit from the world for obstinacy, just because the 
 road they see out of difficulties is not the popular one. But 
 even with all this, I 'd not call old Peter self-willed ; at least. 
 Withering tells me that from time to time, as he has con- 
 veyed to him the opinions and experiences of old Indian 
 officers, some of whom had either met with or heard of 
 George, he has listened with much and even respectful atten* 
 
COBHAJVL 191 
 
 tion. Anct as all their counsels have gone against his 
 own convictions, it is something to give them a patient 
 hearing." 
 
 "He has thus permitted strangers to come and speak with 
 him on these topics ? " asked Stapylton, eagerly. 
 
 "No, no, — not he. These men had called on AYithering, 
 
 — met him, perhaps, in society, — heard of his interest in 
 George Barrington's case, and came good-naturedly to 
 volunteer a word of counsel in favor of an old comrade. 
 Nothing more natural, I think." 
 
 "Nothing. I quite agree with you; so much so, indeed, 
 that having served some years in India, and in close prox- 
 imity, too, to one of the native courts, I was going to ask 
 you to present me to your friend Mr. AVithering, as one not 
 altogether incapable of affording him some information." 
 
 "With a heart and a half. I '11 do it." 
 
 "I say, Harry," cried out the host, "if you and Captain 
 Stapylton will neither fill your glasses nor pass the wine, 
 I think we had better join the ladies." 
 
 And now there was a general move to the drawing-room, 
 where several evening guests had already assembled, making 
 a somewhat numerous company. Polly Dill was there, too, 
 
 — not the wearied-looking, careworn figure we last saw her, 
 when her talk was of "dead anatomies," but the lively, spark- 
 ling, bright-eyed Polly, who sang the Melodies to the accom- 
 paniment of him who could make every note thrill with the 
 sentiment his own genius had linked to it. I half wish I 
 had not a story to tell, — that is, that I had not a certain 
 road to take, — that I might wander at will through bj^-path 
 and lane, and linger on the memories thus by a chance 
 awakened! Ah, it was no small triumph to lift out of 
 obscure companionship and vulgar associations the music 
 of our land, and wed it to words immortal, to show us that 
 the pebble at our feet was a gem to be worn on the neck of 
 beauty, and to prove to us, besides, that our language could 
 be as lyrical as Anacreon's own! 
 
 "I am enchanted with your singing," whispered Stapylton, 
 in Polly's ear; "but I 'd forego all the enjoyment not to see 
 you so pleased with your companion. I begin to detest the 
 little Poet." 
 
192 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "I '11 tell him so," said she, half gravely; "and he '11 know 
 well that it is the coarse hate of the Saxon." 
 
 "I'm no Saxon!" said he, flushing and darkening at the 
 same time. And then, recovering his calm, he added, 
 "There are no Saxons left amongst us, nor anj^ Celts for us 
 to honor with our contempt; but come away from the piano, 
 and don't let him fancy he has bound you by a spell." 
 
 "But he has," said she, eagerly, — "he has, and I don't 
 care to break it." 
 
 But the little Poet, running his fingers lightly over the 
 keys, warbled out, in a half-plaintive whisper, — 
 
 "Oh, tell me, dear Polly, why is it thine eyes 
 
 Through their briglitness have something of sorrow ? 
 I cannot suppose that the glow of such skies 
 Should ever mean gloom for the morrow ; 
 
 "Or must I believe that your heart is afar, 
 And you only make semblance to hear me. 
 While your tlioughts are away to that splendid hussar. 
 And 't is only your image is near me 1 " 
 
 "An unpublished melody, I fancy," said Stapylton, with 
 a malicious twinkle of his eye. 
 
 "Not even corrected as yet," said the Poet, with a glance 
 at Polly. 
 
 What a triumph it was for a mere village beauty to be 
 thus tilted for by such gallant knights ; but Polly was prac- 
 tical as well as vain, and a certain unmistakable something 
 in Lady Cobham's eye told her that two of the most valued 
 guests of the house were not to be thus withdrawn from 
 circulation; and with this wise impression on her mind, she 
 slipped hastily away, on the pretext of something to say to 
 her father. And although it was a mere pretence on her 
 part, there was that in her look as they talked together that 
 betokened their conversation to be serious. 
 
 "I tell you again," said he, in a sharp but low whisper, 
 "she will not suffer it. You used not to make mistakes of 
 this kind formerly, and I cannot conceive why you should 
 do so now." 
 
 "But, dear papa," said she, with a strange half-smile, 
 "don't you remember your own story of the gentleman who 
 
COBHAM. 193 
 
 got tipsy because he foresaw be would never be invited 
 again ? " 
 
 But the doctor was in no jesting mood, and would not 
 accept of the illustration. He spoke now even more angrily 
 than before. 
 
 "You have only to see how much they make of him to 
 know well that he is out of our reach," said he, bitterly. 
 
 "A long shot, Sir Lucius; there is such honor in a long 
 shot," said she, with infinite drollery; and then with a sud- 
 den gravity, added, "I have never forgotten the man you 
 cured, just because your hand shook and you gave him a 
 double dose of laudanum." 
 
 This was too much for his patience, and he turned away 
 in disgust at her frivolity. In doing so, however, he came 
 in front of Lady Cobham, who had come up to request Miss 
 Dill to play a certain Spanish dance for two young ladies 
 of the company. 
 
 "Of course, your Ladyship, — too much honor for her, — 
 she will be charmed; my little girl is overjoyed when she 
 can contribute even thus humbly to the pleasure of your 
 delightful house." 
 
 Never did a misdemeanist take his "six weeks" with a 
 more complete consciousness of penalty than did Polly sit 
 down to that piano. She well understood it as a sentence, 
 and, let me own, submitted well and gracefully to her fate. 
 Nor was it, after all, such a slight trial, for the fandango 
 was her own speciality; she had herself brought the dance 
 and the music to Cobham. They who were about to dance 
 it were her own pupils, and not very proficient ones, either. 
 And with all this she did her part well and loyally. Never 
 had she played with more spirit; never marked the time 
 with a firmer precision ; never threw more tenderness into 
 the graceful parts, nor more of triumphant daring into the 
 proud ones. Amid the shower of "Bravos!" that closed 
 the performance, — for none thought of the dancers, — the 
 little Poet drew nigh and whispered, "How naughty! " 
 
 "Why so?" asked she, innocently. 
 
 "What a blaze of light to throw over a sorry picture! " 
 said he, dangling his eyeglass, and playing that part of 
 middle-aged Cupid he was so fond of assuming. 
 
 VOL. I. — 13 
 
194 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "Do you kuow, sir," said Lady Cobham, coming hastily 
 towards bim, "that I will not permit you to turn the heads 
 of my youug ladies? Dr. Dill is already so afraid of your 
 fascinations that he has ordered his carriage, — is it not 
 so?" she went on appealing to the doctor, with increased 
 rapidity. "But you will certainly keep your promise to us. 
 We shall expect you on Thursday at dinner." 
 
 Overwhelmed with confusion, Dill answered — he knew 
 not what — about pleasure, punctuality, and so forth; and 
 then turned away to ring for that carriage he hud not 
 ordered before. 
 
 "And so you tell me Barrington is better?" said the 
 Admiral, taking him by the arm and leading him away. 
 "The danger is over, then?" 
 
 "I believe so; his mind is calm, and he is only suffering 
 now from debility. What with the Assizes, and a week's 
 dissipation at Kilkenny, and this shock, — for it was a 
 shock, — the whole thing was far more of a mental than a 
 bodily ailment." 
 
 '"You gave him my message? You said how anxious I 
 felt to know if I could be of any use to him ? " 
 
 "Yes; and he charged Mr. Withering to come and thank 
 you, for he is passing by Cobham to-morrow on his way to 
 Kilkenny." 
 
 "Indeed! Georgiaua, don't forget that. Withering will 
 call here to-morrow; try and keep him to dine, at least, if 
 we cannot secure him for longer. He 's one of those fellows 
 I am always delighted to meet. Where are you going, Dill ? 
 Not taking 3'our daughter away at this hour, are you? " 
 
 The doctor sighed, and muttered something about dissi- 
 pations that were only too fascinating, too engrossing. He 
 did not exactly like to say that his passports had been sent 
 him, and the authorities duly instructed to give him "every 
 aid and assistance possible." For a moment, indeed, Polly 
 looked as though she would make some explanation of the 
 matter; but it was only for a moment, and the slight flush 
 on her cheek gave way quickly, and she looked somewhat 
 paler than her wont. Meanwhile, the little Poet had fetched 
 her shawl, and led her away, humming, "Buona notte, — 
 buona sera!" as he went, in that half-caressing, half- 
 
COBHAil. 195 
 
 quizzing way he could assume so jauntily. Stapyltou 
 walked behind with the doctor, aud whispered as he went, 
 *'If not inconvenient, might I ask the favor of a few min- 
 utes with you to-morrow ? " 
 
 Dill assured him he was devotedly his servant; and hav- 
 ing fixed the interview for two o'clock, away they drove. 
 The night was calm and starlight, and they had long passed 
 beyond the grounds of Cobham, and were full two miles on 
 their road before a word was uttered by either. 
 
 "What was it her Ladyship said about Thursday next, at 
 dinner?" asked the doctor, half pettishly. 
 
 "Nothing to me, papa." 
 
 "If I remember, it was that we had accepted the invita- 
 tion already, and begging me not to forget it." 
 
 "Perhaps so," said she, dryl3\ 
 
 "You are usually more mindful about these matters," said 
 he, tartly, "and not so likely to forget promised festivities." 
 
 "They certainly were not promised to me," said she, 
 "nor, if they had been, should I accept of them." 
 
 "What do you mean? " said he, angrily. 
 
 "Simply, papa, that it is a house I will not re-enter, that 's 
 all." 
 
 "Why, your head is turned, your brains are destroyed 
 by flattery, girl. You seem totall}' to forget that we go to 
 these places merely by courtesy, — we are received only on 
 sufferance; we are not their equals." 
 
 "The more reason to treat us with deference, and not 
 render our position more painful than it need be." 
 
 "Folly and nonsense! Deference, indeed! How much 
 deference is due from eight thousand a year to a dispensary 
 doctor, or his daughter? I '11 have none of these absurd 
 notions. If they made any mistake towards you, it was by 
 over-attention, — too much notice." 
 
 " That is very possible, papa ; and it was not always very 
 flattering for that reason." 
 
 "Why, what is your head full of? Do you fancy you are 
 one of Lord Carricklough's daughters, eh? " 
 
 "No, papa; for they are shockingly freckled, and very 
 plain." 
 
 " Do you knoAv 3'our real station? " cried he, more angrily, 
 
196 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "and that if, by the courtesy of society, my position secures 
 acceptance anywhere, it entails nothing — positively nothing 
 — to those belonging to me?" 
 
 "Such being the case, is it not wise of us not to want 
 anything, — not to look for it, — not to pine after it? You 
 shall see, papa, whether I fret over my exclusion from 
 Cobham." 
 
 The doctor was not in a mood to approve of such philoso- 
 phy, and he drove on, only showing — by an extra cut of 
 his whip — the tone and temper that beset him. 
 
 "You are to have a visit from Captain Stapylton to- 
 morrow, papa?" said she, in the manner of a half question. 
 
 "Who told you so?" said he, with a touch of eagerness 
 in his voice; for suddenly it occurred to him if Polly knew 
 of this appointment, she herself might be interested in its 
 object. 
 
 "He asked me what was the most likely time to find you 
 at home, and also if he might veutiue to hope he should be 
 presented to mamma." 
 
 That was, as the doctor thought, a very significant speech; 
 it might mean a great deal, — a very great deal, indeed ; and 
 so he turned it over and over in his mind for some time 
 before he spoke again. At last he said, — 
 
 "I haven't a notion what he's coming about, Polly, — 
 have you ? " 
 
 "No, sir; except, perhaps, it be to consult you. He told 
 me he had sprained his arm, or his shoulder, the other day, 
 when his horse swerved." 
 
 "Oh no, it can't be that, Polly; it can't be that." 
 
 "Why not the pleasure of a morning call, then? He is an 
 idle man, and finds time heavy on his hands." 
 
 A short "humph" showed that this explanation was not 
 more successful than the former, and the doctor, rather 
 irritated with this game of fence, for so he deemed it, said 
 bluntly, — 
 
 "Has he been showing you any marked attentions of late? 
 Have you noticed anything peculiar in his manner towards 
 you?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever, sir," said she, with a frank boldness. 
 "He has chatted and flirted with me, just as every one 
 
COBHAM. 197 
 
 else presumes he has a right to do with a girl in a station 
 below their own ; but he has never been more impertinent in 
 this way than any other young man of fashion." 
 
 "But there have been " — he was sorely puzzled for the 
 word he wanted, and it was onl}' as a resource, not out of 
 choice, he said — "attentions?" 
 
 '' Of course, papa, what many would call in the cognate 
 phrase, marked attentions ; but girls who go into the world 
 as I do no more mistake what these mean than would you 
 yourself, papa, if passingly asked what was good for a sore- 
 throat fancy that the inquirer intended to fee you." 
 
 " I see, Polly, I see," muttered he, as the illustration 
 came home to him. Still, after ruminating for some time, a 
 change seemed to come over his thoughts, for he said, — - 
 
 "But you might be wrong this time, Polly: it is by no 
 means impossible that you might be wrong." 
 
 " My dear papa," said she, gravely," when a man of his 
 rank is disposed to think seriousl}' of a girl in mine, he does 
 not begin by flattery ; he rather takes the line of correction 
 and warning, telling her fifty little platitudes about trifles in 
 manner, and so forth, by her docile acceptance of which he 
 conceives a high notion of himself, and a half liking for her. 
 But I have no need to go into these things ; enough if I 
 assure j^ou Captain Stapylton's visit has no concern for me ; 
 he either comes out of pure idleness, or he wants to make 
 use of you." 
 
 The last words opened a new channel to Dill's thoughts, 
 and he drove on in silent meditation over them. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE HOUR OF LUNCHEON. 
 
 If there be a special agreeability about all the meal-times of 
 a pleasant country-house, there is not one of them which, in 
 the charm of an easy, unconstrained gayety, can rival the 
 hour of luncheon. At breakfast, one is too fresh ; at dinner, 
 too formal ; but luncheon, like an opening manhood, is full 
 of its own bright projects. The plans of the day have 
 already reached a certain maturity, and fixtures have been 
 made for riding-parties, or phaeton drives, or flirtations in 
 the garden. The very strangers who looked coldly at each 
 other over their morning papers have shaken into a semi- 
 intimacy, and little traits of character and temperament, 
 which would have been studiously shrouded in the more 
 solemn festivals of the day, are now displayed with a frank 
 and fearless confidence. The half-toilette and the tweed 
 coat, mutton broth and " Balmorals," seem infinitely more 
 congenial to acquaintanceship than the full-blown splendor 
 of evening dress and the grander discipline of dinner. 
 
 Irish social life permits of a practice of which I do not, 
 while recording, constitute mj^self the advocate or the apolo- 
 gist, — a sort of good-tempered banter called quizzing, — a 
 habit I scarcely believe practicable in other lands ; that is, I 
 know of no country where it could be carried on as harm- 
 lessly and as gracefully, where as much wit could be ex- 
 pended innocuously, as little good feeling jeopardized in 
 the display. The happiest hour of the day for such passages 
 as these was that of luncheon, and it was in the very clash 
 and clatter of the combat that a servant announced the 
 Attorne^'-General ! 
 
 What a damper did the name prove ! Short of a bishop 
 himself, no announcement could have spread more terror 
 
THE HOUR OF LUNCHEON. 199 
 
 over the younger members of the company, embodying as it 
 seemed to do all that could be inquisitorial, intolerant, and 
 overbearing. Great, however, was the astonishment to see, 
 instead of the stern incarnation of Crown prosecutions and 
 arbitrary commitments, a tall, thin, slightly stooped man, 
 dressed in a gray shooting-jacket, and with a hat plentifully 
 garnished with fishing-flies. He came lightly into the room, 
 and kissed the hand of liis hostess with a mixture of 
 cordiality and old-fashioned gallantry that became him 
 well. 
 
 " My old luck, Cobham ! " said he, as he seated himself 
 at table. " I have fished the stream all the way from the 
 Red House to this, and never so much as a rise to reward 
 me. 
 
 "They knew you, — they knew you, "Withering," chirped 
 out the Poet, " and they took good care not to put in an 
 appearance, with the certainty of a ' detainer.' " 
 
 "Ah! you here! That decanter of sherry screened you 
 completely from my view," said "SMthering, whose sarcasm 
 on his size touched the vei'y sorest of the other's suscepti- 
 bilities. " And talking of recognizances, how comes it you 
 are here, and a large party at Lord Dunraney's all assembled 
 to meet you ? " 
 
 The Poet, as not infrequent with him, had forgotten 
 everything of tliis prior engagement, and was now over- 
 whelmed with his forget fulness. The ladies, however, pressed 
 eagerly around him with consolation so like caresses, that 
 he was speedily himself again. 
 
 "How natural a mistake, after all!" said the lawyer. 
 "The old song saySj — 
 
 ' Tell me where beauty and wit and wine 
 Are met, and I '11 say where I 'm asked to dine.' 
 
 Ah ! Tommy, yours is the profession, after all ; always sure 
 of your retainer, and never but one brief to sustain — ' T. 
 M. versus the Heart of Woman.' " 
 
 '■ One is occasionally nonsuited, however," said the other, 
 half pettishly. "By the way, how was it you got that 
 verdict for old Barrington t'other day? Was it true that 
 Plowden got hold of i/ou)- bag' by mistake?" 
 
200 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " Not only that, but he made a point for us none of us 
 had discovered." 
 
 " How historical the blunder : — 
 
 ' The case is classical, as I and you know ; 
 He came from Venus, but made love to Juno.'" 
 
 " If Peter Barrington gained his cause by it I 'ra heartily 
 rejoiced, and I wish him health and years to enjoy it." The 
 Admiral said this with a cordial good will as he drank off 
 his glass. 
 
 "He's all right again," said Withering. "I left him 
 working away with a hoe and a rake this morning, looking 
 as hale and hearty as he did a dozen years ago." 
 
 '• A man must have really high deserts in whose good 
 fortune so many are well-wishers," said Stapylton ; and by 
 the courteous tone of the remark AVitheriug's attention 
 was attracted, and he speedily begged the Admiral to present 
 him to his guest. They continued to converse together as 
 they arose from table, and with such common pleasure that 
 when Withering expressed a hope the acquaintance might 
 not end there, Stapylton replied by a request that he would 
 allow him to be his fellow-traveller to Kilkenny, whither he 
 was about to go on a regimental affair. The arrangement 
 was quickly made, to the satisfaction of each ; and as they 
 drove away, while many bewailed the departure of such 
 pleasant members of the party, tlie little Poet simperingly 
 said, — 
 
 " Shall I owTi that my heart is relieved of a care ? — 
 Though you '11 think the confession is petty — 
 I cannot but feel, as I look on the pair, 
 It is ' Peebles ' gone off with ' Dalgetty.' " 
 
 As for the fellow-travellers, they jogged along very 
 pleasantly on their wa}-, as two consummate men of the 
 world are sure to do when they meet. For what Free- 
 masonry equals that of two shrewd students of life? How 
 flippantly do they discuss each theme ! how easily read each 
 character, and unravel each motive that presents itself ! 
 What the lawyer gained by the technical subtlety of his 
 profession, the soldier made up for by his wider experience 
 of mankind. There were, besides, a variety of experiences 
 
THE HOUR OF LUNCHEON. 201 
 
 to exchange. Toga could tell of much that interested the 
 " man of war," and he, in turn, made himself extremely 
 agreeable by his Eastern information, not to say, that he 
 was able to give a correct version of many Hindostanee 
 phrases and words which the old lawyer eagerly desired to 
 acquire. 
 
 ''All you have been telling me has a strong interest for 
 me, Captain Stapylton," said he, as they drove into Kil- 
 kenny. "I have a case which has engaged my attention for 
 years, and is likely to occupy what remains to me of life, 
 
 — a suit of which India is the scene, and Orientals figure as 
 some of the chief actors, — so that I can scarcely say how 
 fortunate I feel this chance meeting with you." 
 
 "I shall deem myself greatly honored if the acquaintance 
 does not end here." 
 
 "It shall not, if it depend upon me," said Withering, 
 cordially. "You said something of a visit you were about 
 to make to Dublin. Will you do me a great — a very great 
 
 — favor, and make my house your home while you stay ? 
 This is my address: '18 Merrion Square.' It is a bach- 
 elor's hall; and you can come and go without ceremony." 
 
 "The plan is too tempting to hesitate about. I accept 
 your invitation with all the frankness you have given it. 
 Meanwhile you will be my guest here." 
 
 "That is impossible. I must start for Cork this evening." 
 And now they parted, — not like men who had been 
 strangers a few hours back, but like old acquaintances, 
 only needing the occasion to feel as old friends. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR'S. 
 
 When Captain Stapylton made his appointment to wait on 
 Dr. Dill, he was not aware that the Attorney-General was 
 expected at Cobham. No sooner, however, had he learned 
 that fact than he changed his purpose, and intimated his 
 intention of running up for a day to Kilkenny, to hear what 
 was going on in the regiment. No regret for any disap- 
 pointment he might be giving to the village doctor, no self- 
 reproach for the breach of an engagement — all of his own 
 making — crossed his mind. It is, indeed, a theme for a 
 moralist to explore, the ease with which a certain superiority 
 in station can divest its possessor of all care for the sensi- 
 bilities of those below him; and yet in the little household 
 of the doctor that promised visit was the source of no small 
 discomfort and trouble. The doctor's study — the sanctum 
 in which the interview should be held — had to be dusted 
 and smartened up. Old boots, and overcoats, and smashed 
 driving-whips, and odd stirrup-leathers, and stable-lanterns, 
 and garden implements had all to be banished. The great 
 table in front of the doctor's chair had also to be profes- 
 sionally littered with notes and cards and periodicals, not 
 forgetting an ingenious admixture of strange instruments 
 of torture, quaint screws, and inscrutable-looking scissors, 
 destined, doubtless, to make man}' a faint heart the fainter 
 in their dread presence. All these details had to be carried 
 out in various ways through the rest of the establishment, 
 — in the drawing-room, wherein the great man was to be 
 ushered ; in the dining-room, where he was to lunch. Upon 
 Polly did the greater part of these cares devolve; not alone 
 attending to the due disposal of chairs and sofas and 
 tables, but to the preparation of certain culinary delicacies, 
 
AN INTERIOK AT THE DOCTOR'S. 203 
 
 which were to make the Captain forget the dainty luxuries 
 of Cobham. And, in truth, there is a marvellous esprit 
 du corps in the way a woman will fag and slave herself to 
 make the humble household she belongs to look its best, 
 even to the very guest she has least at heart ; for Polly did 
 not like Stapylton. Flattered at first by his notice, she was 
 offended afterwards at the sort of conscious condescension 
 of his manner, — a something which seemed to say, I can be 
 charming, positively fascinating, but don't imagine for a 
 moment that there is anything especial in it. I captivate 
 — just as I fish, hunt, sketch, or shoot — to amuse myself. 
 And with all this, how was it he was really not a coxcomb ? 
 Was it the grave dignity of his address, or the quiet state- 
 liness of his person, or was it a certain uniformity, a 
 keeping, that pervaded all he said or did? I am not quite 
 sure whether all three did not contribute to this end, and 
 make him what the world confessed, — a most well-bred 
 gentleman. 
 
 Polly was, in her way, a shrewd observer, and she felt that 
 Stapylton' s manner towards her was that species of urbane 
 condescension with which a great master of a game deigns 
 to play with a very humble proficient. He moved about the 
 board with an assumption that said, I can checkmate you 
 when I will ! Now this is hard enough to bear when the 
 pieces at stake are stained ivory, but it is less endurable: 
 still when they are our emotions and our wishes. And yet 
 with all this before her, Polly ordered and arranged and 
 superintended and directed with an energy that never tired, 
 and an activity that never relaxed. 
 
 As for Mrs. Dill, no similar incident in the life of Cla- 
 rissa had prepared her for the bustle and preparation she 
 saw on every side, and she was fairly perplexed between the 
 thought of a seizure for rent and a fire, — casualties which, 
 grave as they were, she felt she could meet with Mr. Rich- 
 ardson beside her. The doctor himself was unusually fidgety 
 and anxious. Perhaps he ascribed considerable importance 
 to this visit; perhaps he thought Polly had not been candid 
 with him, and that, in reality, she knew more of its object 
 than she had avowed; and so he walked hurriedly from 
 room to room, and out into the garden, and across the road 
 
204 BARKINGTON. 
 
 to the river's siile, and once as far as the bridge, consulting 
 his watch, and calculating that as it now only wanted eight 
 minutes of two o'clock, the arrival could scarcely be long 
 delayed. 
 
 It was on his return he entered the drawing-room and 
 found Polly, now plainly but becomingly dressed, seated at 
 her work, with a seeming quietude and repose about her, 
 strangely at variance witli her late display of activity. 
 "I've had a look down the Graigue Road," said he, "but 
 can see nothing. You are certain he said two o'clock?" 
 
 "Quite certain, sir." 
 
 "To be sure he might come by the river; there 's water 
 enough now for the Cobham barge." 
 
 She made no answer, though she half suspected some 
 reply was expected. 
 
 "And of course," continued the doctor, "they'd have 
 offered him the use of it. They seem to make a great deal 
 of him up there." 
 
 "A great deal, indeed, sir," said she; but in a voice that 
 was a mere echo of his own. 
 
 "And I suspect they know why. I 'm sure they know 
 why. People in their condition make no mistakes about 
 each other; and if he receives much attention, it is because 
 it's his due." 
 
 No answer followed this speech, and he walked feverishly 
 up and down the room, holding his watch in his closed 
 hand. " I have a notion you must have mistaken him. It 
 was not two he said." 
 
 "I'm positive it was two, sir. But it can scarcely be 
 much past that hour now." 
 
 "It is seventeen minutes past two," said he, solemnly. 
 And then, as if some fresh thought had just occurred to him, 
 asked, "Where 's Tom? I never saw him this morning." 
 
 "He's gone out to take a walk, sir. The poor fellow is 
 dead beat by work, and had such a headache that I told him 
 to go as far as the Red House or Snow's Mill." 
 
 "And I '11 wager he did not want to be told twice. Any- 
 thing for idleness with him!" 
 
 "Well, papa, he is really doing his very best now. He 
 is not naturall}' quick, and he has a bad memory, so that 
 
I 
 
 AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR'S. 205 
 
 labor is no common toil ; but his heart is in it, and I never 
 saw him really anxious for success before." 
 
 "To go out to India, I suppose," said Dill, sneeringly, 
 "that notable project of the other good-for-nothing; for, 
 except in the matter of fortune, there 's not much to choose 
 between them. There 's the half-hour striking now! " 
 
 "The project has done this for him, at least," said she, 
 firmly, — "it has given him hope! " 
 
 "How I like to hear about hope! " said he, with a pecu- 
 liarly sarcastic bitterness. "I never knew a fellow worth 
 sixpence that had that cant of ' hope ' in his mouth ! How 
 much hope had I when I began the world ! How much have 
 I now ? " 
 
 "Don't you hope Captain Stapylton may not have for- 
 gotten his appointment, papa?" said she, with a quick droll- 
 ery, which sparkled in her eye, but brought no smile to her 
 lips. 
 
 "AVell, here he is at last," said Dill, as he heard the sharp 
 click made by the wicket of the little garden ; and he started 
 up, and rushed to the window. "May I never!" cried he, 
 in horror, "if it is n't M'Cormick! Say we 're out, — that 
 I'm at Graigue, — that I won't be home till evening! " 
 
 But while he was multiplying these excuses, the old Major 
 had caught sight of him, and was waving his hand in salu- 
 tation from below. "It 's too late, — it 's too late! " sighed 
 Dill, bitterly; "he sees me now, — there's no help for it!" 
 
 What benevolent and benedictory expressions were mut- 
 tered below his breath, it is not for this history to record; 
 but so vexed and irritated was he, that the Major had already 
 entered the room ere he could compose his features into even 
 a faint show of welcome. 
 
 "I was down at the Dispensary," croaked out M'Cormick, 
 " and they told me you were not expected there to-day, and 
 so I said, maybe he 's ill, or maybe," — and here he looked 
 shrewdly around him, — "maybe there 's something going 
 on up at the house." 
 
 "What should there be going on, as you call it?" re- 
 sponded Dill, angrily, for he was now at home, in presence 
 of the family, and could not compound for that tone of 
 sers'ile acquiescence he employed on foreign service. 
 
206 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "And, faix, I believe I was right; Miss Polly is u't so 
 smart this morning for nothing, no more than the saving 
 cover is off the sofa, and the piece of gauze taken down 
 from before the looking-glass, and the ' Times ' newspaper 
 away from the rug ! " 
 
 "Are there any other domestic changes you 'd like to re- 
 mark upon, Major M'Cormick?" said Dill, pale with rage. 
 
 "Indeed, yes," rejoined the other; "there's yourself, in 
 the elegant black coat that I never saw since Lord Kil- 
 raney's funeral, and looking pretty much as lively and 
 pleasant as you did at the ceremony." 
 
 "A gentleman has made an appointment with papa," 
 broke in Polly, "and may be here at any moment." 
 
 "I know who it is," said M'Cormick, with a finger on 
 the side of his nose to imply intense cunning. " I know all 
 about it." 
 
 "What do you know? — what do you mean by all about 
 it?" said Dill, with an eagerness he could not repress. 
 
 "Just as much as yourselves, — there now ! Just as much 
 as yourselves ! " said he, sententiously. 
 
 "But apparently, Major, you know far more," said Polly. 
 
 "Maybe I do, ma^be I don't; but I '11 tell you one thing, 
 Dill, for your edification, and mind me if I'm not right: 
 you 're all mistaken about him, every one of ye! " 
 
 " "Whom are you talking of ? " asked the doctor, sternly. 
 
 "Just the very man you mean yourself, and no other! 
 Oh, you need n't fuss and fume, I don't want to pry into 
 your family secrets. Not that they '11 be such secrets to- 
 morrow or next day, — the whole town will be talking of 
 them, — but as an old friend that could, maybe, give a word 
 of advice — " 
 
 "Advice about what? Will you just tell me about 
 what?" cried Dill, now bursting with anger. 
 
 "I 've done now. Not another word passes my lips about 
 it from this minute. Follow your own road, and see where 
 it will lead ye?" 
 
 "Cannot you understand, Major M'Cormick, that we are 
 totally unable to guess what you allude to? Neither papa 
 nor I have the very faintest clew to your meaning, and if 
 you really desire to serve us, you will speak out plainly." 
 
AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR'S. 207 
 
 " Not another sj'llable, if I sat here for two years ! " 
 
 The possibility of such an infliction seemed so terrible to 
 poor Polly that she actually shuddered as she heard it. 
 
 " Is n't that your mother I see sitting up there, with all the 
 fine ribbons in her cap?" w^hispered M'Cormick/ as he 
 pointed to a small room which opened off an angle of the 
 larger one. "That 's ' the boodoo, ' is n't it? " said he, with 
 a grin. This, I must inform m}^ reader, was the M'Cormick 
 for "boudoir." "Well, I'll go and pay my respects to 
 her." 
 
 So little interest did Mrs. Dill take in the stir and move- 
 ment around her that the Major utterly failed in his endeav- 
 ors to torture her by all his covert allusions and ingeniously 
 drawn inferences. No matter what hints he dropped or 
 doubts he suggested, she knew "Clarissa" would come well 
 out of her trials; and beyond a little unmeaning simper, and 
 a muttered "To be sure," "No doubt of it," and, "Why 
 not?" M'Cormick could obtain nothing from her. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the outer room the doctor continued to 
 stride up and down with impatience, while Polly sat quietly 
 working on, not the less anxious, perhaps, though her 
 peaceful air betokened a mind at rest. 
 
 "That must be a boat, papa," said she, without lifting 
 her head, " that has just come up to the landing-place. I 
 heard the plash of the oars, and now all is still again." 
 
 "You're right; so it is!" cried he, as he stopped before 
 the window. "But how is this! That 's a lady I see yonder, 
 and a gentleman along with her. That 's not Stapyltou, 
 surely ! " 
 
 "He is scarcely so tall," said she, rising to look out, 
 "but not veiy unlike him. But the lady, papa, — the lady 
 is Miss Barrington." 
 
 Bad as M'Cormick's visit was, it was nothing to the possi- 
 bility of such an advent as this, and Dill's expressions of 
 anger were now neither measured nor muttered. 
 
 "This is to be a day of disasters. I see it well, and no 
 help for it," exclaimed he, passionately. "If there was one 
 human being I 'd hate to come here this morning, it 's that 
 old woman! She 's never civil. She 's not commonly decent 
 in her manner towards me in her own house, and what she '11 
 
208 BARKINGTON. 
 
 be in mine, is clean beyond me to guess. That's herself! 
 There she goes! Look at her remarking, — I see, she's 
 remarking on the weeds over the beds, and the smashed 
 paling. She 's laughing too! Oh, to l)e sure, it's fine laugh- 
 ing at people that 's poor; and she might know something of 
 that same herself. I know who the man is now. That's 
 the Colonel, who came to the ' Fisherman's Home ' on tlie 
 night of the accident." 
 
 "It would seem we are to hold a levee to-day," said Polly, 
 giving a very fleeting glance at herself in the glass. And 
 now a knock came to the door, and the man who acted gar- 
 dener and car-driver and valet to the doctor announced that 
 Miss Barrington and Colonel Hunter were below. 
 
 "Show them up," said Dill, with the peremptory voice of 
 one ordering a very usual event, and intentionally loud 
 enough to be heard below stairs. 
 
 If Polly's last parting with Miss Barrington gave little 
 promise of pleasure to their next meeting, the first look 
 she caught of the old lady on entering the room dispelled 
 all uneasiness on that score. Miss Dinah entered with a 
 pleasing smile, and presented her friend. Colonel Hunter, 
 as one come to thank the doctor for much kindness to his 
 young subaltern. "Whom, by the way," added he, "we 
 thought to find here. It is only since we landed that we 
 learned he had left the inn for Kilkenny." 
 
 While the Colonel continued to talk to the doctor. Miss 
 Dinah had seated herself on the sofa, with Polly at her 
 side. 
 
 "My visit this morning is to you," said she. "I have 
 come to ask your forgiveness. Don't interrupt me, child; 
 your forgiveness was the very word I used. I was very 
 rude to you t' other morning, and being all in the wrong, — 
 like most people in such circumstances, — I was very angry 
 with the person who placed me so." 
 
 "But, my dear madam," said Polly, "3'ou had such good 
 reason to suppose you were in the right that this amende 
 on your part is far too generous." 
 
 " It is not at all generous, — it is simply just. I was 
 sorely vexed with you about that stupid wager, which you 
 were very wrong to have had any share in ; vexed with 3'our 
 
AN IXTERIOE AT THE DOCTOR'S. 209 
 
 father, vexed with your brother, — uot that I believed his 
 counsel would have been absolute wisdom, — and I was even 
 vexed with my young friend Conyers, because he had not the 
 bad taste to be as angry with you as I was. When I was a 
 young lady," said she, bridling up, and looking at once 
 haughty and defiant, "no man would have dared to approach 
 me with such a proposal as complicit}' in a wager. But I 
 am told that my ideas are antiquated, and the world has 
 grown much wiser since that day." 
 
 "Nay, madam," said Polly, "'but there is another dif- 
 ference that your politeness has prevented you from appre- 
 ciating. I mean the difference in station between Miss 
 Barrington and Polly Dill." 
 
 It was a well-directed shot, and told powerfully, for Miss 
 Barrington 's eyes became clouded, and she turned her head 
 away, while she pressed Polly's hand within her own with a 
 cordial warmth. "Ah!" said she, feelingly, "I hope there 
 are many points of resemblance between us. I have always 
 tried to be a good sister. I know well what you have been 
 to your brother." 
 
 A very jolly burst of laughter from the inner room, where 
 Hunter had alreadj^ penetrated, broke in upon them, and the 
 merry tones of his voice were heard saying, "Take my word 
 for it, madam, nobody could spare time nowadays to make 
 love in nine volumes. Life 's too short for it. Ask my old 
 brother-officer here if he could endure such a thirty years' 
 war; or rather let me turn here for an opinion. What does 
 your daughter say on the subject?" 
 
 "Ay, ay," croaked out M'Cormick. "Marry in haste — " 
 
 "Or repent that you didn't. That's the true reading of 
 the adage." 
 
 "The Major would rather apply leisure to the marriage, 
 and make the repentance come — " 
 
 "As soon as possible afterwards," said Miss Dinah, 
 tartly. 
 
 "Faix, I '11 do better still ; I won't provoke the repentance 
 at all." 
 
 "Oh, Major, is it thus you treat me?" said Polly, affect- 
 ing to wipe her eyes. "Are my hopes to be dashed thus 
 cruelly ? " 
 
 VOL. I. — 14 
 
210 BARKINGTON. 
 
 But the doctor, who knew bow savagely M'Cormick could 
 resent even the most harmless jesting, quickly interposed, 
 with a question whether Polly had thought of ordering 
 luncheon. 
 
 It is but fair to Dr. Dill to record the bland but careless 
 ■way he ordered some entertainment for his visitors. He 
 did it like the lord of a well-appointed household, who, 
 when he said "serve," they served. It was in the easy cou- 
 lidence of one whose knowledge told him that the train was 
 laid, and only waited for the match to explode it. 
 
 ''May I have the honor, dear lady?" said he, offering his 
 arm to Miss Barrington. 
 
 Now, Miss Dinah had just observed that she had various 
 small matters to transact in the village, and was about to 
 issue forth for their performance; but such is the force of a 
 speciality, that she could not tear herself away without a 
 peep into the dining-room, and a glance, at least, at arrange- 
 ments that appeared so magically conjured up. Nor was 
 Dill insensible to the astonishment expressed in her face 
 as her eyes ranged over the table. 
 
 "If your daughter be your housekeeper. Dr. Dill," said 
 she, in a whisper, "I must give her my very heartiest 
 approbation. These are matters I can speak of with author- 
 ity, and I pronounce her worthy of high commendation." 
 
 "What admirable salmon cutlets!" cried the Colonel. 
 "Why, doctor, these tell of a French cook." 
 
 "There she is beside you, the French cook!" said the 
 Major, with a malicious twinkle. 
 
 "Yes," said Polly, smiling, though with a slight flush on 
 her face, "if Major M'Cormick will be indiscreet enough to 
 tell tales, let us hope they will never be more damaging in 
 their import." 
 
 "And do you say — do you mean to tell me that this 
 curry is your handiwork? Why, this is high art." 
 
 "Oh, she's artful enough, if it's that ye 're wanting," 
 muttered the Major. 
 
 Miss Barrington, having apparently satisfied the curiosity 
 she felt about the details of the doctor's housekeeping, now 
 took her leave, not, however, without Dr. Dill offering his 
 arm on one side, while Polly, with polite observance, walked 
 on the other. 
 
AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR'S. 211 
 
 "Look at that now," whispered the Major. "They're 
 as much afraid of that old woman as if she were the Queen 
 of Sheba ! And all because she was once a fine lady living 
 at Barrington Hall." 
 
 "Here's their health for it," said the Colonel, filling his 
 glass, — "and in a bumper too! By the way," added he, 
 looking around, " does not Mrs. Dill lunch with us?" 
 
 "Oh, she seldom comes to her meals! She's a little 
 touched here." And he laid his finger on the centre of his 
 forehead. " And, indeed, no wonder if she is." The be- 
 nevolent Major was about to give some details of secret 
 family history, when the doctor and his daughter returned 
 to the room. 
 
 The Colonel ate and talked untiringly. He was delighted 
 with everything, and charmed with himself for his good luck 
 in chancing upon such agreeable people. He liked the 
 scenery, the village, the beetroot salad, the bridge, the 
 pickled oysters, the evergreen oaks before the door. He 
 was not astonished Conyers should linger on such a spot ; 
 and then it suddenly occurred to him to ask when he had 
 left the village, and how. 
 
 The doctor could give no information on the point, and 
 while he was surmising one thing and guessing another, 
 M'Cormick whispered in the Colonel's ear, "Maybe it's a 
 delicate point. How do you know what went on with — " 
 And a significant nod towards Polly finished the remark. 
 
 " I wish I heard what Major M'Cormick has just said," 
 said Polly. 
 
 "And it is exactly what I cannot repeat to you." 
 
 "I suspected as much. So that my only request will be 
 that you never remember it." 
 
 " Isn't she sharp ! — sharp as a needle ! " chimed in the 
 Major. 
 
 Checking, and not without some effort, a smart reprimand 
 on the last speaker, the Colonel looked hastily at his watch, 
 and arose from table. 
 
 " Past three o'clock, and to be in Kilkenny by six." 
 
 " Do you want a car? There's one of Rice's men now in 
 the village ; shall I get him for you ? " 
 
 ' ' Would you really do, me the kindness ? " While the 
 
212 ' BARIUNGTON. 
 
 Major bustled off on his errand, the Colonel withdrew the 
 doctor inside the recess of a window. " I had a word I 
 wished to say to you in private, Dr. Dill ; but it must really 
 be in private, — you understand me ? " 
 
 " Strictly confidential. Colonel Hunter," said Dill, bowing. 
 
 " It is this : a young olHcer of mine, Lieutenant Conyers, 
 has written to me a letter mentioning a plan he had con- 
 ceived for the future advancement of your son, a young 
 gentleman for whom, it would appear, he had formed a 
 sudden but strong attachment. His project was, as I under- 
 stand it, to accredit him to his father with such a letter as 
 must secure the Cleneral's powerful influence in his behalf. 
 Just the sort of thing a warm-hearted young fellow would 
 think of doing for a friend he determined to serve, but 
 exactly the kind of proceeding that might have a very un- 
 fortunate ending. I can very well imagine, from my own 
 short experience here, that your son's claims to notice and 
 distinction may be the very highest; I can believe readily 
 what very little extraneous aid he would require to secure 
 his success ; but you and I are old men of the world, and are 
 bound to look at things cautiously, and to ask, ' Is this 
 scheme a very safe one?' ' Will General Conyers enter as 
 heartily into it as his son? ' ' Will the young surgeon be as 
 sure to captivate the old soldier as the young one ? ' In a 
 word, would it be quite wise to set a man's whole venture in 
 life on such a cast, and is it the sort of risk that,- with your 
 experience of the world, you would sanction? " 
 
 It was evident, from the pause the Colonel left after these 
 words, that he expected Dill to say something ; but, with 
 the sage reserve of his order, the doctor stood still, and 
 never uttered a syllable. Let us be just to his acuteness, he 
 never did take to the project from the first ; he thought ill 
 of it, in every way, but yet he did not relinquish the idea of 
 making the surrender of it " conditional; " and so he slowly 
 shook his head with an air of doubt, and smoothly rolled his 
 hands one over the other, as though to imply a moment of 
 hesitation and indecision. 
 
 '' Yes, yes," muttered he, talking only to himself, — 
 "disappointment, to be sure! — very great disappoint- 
 ment too ! And his heart so set upon it, that 's the 
 hardship." 
 
AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR'S. 213 
 
 "Naturally enough, " broke in Hunter, hastily. "Who 
 would n't be disappointed under such circumstances? Better 
 even that, however, than utter failure later on." 
 
 The doctor sighed, but over what precise calamity was 
 not so clear ; and Hunter continued, — 
 
 "Now, as I have made this communication to you in 
 strictest contidence, and not in any concert with Conyers, 
 I only ask you to accept the view as a mere matter of 
 opinion. I think you would be wi'ong to suffer your son 
 to engage in such a venture. That's all I mean by my 
 interference, and I have done." 
 
 Dill was, perhaps, scarcely prepared for the sudden sum- 
 ming up of the Colonel, and looked strangely puzzled and 
 embarrassed. 
 
 "Might I talk the matter over with my daughter Polly? 
 She has a good head for one so little versed in the world." 
 
 "By all means. It is exactly what I would have pro- 
 posed. Or, better still, shall I repeat what I have just 
 told you ? " 
 
 "Do so," said the doctor, "for I just remember Miss 
 Barrington will call here in a few moments for that medi- 
 cine I have ordered for her brother, and which is not yet 
 made up." 
 
 " Give me five minutes of your time and attention. Miss 
 Dill," said Hunter, "on a point for which your father has 
 referred me to your counsel." 
 
 "To mine?" 
 
 " Yes," said he, smiling at her astonishment. " We 
 want your quick faculties to come to the aid of our slow ones. 
 And here's the case." And in a few sentences he put the 
 matter before her, as he had done to her father. While he 
 thus talked, they had strolled out into the garden, and 
 walked slowly side by side down one of the alleys. 
 
 "Poor Tom!— poor fellow!" was all that Polly said, 
 as she listened; but once or twice her handkerchief was 
 raised to her eyes, and her chest heaved heavily. 
 
 " I am heartily sorry for him — that is, if his heart be 
 bent on it — if he really should have built upon the scheme 
 already." 
 
 " Of course he has, sir. You don't suppose that in such 
 
214 BAERINGTON. 
 
 lives as ours these are common incidents? If we chance 
 upon a treasure, or fancy that we have, once in a whole 
 existence, it is great fortune." 
 
 " It was a brief, a very brief acquaintance, — a few hours, 
 I believe. The — What was that? Did you hear any 
 one cough there ? " 
 
 "No, sir; we are quite alone. There is no one in the 
 garden but ourselves." 
 
 " So that, as I was saying, the project could scarcely 
 have taken a very deep root, and — and — in fact, better 
 the first annoyance than a mistake that should give its 
 color to a whole lifetime. I'm certain I heard a step in 
 that walk yonder." 
 
 " No, sir; we are all alone." 
 
 " I half wish I had never come on this same errand. 
 I have done an ungracious thing, evidently very ill, and 
 with the usual fate of those who say disagreeable things, 
 I am involved in the disgrace I came to avert." 
 " But I accept your view." 
 
 "There! I knew there was some one there!" said 
 Hunter, springing across a bed and coming suddenly to 
 the side of M'Cormick, who was affecting to be making a 
 nosegay. 
 
 " The car is ready at the door. Colonel," said he, in 
 some confusion. "Maybe you'd oblige me with a seat as 
 far as Ly rath ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes; of course. And how late it is!" cried he, 
 looking at his watch. " Time does fly fast in these regions, 
 no doubt of it." 
 
 " You see. Miss Polly, you have made the Colonel forget 
 himself," said M'Cormick, maliciously. 
 
 " Don't be severe on an error so often your own. Major 
 M'Cormick," said she, fiercely, and turned away into the 
 house. 
 
 The Colonel, however, was speedily at her side, and in an 
 earnest voice said : " I could hate myself for the impression 
 I am leaving behind me here. I came with those excellent 
 intentions which so often make a man odious, and I am go- 
 ing away with those regrets which follow all failures ; but T 
 mean to come back again one of these days, and erase, if 
 I can, the ill impression." 
 
AX INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR'S. 215 
 
 " One who has come out of his way to befriend those who 
 had no claim upon his kindness can have no fear for the 
 estimation he will be held in; for my part, I thank you 
 heartily, even though I do not exactly see the dkect road 
 out of this difficulty." 
 
 "Let me write to you. One letter — only one," said 
 Hunter. 
 
 But M'Cormick had heard the request, and she flushed up 
 with anger at the malicious glee his face exhibited. 
 
 " You '11 have to say my good-byes for me to your father, 
 for I am sorely pressed for time ; and, even as it is, shall be 
 late for my appointment in Kilkenny." And before Polly 
 could do more than exchange his cordial shake hands, he was 
 gone. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DARK TIDINGS. 
 
 If I am not wholly without self-reproach when I bring my 
 reader into uncongenial company, and make him pass time 
 with Major M'Cormick he had far rather bestow upon a 
 pleasanter companion, I am sustained by the fact — unpala- 
 table fact though it be — that the highway of life is not 
 always smooth, nor its banks flowery, and that, as an old 
 Derry woman once remarked to me, "It takes a' kind o' folk 
 to mak* a world." 
 
 Now, although Colonel Hunter did drive twelve weary 
 miles of road with the Major for a fellow-traveller, — thanks 
 to that unsocial conveniency called an Irish jaunting-car, — 
 they rode back to back, and conversed but little. One might 
 actually believe that unpopular men grow to feel a sort of 
 liking for their unpopularity, and become at length delighted 
 with the snubbings they meet with, as though an evidence of 
 the amount of that discomfort they can scatter over the world 
 at large ; just, in fact, as a wasp or a scorpion might have a 
 sort of triumphant joy in the consciousness of its power for 
 mischief, and exult in the terror caused by its vicinity. 
 
 "Splendid road — one of the best I ever travelled on," 
 said the Colonel, after about ten miles, during which he 
 smoked on without a word. 
 
 ' ' Why would n't it be, when they can assess the county 
 for it? They're on the Grand Jury, and high up, all about 
 here," croaked out the Major. 
 
 " It is a fine country, and abounds in handsome places." 
 " And well mortgaged, too, the most of them." 
 " You 'd not see better farming than that in Norfolk, 
 cleaner wheat or neater drills; in fact, one might imagine 
 himself in England." 
 
DARK TIDINGS. 217 
 
 " So he might, for the matter of taxes. I don't see much 
 difference." 
 
 " Why don't you smoke? Things look pleasanter through 
 the blue haze of a good Havannah," said Hunter, smiling. 
 
 " I don't want them to look pleasanter than they are," 
 was the dry rejoinder. 
 
 Whether Hunter did or did not, he scarcely liked his 
 counsellor, and, re-lightiug a cigar, he turned his back once 
 more on him. 
 
 "I'm one of those old-fashioned fellows," continued the 
 Major, leaning over towards his companion, "who would 
 rather see things as they are, not as they might be ; and 
 when I remarked you awhile ago so pleased with the elegant 
 luncheon and Miss Polly's talents for housekeeping, I was 
 laughing to myself over it all." 
 
 "How do you mean? W^hat did you laugh at?" said 
 Hunter, half fiercely. 
 
 " Just at the way you were taken in, that's all." 
 
 ' ' Taken in ? — taken in ? A very strange expression for 
 an hospitable reception and a most agreeable visit." 
 
 ' ' Well, it 's the very word for it, after all ; for as to the 
 hospitable reception, it was n't meant for us, but for that 
 tall Captain, — the dark-complexioned fellow, — Staples, I 
 think they call him." 
 
 "Captain Stapylton?" 
 
 " Yes, that's the man. He ordered Healey's car to take 
 him over here ; and I knew when the Dills sent over to Mrs. 
 Brierley for a loan of the two cut decanters and the silver 
 cruet-stand, something was up ; and so I strolled down, by 
 way of — to reconnoitre the premises, and see what old Dill 
 was after." 
 
 "Well, and then?" 
 
 " Just that I saw it all, — the elegant luncheon, and the 
 two bottles of wine, and the ginger cordials, all laid out 
 for the man that never came ; for it would seem he changed 
 his mind about it, and went back to head-quarters." 
 
 " You puzzle me more and more at every word. What 
 change of mind do you allude to? What purpose do you 
 infer he had in coming over here to-day?" 
 
 The only answer M'Cormick vouchsafed to this was by 
 
218 BARRINGTON. 
 
 closing one eye and putting bis finger significantly to the tip 
 of bis nose, while be said, " Catch a weasel asleep! " 
 
 " I more than suspect," said Hunter, sternly, '' that 
 this half-pay life works badly for a man's habits, and throws 
 him upon very petty and contemptible modes of getting 
 through his time. What possible business could it be of 
 yours to inquire why Stapylton came, or did not come here 
 to-day, no more than for the reason of my visit?" 
 
 ''Maybe I could guess that, too, if I was hard pushed," 
 said M'Cormick, whose tone showed no unusual irritation 
 from the late rebuke. "I was in the garden all the time, 
 and heard everything." 
 
 "Listened to what I was saying to Miss Dill!" cried 
 Hunter, whose voice of indignation could not now be 
 mistaken. 
 
 "Every word of it," replied the unabashed Major. "I 
 heard all you said about a short acquaintance — a few hours 
 you called it — but that your heart was bent upon it, all the 
 same. And then you went on about India ; what an elegant 
 place it was, and the fine pay and the great allowances. 
 And ready enough she was to believe it all, for I suppose 
 she was sworn at Highgate, and would n't take the Captain 
 if she could get the Colonel." 
 
 By this time, and not an instant earlier, it flashed upon 
 Hunter's mind that M'Cormick imagined he had overheard 
 a proposal of marriage ; and so amused was he by the 
 blunder, that he totally drowned his anger in a hearty burst 
 of laughter. 
 
 " I hope that, as an old brother-officer, you '11 be discreet, 
 at all events," said he, at last. " You have not come by 
 the secret quite legitimately, and I trust you will preserve 
 it." 
 
 "My hearing is good, and my eyesight too, and I mean 
 to use them both as long as they 're spared to me." 
 
 "It was your tongue that I referred to," said Hunter, 
 more gravely. 
 
 "Ay, I know it was," said the Major, craukily. "My 
 tongue will take care of itself also." 
 
 " In order to make its task the easier, then," said Hunter, 
 speaking in a slow and serious voice, ' ' let me tell you that 
 
DARK TIDINGS. 219 
 
 your eaves-dropping has, for once at least, misled you. 
 I made no proposal, such as you suspected, to Miss Dill. 
 Nor did she give me the slightest encouragement to do so. 
 The conversation you so unwarrantably and imperfectly 
 overheard had a totally different object, and I am not at all 
 sorry you should not have guessed it. So much for the 
 past. Now one word for the future. Omit my name, and 
 all that concerns me, from the narrative with which jou 
 amuse your friends, or, take my word for it, you '11 have to 
 record more than you have any fancy for. This is strictly 
 between ourselves ; but if you have a desire to impart it, 
 bear in mind that I shall be at my quarters in Kilkenny till 
 Tuesday next." 
 
 "You may spend your life there, for anything I care," 
 said the Major.. "Stop, Billy; pull up. I'll get down 
 here. " And shuffling off the car, he muttered a ' ' Good-day " 
 without turning his head, and bent his steps towards a nar- 
 row lane that led from the high-road. 
 
 ' ' Is this the place they call Lyrath ? " asked the Colonel 
 of the driver. 
 
 "No, your honor. We're a good four miles from it 
 yet." 
 
 The answer showed Hunter that his fellow-traveller had 
 departed in anger ; and such was the generosity of his nature, 
 he found it hard not to overtake him and make his peace 
 with him. 
 
 "After all," thought he, "he's a crusty old fellow, and 
 has hugged his ill-temper so long, it may be more congenial 
 to him now than a pleasanter humor." And he turned his 
 mind to other interests that more closely touched him. Nor 
 was he without cares, — heavier ones, too, than his happy 
 nature had ever yet been called to deal with. There are few 
 more painful situations in life than to find our advancement 
 — the long' wished and strived-for promotion — achieved at 
 the cost of some dearly loved friend ; to know that our road 
 to fortune had led us across the fallen figure of an old com- 
 rade, and that he who would have been the first to hail our 
 success is already bewailing his own defeat. This was 
 Hunter's lot at the present moment. He had been sent for 
 to hear of a marvellous piece of good-fortune. His name 
 
220 BARRINGTON. 
 
 and character, well known in India, had recommended him 
 for an office of high trust, — tlie Political Resident of a great 
 native court ; a position not alone of power and influence, 
 but as certain to secure, and within a very few years, a con- 
 siderable fortune. It was the Governor-General who had 
 made choice of him ; and the Prince of Wales, in the brief 
 interview he accorded him, was delighted with his frank and 
 soldierlike manner, his natural cheerfulness, and high spirit. 
 " AVe're not going to unfrock you. Hunter," said he, gayly, 
 in dismissing him. " You shall have your military rank, 
 and all the steps of your promotion. We only make you a 
 civilian till you have saved some lacs of rupees, which is 
 what I hear your predecessor has forgotten to do." 
 
 It was some time before Hunter, overjoyed as he was, 
 even bethought him of asking who that predecessor was. 
 What was his misery when he heard the name of Ormsby 
 Conyers, his oldest, best friend ; the man at whose table he 
 had sat for years, whose confidence he had shared, whose 
 heart was open to him to its last secret! " No," said he, 
 " this is impossible. Advancement at such a price has no 
 temptation for me. I will not accept it." He wrote his 
 refusal at once, not assigning any definite reasons, but 
 declaring that, after much thought and consideration, he had 
 decided the post was one he could not accept of. The Secre- 
 tary, in whose province the affairs of India lay, sent for him, 
 and, after much pressing and some ingenious cross-question- 
 ing, got at his reasons. " These may be all reasonable 
 scruples on your part," said he, " but they will avail your 
 friend nothing. Conyers must go ; for his own interest and 
 character's sake, he must come home and meet the charges 
 made against him, and which, from their very contradictions, 
 we all hope to see him treat triumphantly : some alleging 
 that he has amassed untold wealth ; others that it is, as a 
 ruined man, he has involved himself in the intrigues of the 
 native rulers. All who know him say that at the first whis- 
 per of a charge against him he will throw up his post and 
 come to England to meet his accusers. And now let me 
 own to you that it is the friendship in which he held you lay 
 one of the suggestions for your choice. We all felt that if 
 a man ill-disposed or ungenerously minded to Conyers should 
 
DARK TIDINGS. 221 
 
 go out to Agra, numerous petty and vexatious accusations 
 might be forthcoming ; the little local injuries and pressure, 
 so sure to beget grudges, would all rise up as charges, and 
 enemies to the fallen man spring up in every quarter. It is 
 as a successor, then, you can best serve your friend." I 
 need not dwell on the force and ingenuity with which this 
 view was presented ; enough that I say it was successful, and 
 Hunter returned to Ireland to take leave of his regiment, 
 and prepare for a speedy departure to India. 
 
 Having heard, in a brief note from young Conyers, his 
 intentions respecting Tom Dill, Hunter had hastened off to 
 prevent the possibility of such a scheme being carried out. 
 Not wishing, however, to divulge the circumstances of his 
 friend's fortune, he had in his interview with the doctor 
 confined himself to arguments on the score of prudence. 
 His next charge was to break to Fred the tidings of his 
 father's troubles, and it was an office he shrunk from with a 
 coward's fear. With every mile he went his heart grew 
 heavier. The more he thought over the matter the more 
 difficult it appeared. To treat the case lightly, might- savor 
 of heartlessness and levity; to approach it more seriously, 
 might seem a needless severity. Perhaps, too, Conyers 
 might have written to his son; he almost hoped he had, and 
 that the first news of disaster should not come from him. 
 
 That combination of high-heartedness and bashfulness, 
 a blended temerity and timidity, — by no means an uncom- 
 mon temperament, — renders a man's position in the embar- 
 rassments of life one of downright suffering. There are 
 operators who feel the knife more sensitively than the 
 patients. Few know what torments such men conceal under 
 a manner of seeming slap-dash and carelessness. Hunter 
 was of this order, and would, any day of his life, far rather 
 have confronted a real peril than met a contingency that 
 demanded such an address. It was, then, with a sense of 
 relief he learned, on arrival at the barracks, that Conyers 
 had gone out for a walk, so that there was a reprieve at least 
 of a few hours of the penalty that overhung him. 
 
 The ti-umpet-call for the mess had just sounded as Con- 
 yers gained the door of the Colonel's quarters, and Hunter 
 taking Fred's arm, they crossed the barrack-square together. 
 
222 BAKKINGTON. 
 
 "I have a great deal to say to you, Coiiyers," said he, 
 hurriedly; "part of it unpleasant, — none of it, indeed, 
 very gratifying—" 
 
 "I know you are going to leave us, sir," said Fred, who 
 perceived the more than common emotion in the other's 
 manner. "And for myself, I own 1 have no longer any 
 desire to remain in the regiment. I might go further, and 
 say no more zest for the service. It was through your 
 friendship for me I learned to curb many and many prompt- 
 ings to resistance, and when you go — " 
 
 "I am very sorry, — very, very sorry to leave you all," said 
 Hunter, wuth a broken voice. "It is not every man that 
 proudly can point to seven-and-twenty-years' service in a 
 regiment without one incident to break the hearty cordiality 
 that bound us. "We had no bickerings, no petty jealousies 
 amongst us. If a man joined us who wanted partisanship 
 and a set, he soon found it better to exchange. I never 
 expect again to lead the happy life I have here, and I 'd 
 rather have led our bold squadrons in the field than have 
 been a General of Division." Who could have believed 
 that he, whose eyes ran over, as he spoke these broken 
 words, was, five minutes after, the gay and rattling Colonel 
 his officers always saw him, full of life, spirit, and anima- 
 tion, jocularly alluding to his speedy departure, and gayly 
 speculating on the comparisons that would be formed be- 
 tween himself and his successor? "I'm leaving him the 
 horses in good condition," said he; "and when Hargrave 
 learns to give the word of command above a whisper, and 
 Eyreton can ride without a backboard, he '11 scarcely report 
 you for inefficiency." It is fair to add, that the first- 
 mentioned officer had a voice like a bassoon, and the second 
 was the beau-ideal of dragoon horsemanship. 
 
 It would not have consisted with military etiquette to have 
 asked the Colonel the nature of his promotion, nor as to 
 what new sphere of service he was called. Even the old 
 Major, his contemporary, dared not have come directly to 
 the question ; and while all were eager to hear it, the utmost 
 approach was by an insinuation or an innuendo. Hunter 
 was known for no quality more remarkably than for his out- 
 spoken frankness, and some surprise was felt that in his 
 
DARK TIDINGS. 223 
 
 returning thanks for his health being drank, not a word 
 should escape him on this point; but the anxiety was not 
 lessened by the last words he spoke. "It may be, it is 
 more than likely, I shall never see the regiment again ; but 
 the sight of a hussar jacket or a scarlet busby will bring 
 you all back to my memory, and you may rely on it, that 
 whether around the mess-table or the bivouac tire my heart 
 will be with you." 
 
 Scarcely had the cheer that greeted the words subsided, 
 when a deep voice from the extreme end of the table 
 said, — 
 
 "If only a new-comer in the regiment. Colonel Hunter, I 
 am too proud of my good fortune not to associate myself 
 with the feelings of my comrades, and, while partaking of 
 their deep regrets, I feel it a duty to contribute, if in my 
 power, by whatever may lighten the grief of our loss. Am 
 I at liberty to do so? Have I your free permission, I 
 mean?" 
 
 "I am fairly puzzled by your question, Captain Stapylton. 
 I have not the very vaguest clew to your meaning, but, of 
 course, you have my permission to mention whatever you 
 deem proper." 
 
 "It is a toast I would propose, sir." 
 
 "By all means. The thing is not very regular, perhaps, 
 but we are not exactly remarkable for regularity this even- 
 ing. Fill, gentlemen, for Captain Stapyltou's toast!" 
 
 "Few words will propose it," said Stapylton. "We have 
 just drank Colonel Hunter's health with all the enthusiasm 
 that befits the toast, but in doing so our tribute has been 
 paid to the past; of the present and the future we have 
 taken no note whatever, and it is to these I would now re- 
 call you. I say, therefore, bumpers to the health, happiness, 
 and success of Major-General Hunter, Political Resident 
 and Minister at the Court of Agra! " 
 
 "No, no!" cried young Conyers, loudly, "this is amis- 
 take. It is my father — it is Lieutenant-General Conyers 
 — who resides at Agra. Am I not right, sir?" cried he, 
 turning to the Colonel. 
 
 But Hunter's face, pale as death even to the lips, and the 
 agitation with which he grasped Fred's hand, so overcame 
 
224 BARRINGTON. 
 
 the youth that with a sudden cry he sprang from his seat, 
 and rushed out of the room, llunter as quickly followed 
 him; and now all were grouped around Stapylton, eagerly 
 questioning and inquiring what his tidings might mean. 
 
 "The old story, gentlemen, — the old story, with which 
 we are all more or less familiar in this best of all possible 
 ■worlds: General Hunter goes out in honor, and General 
 Conyers comes home in — well, under a cloud, — of course 
 one that he is sure and certain to dispel. I conclude the 
 Colonel would rather have had his advancement under other 
 circumstances; but in this game of leap-frog that we call 
 life, we must occasionally jump over our friends as well as 
 our enemies." 
 
 "How and where did you get the news?" 
 
 "It came to me from town. I heard it this morning, and 
 of course I imagined that the Colonel had told it to Conyers, 
 whom it so intimately concerned. I hope I may not have 
 been indiscreet in what I meant as a compliment." 
 
 None cared to offer their consolings to one so fully capa- 
 ble of supplying the commodity to himself, and the party 
 broke up in twos or threes, moodily seeking their own 
 quarters, and brooding gloomily over what they had just 
 witnessed. 
 
CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 LEAVING HOME. 
 
 I WILL ask my reader now to turn for a brief space to the 
 "Fisherman's Home," which is a scene of somewhat unusual 
 bustle. The Barringtons are preparing for a journey, and 
 old Peter's wardrobe has been displayed for inspection along 
 a hedge of sweet-brier in the garden, — an arrangement 
 devised by the genius of Darby, who passes up and down, 
 with an expression of admiration on his face, the sincerity 
 of which could not be questioned. A more reflective mind 
 than his might have been carried away, at the sight, to 
 thoughts of the strange passages in the late historj- of Ire- 
 land, so curiously typified in that motlej' display. There, 
 was the bright green dress-coat of Daly's club, recalling days 
 of political excitement, and all the plottings and cabals of a 
 once famous opposition. There was, in somewhat faded 
 splendor it must be owned, a court suit of the Duke of Port- 
 land's day, when Irish gentlemen were as gorgeous as the 
 courtiers of Versailles. Here came a grand colonel's uni- 
 form, when Barrington commanded a regiment of Volun- 
 teers; and yonder lay a friar's frock and cowl, relics of those 
 "attic nights" with the Monks of the Screw, and recalling 
 memories of Avonmore and Curran, and Day and Parsons ; 
 and with them were mixed hunting-coats, and shooting- 
 jackets, and masonic robes, and "friendly brother" em 
 blems, and long-waisted garments, and swallow-tailed 
 affectations of all shades and tints, — reminders of a time 
 when Buck Whalley was the eccentric, and Lord Llandaff 
 the beau of Irish society. I am not certain that Monmouth 
 Street would have endorsed Darby's sentiment as he said, 
 "There was clothes there for a king on his throne! " but it 
 was an honestly uttered speech, and came out of the fulness 
 
 VOL. I. 15 
 
226 BARRINGTON. 
 
 of an admiring heart, and although in truth he was nothing 
 less than an historian, he was forcibly struck by tlie thought 
 that Ireland must have been a grand country to live in, in 
 those old days when men went about their ordinary avoca- 
 tions in such splendor as he saw there. 
 
 Nor was Peter Barrington himself an unmoved spectator 
 of these old remnants of the past. Old garments, like old 
 letters, bring oftentimes very forcible memories of a long 
 ago; and as he turned over the purple-stained Hap of a 
 waistcoat, he bethought him of a night at Daly's, when, in 
 returning thanks for his health, his shaking hand had spilled 
 that identical glass of Burgundy; and in the dun-colored 
 tinge of a hunting-coat he remembered the day he had 
 plunged into the Nore at Corrig O'Neal, himself and the 
 huntsman, alone of all the field, to follow the dogs! 
 
 "Take them away. Darby, take them away; they only set 
 me a-thinking about the pleasant companions of my early 
 life. It was in that suit there I moved the amendment in 
 '82, when Henry Grattan crossed over and said, ' Barrington 
 will lead us here, as he does in the hunting-field.' Do 
 you see that peach-colored waistcoat? It was Lady Caher 
 embroidered every stitch of it with her own hands, for me." 
 
 "Them 's elegant black satin breeches," said Dai'by, whose 
 eyes of covetousness were actuallj' rooted on the object of 
 his desire. 
 
 "I never wore them," said Barrington, with a sigh. "I 
 got them for a duel with Mat Fortescue, but Sir Toby Blake 
 shot him that morning. Poor Mat! " 
 
 "And I suppose you'll never wear them now. You 
 couldn't bear the sight then," said Darby, insinuatingly. 
 
 "Most likely not," said Barrington, as he turned away 
 with a heavy sigh. Darby sighed also, but not precisely 
 in the same spirit. 
 
 Let me passingly remark that the total unsuitability to 
 his condition of any object seems rather to enhance its 
 virtue in the ej^es of a lower Irishman, and a hat or a coat 
 which he could not, by any possibility, wear in public, 
 might still be to him things to covet and desire. 
 
 "What is the meaning of all this rag fair?" cried Miss 
 Barrington, as she suddenly came in front of the exposed 
 
LEAVING HOME. 
 
 227 
 
 wardrobe. "You are not surely making any selections from 
 these tawdry absurdities, brother, for your journey?" 
 
 "Well, indeed," said Barrington, with a droll twinkle of 
 his eye, "it was a point that Darby and I were discussing 
 
 
 as you came up. Darby opines that to make a suitable 
 imp'^ression upon the Continent, I must not despise the assist- 
 ance of dress, and he inclines much to that Corbeau coat 
 with the cherry-colored lining." 
 
 "If Darby 's an ass, brother, I don't imagine it is a good 
 
228 BARKINGTON. 
 
 reason to consult him," said she, angrily. "Put all that 
 trash where you found it. Lay out your master's black 
 clothes and the gray shooting-coat, see that his strong boots 
 are in good repair, and get a serviceable lock on that valise." 
 
 It was little short of magic the spell these few and dis- 
 tinctly uttered words seemed to work on Darby, who at once 
 descended from a realm of speculation and scheming to the 
 commonplace world of duty and obedience. "I really 
 wonder how you let yourself be imposed on, brother, by 
 the assumed simplicity of that shrewd fellow." 
 
 ''1 like it, Dinah, I positively like it," said he, with a 
 smile. "I watch him playing the game with a pleasure 
 almost as great as his own; and as I know that the stakes 
 are small, I 'm never vexed at his winning." 
 
 "But you seem to forget the encouragement this impunity 
 suggests." 
 
 "Perhaps it does, Dinah; and very likely his little 
 rogueries are as much triumphs to him as are all the great 
 political intrigues the glories of some grand statesman." 
 
 "Which means that you rather like to be cheated," said 
 she, scoffingly, 
 
 "When the loss is a mere trifle, I don't always think it 
 ill laid out." 
 
 "And I," said she, resolutely, "so far from participating 
 in your sentiment, feel it to be an insult and an outrage. 
 There is a sense of inferiority attached to the position of a 
 dupe that would drive me to any reprisals." 
 
 "I always said it; I always said it," cried he, laughing. 
 "The women of our family monopolized all the com- 
 bativeness." 
 
 Miss Harrington's eyes sparkled, and her cheek glowed, 
 and she looked like one stung to the point of a very angry 
 rejoinder, when by an effort she controlled her passion, and, 
 taking a letter from her pocket, she opened it, and said, 
 "This is from Withering. He has managed to obtain all 
 the information we need for our journey. We are to sail 
 for Ostend by the regular packet, two of which go every 
 week from Dover. From thence there are stages or canal- 
 boats to Bruges and Brussels, cheap and commodious, he 
 says. He gives us the names of two hotels, one of which 
 
LEAVDsG HOME. 229 
 
 — the 'Lamb,' at Brussels — he recommends highly; and 
 the Pension of a certain Madame Ochteroogen, at Namur, 
 will, he opines, suit us better than an inn. In fact, this 
 letter is a little road book, with the expenses marked down, 
 and we can quietly count the cost of our venture before 
 we make it." 
 
 "I 'd rather not, Dinah. The very thought of a limit is 
 torture to me. Give me bread and water every day, if you 
 like, but don't rob me of the notion that some fine day I am 
 to be regaled with beef and pudding." 
 
 *'I don't wonder that we have come to beggary," said she, 
 passionately. "I don't know what fortune and what wealth 
 could compensate for a temperament like yours." 
 
 "You may be right, Dinah. It may go far to make a 
 man squander his substance, but take my word for it, it 
 will help him to bear up under the loss." 
 
 If Barrington could have seen the gleam of affection that 
 filled his sister's eyes, he would have felt what love her heart 
 bore him ; but he had stooped down to take a caterpillar off 
 a flower, and did not mark it. 
 
 "Withering has seen young Conyers," she continued, as 
 her ej'es ran over the letter "He called upon him." Bar- 
 rington made no rejoinder, though she waited for one. 
 "The poor lad was in great affliction; some distressing 
 news from India — of what kind Withering could not guess 
 
 — had just reached him, and he appeared overwhelmed 
 by it." 
 
 "He is very young for sorrow," said Bai*rington, 
 feelingly. 
 
 "Just what Withering said; " and she read out, " ' When 
 I told him that I had come to make an araende for the 
 reception he had met with at the cottage, he stopped me at 
 once, and said, " Great griefs are the cure of small ones, 
 and you find me under a very heavy affliction. Tell Miss 
 Barrington that I have no other memories of the ' Fisher- 
 man's Home ' than of all her kindness towards me." ' " 
 
 "Poor bo}'!" said Barrington, with emotion. "And how 
 did Withering leave him ? " 
 
 "Still sad and suffering. Struggling too. Withering 
 thought, between a proud attempt to conceal his grief and 
 
230 BARKINGTON. 
 
 an ardent impulse to tell all about it. ' Had you been 
 there,' lie writes, 'you'd have had the whole story; but I 
 saw that he could u't stoop to open his heart to a man.' " 
 
 "Write to him, Dinah. Write and ask him down here 
 for a couple of days." 
 
 "You forget that we are to leave this the day after to- 
 morrow, brother. " 
 
 "So I did. I forgot it completely. Well, what if he were 
 to come for one day ? What if you were to say come over 
 and wish us good-bye? " 
 
 "It is so like a man and a man's selfishness never to con- 
 sider a domestic difficulty," said she, tartly. "So long as a 
 house has a roof over it, you fancy it may be available for 
 hospitalities. You never take into account the carpets to be 
 taken up, and the beds that are taken down, the plate-chest 
 that is packed, and the cellar that is w-alled up. Y"ou 
 forget, in a word, that to make that life you find so very 
 easy, some one else must pass an existence full of cares and 
 duties." 
 
 "There 's not a doubt of it, Dinah. There 's truth and 
 reason in every word you 've said." 
 
 "I will write to him if you like, and say that we mean to 
 be at home by an early day in October, and that if he is 
 disposed to see how our woods look in autumn, we will be 
 well pleased to have him for our guest." 
 
 "Nothing could be better. Do so, Dinah. I owe the 
 young fellow a reparation, and I shall not have an easy 
 conscience till I make it." 
 
 "Ah, brother Peter, if your moneyed debts had only given 
 you one-half the torment of your moral ones, what a rich 
 man you might have been to-day ! " 
 
 Long after his sister had gone away and left him, Peter 
 Barrington continued to muse over this speech. He felt it, 
 felt it keenly too, but in no bitterness of spirit. 
 
 Like most men of a lax and easy temper, he could mete 
 out to himself the same merciful measure he accorded to 
 others, and be as forgiving to his own faults as to theirs. 
 "I suppose Dinah is 'right, though," said he to himself. 
 "I never did know that sensitive irritability under debt 
 which insures solvency. And whenever a man can laugh at 
 
LEAYEsG HOME. 231 
 
 a dun, he is pretty sure to be on the high-road to bank- 
 ruptcy! TTell, well, it is somewhat late to try and reform, 
 but I'll do my best! " And thus comforted, he set about 
 tying up fallen rose-trees and removing noxious insects with 
 all his usual zeal. 
 
 " I half wish the place did not look in such beauty, just as 
 I must leave it for a while. I don't think that japonica 
 ever had as many flowers before; and what a season for 
 tulips! Not to speak of the fruit. There are peaches 
 enough to stock a market. I wonder what Dinah means to 
 do with them? She '11 be sorely grieved to make them over 
 as perquisites to Darby, and I know she '11 never consent to 
 have them sold. No, that is the one concession she cannot 
 stoop to. Oh, here she comes! "What a grand year for 
 the wall fruit, Dinah! " cried he, aloud. 
 
 "The apricots have all failed, and fully one-half of the 
 peaches are worm-eaten," said she, dryly. 
 
 Peter sighed as he thought, how she does dispel an illu- 
 sion, what a terrible realist is this same sister! "Still, 
 my dear Dinah, one-half of such a crop is a goodly yield." 
 
 "Out with it, Peter Barrington. Out with the question 
 that is burning for utterance. What's to be done with 
 them ? I have thought of that already. I have told Polly 
 Dill to preserve a quantity for us, and to take as much more 
 as she pleases for her own use, and make presents to her 
 friends of the remainder. She is to be mistress here while 
 ■we are away, and has promised to come up two or three 
 times a week, and see after everything, for I neither desire 
 to have the flower-roots sold, nor the pigeons eaten before 
 our return." 
 
 "That is an admirable arrangement, sister. I don't know 
 a better girl than Polly ! " 
 
 "She is better than I gave her credit for," said Miss Bar- 
 rington, who was not fully pleased at any praise not be- 
 stowed by herself. A man's estimate of a young woman's 
 goodness is not so certain of finding acceptance from her 
 own sex! "And as for that girl, the wonder is that with a 
 fool for a mother, and a crafty old knave for a father, she 
 really should possess one good ti'ait or one amiable quality." 
 Barrington muttered what sounded like concurrence, and she 
 
232 BARRINGTON. 
 
 went on: "And it is for this reason I have taken an interest 
 in her, and hope, by occupying her mind with useful cares 
 and filling her hours with commendable duties, she will 
 estrange herself from that going about to fine houses, and 
 frequenting society where she is exposed to innumerable 
 humiliations, and worse." 
 
 "Worse, Dinah! — what could be worse?" 
 
 "Temptations are worse, Peter Barringtou, even when 
 not yielded to; for like a noxious climate, which, though it 
 fails to kill, it is certain to injure the constitution during a 
 lifetime. Take my word for it, she '11 not be the better wife 
 to the Curate for the memory of all the fine speeches she 
 once heard from the Captain. Very old and ascetic notions 
 I am quite aware, Peter; but please to bear in mind all the 
 trouble we take that the roots of a favorite tree should not 
 strike into a sour soil, and bethink you how very indifferent 
 we are as to the daily associates of our children! " 
 
 "There you are right, Dinah, there you are right, — at 
 least, as regards girls." 
 
 "And the rule applies fully as much to boys. All those 
 manly accomplishments and out-of-door habits you lay such 
 store by, could be acquired without the intimacy of the 
 groom or the friendship of the gamekeeper. What are you 
 muttering there about old-maids' children? Say it out, sir, 
 and defend it, if you have the courage! " 
 
 But either that he had not said it, or failed in the requi- 
 site boldness to maintain it, he blundered out a very con- 
 fused assurance of agreement on every point. 
 
 A woman is seldom merciful in argument; the conscious- 
 ness that she owes victory to her violence far more than to 
 her logic, prompts persistence in the course she has followed 
 so successfully, and so was it that Miss Dinah contrived to 
 gallop over the battlefield long after the enemy was routed ! 
 But Barrington was not in a mood to be vexed ; the thought 
 of the journey filled him with so man}' pleasant anticipa- 
 tions, the brightest of all being the sight of poor George's 
 child! Not that this thought had not its dark side, in con- 
 trition for the long, long years he had left her unnoticed and 
 neglected. Of course he had his own excuses and apologies 
 for all this : he could refer to his overwhelming embarrass- 
 
LEAVING HOME. 233 
 
 ments, aud the heavy cares that surrounded him ; but then 
 she — that poor friendless girl, that orphan — could have 
 known nothing of these things; and what opinion might she 
 not have formed of those relatives who had so coldly and 
 heartlessly abandoned her! Barrington took down her min- 
 iature, painted when she was a mere infant, and scanned it 
 well, as though to divine what nature might possess her! 
 There was little for speculation there, — perhaps even less for 
 hope! The eyes were large and lustrous, it is true, but the 
 brow was heavy, and the mouth, even in infancy, had some- 
 thing that seemed like firmness and decision, — strangely 
 at variance with the lips of childhood. 
 
 Now, old Barrington 's heart was deeply set on that law- 
 suit — that great cause against the Indian Government — 
 that had formed the grand campaign of his life. It was 
 his first waking thought of a morning, his last at night. 
 All his faculties were engaged in revolving the various points 
 of evidence, and imagining how this and that missing link 
 might be supplied; aud yet, with all these objects of desire 
 before him, he would have given them up, each and all, to 
 be sure of one thing, — that his granddaughter might be 
 handsome! It was not that he did not value far above the 
 graces of person a number of other gifts ; he would not, for 
 an instant, have hesitated, had he to choose between mere 
 beauty and a good disposition. If he knew anything of 
 himself, it was his thorough appreciation of a kindly nature, 
 a temper to bear well, and a spirit to soar nobly; but 
 somehow he imagined these were gifts she was likely 
 enough to possess. George's child would resemble him ; she 
 would have his light-heartedness and his happy nature, but 
 would she be handsome? It is, trust me, no superficial view 
 of life that attaches a great price to personal atractions, 
 and Barrington was one to give these their full value. Had 
 she been brought up from childhood under his roof, he had 
 probably long since ceased to think of such a point; he 
 would have attached himself to her by the ties of that 
 daily domesticity which grow into a nature. The hundred 
 little cares and oflSces that would have fallen to her lot to 
 meet, would have served as links to bind their hearts; but 
 she was coming to them a perfect stranger, and he wished 
 
234 BARRINGTON. 
 
 ardently that bis first impression should be all in her 
 favor. 
 
 Now, while such were Barrington's reveries, bis sister 
 took a different turn. She had already pictured to herself 
 the dark-orbed, heavy-browed child, expanded into a sallow- 
 complexioued, heavy-featured girl, ungainly and ungraceful, 
 her figure neglected, her very feet spoiled by the uncouth 
 shoes of the convent, her great red hands untrained to all 
 occupation save the coarse cares of that half-menial exist- 
 ence. "As my brother would say," muttered she, "a most 
 unpromising filly, if it were not for the breeding." 
 
 Both brother and sister, however, kept their impressions to 
 themselves, and of all the subjects discussed between them 
 not one word betrayed what each forecast about Joseph- 
 ine. I am half sorry it is no part of my task to follow 
 them on the road, and yet I feel I could not impart to my 
 reader the almost boylike enjoyment old Peter felt at every 
 stage of the journey. He had made the grand tour of Europe 
 more than half a century before, and he was in ecstasy to 
 find so much that was unchanged around him. There were 
 the long-eared caps, and the monstrous earrings, and the 
 sabots, and the heavily tasselled team horses, and the chim- 
 ing church-bells, and the old-world equipages, and the 
 strangely undersized soldiers, — all just as he saw them last! 
 And every one was so polite and ceremonious, and so idle 
 and so unoccupied, and the theatres were so large and the 
 newspapers so small, and the current coin so defaced, and 
 the order of the meats at dinner so inscrutable, and every 
 one seemed contented just because he had nothing to do. 
 
 "Isn't it all I have told you, Dinah dear? Don't you 
 perceive how accurate my picture has been? And is it not 
 very charming and enjoyable?" 
 
 "They are the greatest cheats I ever met in my life, 
 brother Peter; and when I think that every grin that greets 
 us is a matter of five francs, it mars considerably the pleas- 
 ure I derive from the hilarity." 
 
 It was in this spirit they journeyed till they arrived at 
 Brussels. 
 
CHAPTER XXin. 
 
 THE COLONEL S COUNSELS. 
 
 "When Conyers had learned from Colonel Hunter all that he 
 knew of his father's involvement, it went no further than 
 this, that the Lieutenant-General had either resigned or 
 been deprived of his civil appointments, and Hunter was 
 called upon to replace him. With all his habit of hasty 
 and impetuous action, there was no injustice in Fred's 
 nature, and he frankly recognized that, however painful to 
 him personally, Hunter could not refuse to accede to what 
 the Prince had distinctly pressed him to accept. 
 
 Young Conyers had heard over and over again the aston- 
 ishment expressed by old Indian officials how his father's 
 treatment of the Company's orders had been so long endured. 
 Some prescriptive immunity seemed to attach to him, or 
 some great patronage to protect him, for he appeared to do 
 exactly as he pleased, and the despotic sway of his rule was 
 known far and near. With the changes in the constitution 
 of the Board, some members might have succeeded less 
 disposed to recognize the General's former services, or 
 endure so tolerantly his present encroachments, and Fred 
 well could estimate the resistance his father would oppose 
 to the very mildest remonstrance, and how indignantly he 
 would reject whatever came in the shape of a command. 
 Great as was the blow to the young man, it was not heavier 
 in anything than the doubt and uncertainty about it, and 
 he waited with a restless impatience for his father's letter, 
 which should explain it all. Nor was his position less 
 painful from the estrangement in which he lived, and the 
 little intercourse he maintained with his brother-officers. 
 When Hunter left, he knew that he had not one he could 
 call friend amongst them, and Hunter was to go in a very 
 
236 BAHRINGTON. 
 
 few days, and even of these be could scarcely spare him 
 more than a few chance moments! 
 
 It was in one of these flitting visits that Hunter bethought 
 him of 3'oung Dill, of whom, it is only truth to confess, 
 young Conyers had forgotten everything. "I took time by 
 the forelock, Fred, about that affair," said he, "and I trust 
 I have freed you from all embarrassment about it." 
 
 "As how, sir? " asked Conyers, half in pique. 
 
 "When I missed you at the 'Fisherman's Home,' I set off 
 to pay the doctor a visit, and a very charming visit it turned 
 out; a better pigeon-pie I never ate, nor a prettier girl than 
 the maker of it would I ask to meet with. AVe became great 
 friends, talked of everything, from love at first sight to 
 bone spavins, and found that we agreed to a miracle. I 
 don't think I ever saw a girl before who suited me so per- 
 fectly in all her notions. She gave me a hint about what 
 they call ' mouth lameness ' our Vet would give his eye for. 
 Well, to come back to her brother, — a dull dog, I take it, 
 though I have not seen him, — I said, ' Don't let him go to 
 India, they 've lots of clever fellows out there; pack him off 
 to Australia; send him to New Zealand.' And when she 
 interrupted me, ' But young Mr. Conyers insisted, — he 
 would have it so; his father is to make Tom's fortune, and 
 to send him back as rich as a Begum,' I said, ' He has 
 fallen in love with you. Miss Polly, that's the fact, and 
 lost his head altogether; and I don't wonder at it, for here 
 am I, close upon forty-eight, — I might have said forty- 
 nine, but no matter, — close upon forty-eight, and I 'm in 
 the same book! ' Yes, if it was the sister, vice the brother, 
 who wanted to make a fortune in India, I almost think I 
 could say, ' Come and share mine ! ' " 
 
 "But I don't exactly understand. Am I to believe that 
 they wish Tom to be off — to refuse my offer — and that the 
 rejection comes from them ? " 
 
 "No, not exactly. I said it was a bad spec, that you had 
 taken a far too sanguine view of the whole thing, and that 
 as I was an old soldier, and knew more of the world, — that 
 is to say, had met a great many more hard rubs and disap- 
 pointments, — my advice was, not to risk it. ' Young Con- 
 yers,' said I, ' will do all that he has promised to the letter. 
 
THE COLONEL'S COUNSELS. 237 
 
 You may rely upon every word that he has ever uttered. 
 But bear in inind that he's only a mortal man; he's not 
 one of those heathen gods who used to make fellows invin- 
 cible in a battle, or smuggle them off in a cloud, out of the 
 Avay of demons, or duns, or whatever difficulties beset them. 
 He might die, his father might die, any of us might die.' 
 Yes, by Jove! there's nothing so uncertain as life, except 
 the Horse Guards. ' And putting one thing with another, 
 Miss Polly,' said I, ' tell him to stay where he is,' — open 
 a shop at home, or go to one of the colonies, — Heligoland, 
 for instance, a charming spot for the bathing-season." 
 
 "And she, what did she say?" 
 
 "May I be cashiered if I remember! I never do remember 
 very clearly what any one says. Where I am much inter- 
 ested on my own side, I have no time for the other fellow's 
 arguments. But I know if she was n't convinced she ought 
 to have been. I put the thing beyond a question, and I 
 made her cry." 
 
 "Made her cry! " 
 
 "Not cry, — that is, she did not blubber; but she looked 
 glassy about the lids, and turned away her head. But to 
 be sure we were parting, — a rather soft bit of parting, too, 
 
 — and I said something about my coming back with a 
 wooden leg, and she said, ' No! have it of cork, they make 
 them so cleverly now.' And I was going to say something 
 more, when a confounded old half-pay Major came up and 
 interrupted us, and — and, in fact, there it rests." 
 
 "I 'm not at all easy in mind as to this affair. I mean, I 
 don't like how I stand in it." 
 
 "But you stand out of it, — out of it altogether! Can't 
 you imagine that your father may have quite enough cares 
 of his own to occupy him without needing the embarrassment 
 of looking after this bumpkin, who, for aught you know, 
 might repay very badly all the interest taken in him ? If it 
 had been the girl, — if it had been Polly — " 
 
 "I own frankly," said Conyers, tartly, "it did not occur 
 to me to make such an offer to her ! " 
 
 "Faith! then. Master Fred, I was deuced near doing it, 
 
 — so near, that when I came away I scarcely knew whether 
 I had or had not done so." 
 
238 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 "Well, sir, there is only an hour's drive on a good road 
 required to repair the omission." 
 
 "That's true, Fred, — that's true; but have you never, 
 by an accident, chanced to come up with a stunning fence, 
 — a regular rasper that 3'ou took in a lly a few days before 
 with the dogs, and as you looked at the place, have you not 
 said, ' What on earth persuaded me to ride at tJiat ? ' " 
 
 "Which means, sir, that 3'our cold-blooded reflections are 
 against the project? " 
 
 "Not exactly that, either," said he, in a sort of confu- 
 sion; "but when a man speculates on doing something for 
 which the first step must be an explanation to this fellow, 
 a half apology to that, — with a whimpering kind of entreaty 
 not to be judged hastily, not to be condemned unheard, 
 not to be set down as an old fool who could n't stand the 
 fire of a pair of bright eyes, — I say when it comes to this, 
 he ought to feel that his best safeguard is his own 
 misgiving! " 
 
 " If I do not agree with you, sir, it is because I incline to 
 follow my own lead, and care very little for what the world 
 says of it." 
 
 "Don't believe a word of that, Fred; it's all brag, — all 
 nonsense! The very effrontery with which you fancy you 
 are braving public opinion is only Dutch courage. AVhat 
 each of us in bis heart thinks of himself is only the reflex of 
 the world's estimate of him; at least, what he imagines it to 
 be. Now, for my own part, I 'd rather ride up to a battery 
 in full fire than I 'd sit down and write to my old aunt 
 Dorothy Hunter a formal letter announcing my approaching 
 marriage, telling her that the lad}' of my choice was twenty 
 or thereabouts, not to add that her family name was Dill. 
 Believe me, Fred, that if you want the concentrated essence 
 of public opinion, you have only to do something which 
 shall irritate and astonish the half-dozen people with whom 
 you live in intimacy. Won't they remind you about the 
 mortgages on your lands and the gray in your whiskers, 
 that last loan you raised from Solomon Hymans, and that 
 fi'ont tooth you got replaced by Cartwright, though it was 
 the week before they told you you were a miracle of order 
 and good management, and actually looking younger thau 
 
THE COLONEL'S COUNSELS. 239 
 
 you did five years ago! You're not miuding me, Fred, 
 — not following me; you 're thinking of your protege, Tom 
 Dill, and what he '11 think and say of your desertion of 
 him." 
 
 "You have hit it, sir. It was exactly what I was asking 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, if nothing better offers, tell him to get himself in 
 readiness, and come out with me. I cannot make him a 
 Rajah, nor even a Zemindar; but I'll stick him into a regi- 
 mental surgeoncy, and leave him to fashion out his own 
 future. He must look sharp, however, and lose no time. 
 The ' Ganges ' is getting ready in all haste, and will be 
 round at Portsmouth by the 8th, and we expect to sail on 
 the 12th or 13th at furthest." 
 
 " I '11 write to him to-day. I '11 write this moment." 
 
 "Add a word of remembrance on my part to the sister, 
 and tell bumpkin to supply himself with no end of letters, 
 recommendatory and laudatory, to muzzle our Medical 
 Board at Calcutta, and lots of light clothing, and all the 
 torturing instruments he '11 need, and a large stock of good 
 humor, for he'll be chaffed unmercifully all the voyage." 
 And, with these comprehensive directions, the Colonel con- 
 cluded his counsels, and bustled away to look after his own 
 personal interests. 
 
 Fred Conyers was not over-pleased with the task assigned 
 him. The part he liked to fill in life, and, indeed, that 
 which he had usually performed, was the Benefactor and 
 the Patron, and it was but an ungracious office for him to 
 have to cut the wings and disfigure the plumage of his gen- 
 erosity. He made two, three, four attempts at conveying 
 his intentions, but with none was he satisfied ; so he ended 
 by simply saying, "I have something of importance to tell 
 you, and which, not being altogether pleasant, it will be 
 better to say than to write; so I have to beg you will come 
 up here at once, and see me." Scarcely was this letter 
 sealed and addressed than he bethought him of the awkward- 
 ness of presenting Tom to his brother-officers, or the still 
 greater indecorum of not presenting him. "How shall I ask 
 him to the mess, with the certainty of all the impertinences 
 he will be exposed to? — and what pretext have I for not 
 
240 BARRINGTON. 
 
 offering him the ordinary attention shown to every stran- 
 ger?" He was, in fact, wincing under that public opinion 
 he had only a few moments before declared he could afford 
 to despise. "No," said he, ''I have no right to expose poor 
 Tom to this. I '11 drive over myself to the village, and if 
 any advice or counsel be needed, he will be amongst those 
 who can aid him." 
 
 He ordered his servant to harness his handsome roan, a 
 thoroughbred of surpassing style and action, to the dog-cart, 
 • — not over-sorry to astonish his friend Tom by the splendor 
 of a turn-out that had won the suffrages of Tattersall's, — 
 and prepared for his mission to Inistioge. 
 
 Was it with the same intention of "astonishing " Tom Dill 
 that Conyers bestowed such unusual attention upon his 
 dress? At his first visit to the "Fisherman's Home " he 
 had worn the homely shooting-jacket and felt hat which, 
 however comfortable and conventional, do not always re- 
 dound to the advantage of the wearer, or, if they do, it is by 
 something, perhaps, in the contrast presented to his ordi- 
 nary appearance, and the impression ingeniously insinuated 
 that he is one so unmistakably a gentleman, no travesty of 
 costume can efface the stamp. 
 
 It was in this garb Polly had seen him, and if Polly Dill 
 had been a duchess it was in some such garb she would have 
 been accustomed to see her brother or her cousin some six 
 out of every seven mornings of the week; but Polly was 
 not a duchess : she was the daughter of a village doctor, and 
 might, not impossibly, have acquired a very erroneous esti- 
 mate of his real pretensions from having beheld him thus 
 attired. It was, therefore, entirely by a consideration for 
 her ignorance of the world and its ways that he determined 
 to enlighten her. 
 
 At the time of which I am writing, the dress of the Brit- 
 ish army was a favorite study with that Prince whose taste, 
 however questionable, never exposed him to censure on 
 grounds of over-simplicity and plainness. As the Colonel 
 of the regiment Conyers belonged to, he had bestowed upon 
 his own especial corps an unusual degree of splendor in 
 equipment, and amongst other extravagances had given them 
 an almost boundless liberty of combining different details 
 
THE COLONEL'S COUNSELS. 241 
 
 of dress. Availing himself of this privilege, our young 
 Lieutenant invented a costume which, however uumilitary 
 and irregular, was not deficient in becomingness. Under a 
 plain blue jacket very sparingly braided he wore the rich 
 scarlet Avaistcoat, all slashed with gold, they had introduced 
 at their mess. A simple foraging-cap and overalls, seamed 
 with a thin gold line, made up a dress that might have 
 passed for the easy costume of the barrack-yard, while, in 
 reality, it was eminently suited to set off the wearer. 
 
 Am I to confess that he looked at himself in the glass 
 with very considerable satisfaction, and muttered, as he 
 turned away, "Yes, Miss Polly, this is in better style than 
 that Quakerish drab livery you saw me last in, and I have 
 little doubt that you '11 think so! " 
 
 "Is this our best harness, Holt?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "AU right!" 
 
 VOL. I. — 16 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 CONYERS MAKES A MORNING CALL. 
 
 "When Couyers, to the astonishment and wonder of an 
 admiring village public, drove his seventeen-haud-high roan 
 into the market square of Inistioge, he learned that all of the 
 doctor's family were from home except Mrs. Dill. Indeed, 
 he saw the respectable lady at the window with a book in her 
 hand, from which not all the noise and clatter of his arrival 
 for one moment diverted her. Though not especially anx- 
 ious to attract her attention, he was half piqued at her show 
 of indifference. A dog-cart by Adams and a thoroughbred 
 like Boanerges were, after all, worth a glance at. Little did 
 he know what a competitor he had in that much-thumbed 
 old volume, whose quaintly told miseries were to her as her 
 own sorrows. Could he have assembled underneath that 
 window all the glories of a Derby Day, Mr. Richardson's 
 " Clarissa" would have beaten the field. While he occupied 
 himself in dexterously tapping the flies from his horse with 
 the fine extremity of his whip, and thus necessitating that 
 amount of impatience which made the spirited animal stamp 
 and champ his bit, the old lady read on undisturbed. 
 
 "Ask at what hour the doctor will be at home. Holt," 
 cried he, peevishly. 
 
 " Not till to-morrow, sir; he has gone to Castle Durrow." 
 
 " And Miss Dill, is she not in the house? " 
 
 " No, sir; she has gone down to the ' Fisherman's Home ' 
 to look after the garden, — the family having left that place 
 this morning." 
 
 After a few minutes' reflection, Conyers ordered his 
 servant to put up the horse at the inn, and wait for him 
 there; and then engaging a "cot," he set out for the 
 *' Fisherman's Home." " After having come so far, it 
 
CONYERS MAKES A MORNING CALL. 243 
 
 would be absurd to go back without doiug something in this 
 business," thought he. "Polly, besides, is the brains 
 carrier of these people. The matter would be referred to 
 her; and why should I not go at once, and directly address 
 her myself? "With her womanly tact, too, she will see 
 that for any reserve in my manner there must be a corre- 
 sponding reason, and she'll not press me with awkward 
 questions or painful inquiries, as the underbred brother 
 might do. It will be enough when I intimate to her that 
 my plan is not so practicable as when I first projected it." 
 He reassured himself with a variety of reasonings of this 
 stamp, which had the double effect of convincing his own 
 mind and elevating Miss Polly in his estimation. There is 
 a very subtle self-tiattery in believing that the true order of 
 person to deal with us — to understand and appreciate us — 
 is one possessed of considerable ability united with the very 
 finest sensibility. Thus dreaming and " mooning," he 
 reached the "Fisherman's Home." The air of desertion 
 struck him even as he landed ; and is there not some secret 
 magic in the vicinity of life, of living people, which gives 
 the soul to the dwelling-place? Have we to more than cross 
 the threshold of the forsaken house to feel its desertion, — 
 to know that our echoing step will track us along stair and 
 corridor, and that through the thin streaks of light between 
 the shutters phantoms of the absent will flit or hover, while the 
 dimly descried objects of the room will bring memories of 
 bright mornings and of happy eves? It is strange to measure 
 the sadness of this effect upon us when caused even by the 
 aspect of houses which we frequented not as friends but 
 mere visitors ; just as the sight of death thrills us, even 
 though we had not loved the departed in his lifetime. But 
 so it is : there is unutterable bitterness attached to the past, 
 and there is no such sorrow as over the bygone ! 
 
 All about the little cottage was silent and desolate ; even 
 the shrill peacock, so wont to announce the coming stranger 
 with his cry, sat voiceless and brooding on a branch ; and 
 except the dull flow of the river, not a sound was heard. 
 After tapping lightly at the door and peering through the 
 partially closed shutters, Conyers turned towards the garden 
 at the back, passing as he went his favorite seat under the 
 
1^44 BARRIXGTON. 
 
 great sycamore-tree. It was uot a widely separated " long 
 ago " since he had sat there, and yet how different had life 
 become to him in the interval ! "With what a protective 
 air he had tallied to poor Tom on that spot, — how priucely 
 were the promises of his patronage, yet not exaggerated 
 beyond his conscious power of performance ! He hurried 
 on, and came to the little wicket of the garden ; it was open, 
 and he passed in. A spade in some fresh-turned earth 
 showed where some one had recently been at work, but still, 
 as he went, he could find none. Alley after alley did he 
 traverse, but to no purpose ; and at last, in his ramblings, 
 he came to a little copse which separated the main garden 
 from a small flower-plat, known as Miss Dinah's, and on 
 which the windows of her own little sitting-room opened. 
 He had but seen this spot from the windows, and never 
 entered it ; indeed, it was a sort of sacred enclosure, within 
 which the profane step of man was not often permitted to 
 intrude. Nor was Conyers without a sting of self-reproach 
 as he now passed in. He had not gone many steps when 
 the reason of the seclusion seemed revealed to him. It 
 was a small obelisk of white marble under a large willow- 
 tree, bearing for inscription on its side, " To the Memory 
 of George Barrington, the Truehearted, the Truthful, and 
 the Brave, killed on the 19th February, 18 — , at Agra, in 
 the East Indies." 
 
 How strange that he should be standing there beside the 
 tomb of his father's dearest friend, his more than brother! 
 That George who shared his joys and perils, the comrade of 
 his heart! No two men had ever lived in closer bonds of 
 affection, and yet somehow of all that love he had never 
 heard his father speak, nor of the terrible fate that befell his 
 friend had one syllable escaped him. " Who knows if 
 friendships ever survive early manhood?" said Fred, bit- 
 terly, as he sat himself down at the base of the monument : 
 " and yet might not this same George Barrington, had he 
 lived, been of priceless value to my father now? Is it not 
 some such manly affection, such generous devotion as his, 
 that he may stand in need of?" Tlius thinking, his imagi- 
 nation led him over the wide sea to that far-distant land of 
 his childhood, and scenes of vast arid plains and far-away 
 
CO^'YERS MAKES A MORNING CALL. 245 
 
 mountains, and wild ghauts, and barren-looking nullahs, 
 intersected with yellow, sluggish streams, on whose muddy 
 shore the alligator basked, rose before him, contrasted with 
 the gorgeous splendors of retinue and the glittering host of 
 gold-adorned followers. It was in a vision of grand but 
 dreary despotism, power almost limitless, but without one 
 ray of enjoyment, that he lost himself and let the hours 
 glide by. At length, as though dreamily, he thought he was 
 listening to some faint but delicious music ; sounds seemed 
 to come floating towards him through the leaves, as if meant 
 to steep him in a continued languor, and imparted a strange 
 half-fear that he was under a spell. AVith an effort he 
 aroused himself and sprang to his legs ; and now he could 
 plainly perceive that the sounds came through an open win- 
 dow, where a low but exquisitely sweet voice was singing to 
 the accompaniment of a piano. The melody was sad and 
 plaintive ; the very words came dropping slowly, like the 
 drops of a distilled grief ; and they sank into his heart with a 
 feeling of actual poignancy, for they were as though steeped 
 in sorrow. When of a sudden the singer ceased, the hands 
 ran boldly, almost wildly, over the keys ; one, two, three 
 great massive chords were struck, and then, in a strain joy- 
 ous as the skylark, the clear voice carolled forth with, — 
 
 " But why should we mourn for the grief of the morrow ? 
 Who knows in what frame it may find us ? 
 Meeker, perhaps, to hend under our sorrow, 
 Or more boldly to fling it behind us." 
 
 And then, with a loud bang, the piano was closed, and Polly 
 Dill, swinging her gai'den hat by its ribbon, bounded forth 
 into the walk, calling for her terrier. Scratch, to follow. 
 
 " Mr. Conyers here ! " cried she, in astonishment. " What 
 miracle could have led you to this spot?" 
 
 "■ To meet you." 
 
 " To meet me! " 
 
 "With no other object. I came from Kilkenny this 
 morning expressly to see you, and learning at your house 
 that you had come on here, I followed. You still look 
 astonished , — incredulous — " 
 
 "Oh, no; not incredulous, but very much astonished. 
 
246 BAR KINGTON. 
 
 I am, it is true, sufficiently accustomed to fiud myself in 
 request iu my own narrow liome circle, but that any one out 
 of it should come three yards — not to say three miles — to 
 speak to me, is, I own, very new and very strange." 
 
 " Is not this profession of humility a little — a very little 
 — bit of exaggeration, Miss Dill? " 
 
 " Is not the remark you have made on it a little — a very 
 little — bit of a liberty, Mr. Conyers?" 
 
 So little was he prepared for this retort that he flushed up 
 to his forehead, and for an instant was unable to recover 
 himself : meanwhile, she was busy in rescuing Scratch from 
 a long bramble that had most uncomfortably associated itself 
 ■with his tail, in gratitude for which service the beast jumped 
 up on her with all the uncouth activity of his race. 
 
 "He at least, Miss Dill, can take liberties unrebuked," 
 said Conyers, with irritation. 
 
 "We are very old friends, sir, and understand each 
 other's humors, not to say that Scratch knows well he 'd be 
 tied up if he were to transgress." 
 
 Conyers smiled ; an almost irresistible desire to utter a 
 smartness crossed his mind, and he found it all but impos- 
 sible to resist saying something about accepting the bonds if 
 he could but accomplish the transgression ; but he bethought 
 in time how unequal the war of banter would be between 
 them, and it was with a quiet gravity he began : " I came 
 to speak to you about Tom — " 
 
 " Why, is that not all off? Colonel Hunter represented 
 the matter so forcibly to my father, put all the difficulties so 
 clearly before him, that I actually wrote to my brother, who 
 had started for Dublin, begging him on no account to hasten 
 the day of his examination, but to come home and devote 
 himself carefully to the task of preparation." 
 
 "It is true, the Colonel never regarded the project as I 
 did, and saw obstacles to its success which never occurred 
 to me / with all that, however, he never convinced me I was 
 wrong." 
 
 " Perhaps not always an easy thing to do," said she, 
 dryly. 
 
 " Indeed ! You seem to have formed a strong opinion on 
 the score of my firmness." 
 
.(university I 
 
 \ ^^ y 
 
 CONYEKS MAKES A MORNING CALL. 247 
 
 "I was expecting you to say obstinacy," said she, laugh- 
 ino-, " and was half prepared with a most abject retractation. 
 At all events, I was aware that you did not give way." 
 
 " And is the quality such a bad one?" 
 
 " Just as a wind may be said to be a good or a bad one ; 
 due west, for instance, would be very unfavorable if you 
 were bound to New York." 
 
 It was the second time he had angled for a compliment, 
 and failed ; and he walked along at her side, fretful and dis- 
 contented. "I begin to suspect," said he, at last, "that 
 the Colonel was far more eager to make himself agreeable 
 here than to give fair play to my reasons." 
 
 "He was delightful, if you mean that; he possesses the 
 inestimable boon of good spirits, which is the next thing to 
 a good heart." 
 
 " You don't like depressed people, then? " 
 
 "I won't say I dislike, but I dread them. The dear 
 friends who go about with such histories of misfortune and 
 gloomy reflections on every one's conduct always give me 
 the idea of a person who should carry with him a watering- 
 pot to sprinkle his friends in this Irish climate, where it 
 rains ten months out of the twelve. There is a deal to like 
 in life, — a deal to enjoy, as well as a deal to see and to do ; 
 and the spirit which we bring to it is even of more moment 
 than the incidents that befall us." 
 
 " That was the burden of your song awhile ago," said 
 he; smiling; " could I persuade you to sing it again?" 
 
 " AVhat are you dreaming of, Mr. Conyers? Is not this 
 meeting here — this strolling about a garden with a young 
 gentleman, a Hussar ! — compromising enough, not to ask 
 me to sit down at a piano and sing for him? Indeed, the 
 only relief my conscience gives me for the imprudence of 
 this interview is the seeing how miserable it makes yoti." 
 
 "Miserable! — makes me miserable!" 
 
 "Well, embarrassed, — uncomfortable, — ill at ease; I 
 don't care for the word. You came here to say a variety of 
 things, and you don't like to say them. You are balked in 
 certain very kind intentions towards us, and you don't know 
 how very little of even intended good nature has befallen 
 us in life to make us deeply your debtor for the mere pro- 
 
248 BARRINGTON. 
 
 ject. Why, j'our very notice of poor Tom has done more 
 to raise him in his own esteem and disgust him with low 
 associates than all the wise arguments of all his family. 
 There, now, if you have not done us all the good you meant, 
 be satisfied with what you really have done." 
 
 "This is very far short of what I intended." 
 
 "Of course it is; but do not dwell upon that. I have a 
 great stock of very fine intentions, too, but I shall not be in 
 the least discouraged if I find them take wing and leave 
 me." 
 
 "What would you do then?" 
 
 "Raise another brood. They tell us that if one seed of 
 every million of acorns should grow to be a tree, all Europe 
 would be a dense forest within a century. Take heart, 
 therefore, about scattered projects ; fully their share of them 
 come to maturity. Oh dear! what a dreary sigh you gave! 
 Don't 3^ou imagine yourself very unhappy? " 
 
 "If I did, I'd scarcely come to you for sympathy, cer- 
 tainly," said he, with a half-bitter smile. 
 
 "You are quite right there; not but that I could really 
 condole with some of what I opine are your great afflictions : 
 for instance, I could bestow very honest grief on that 
 splint that your charger has just thrown out on his back 
 tendon; I could even cry over the threatened blindness of 
 that splendid steeple-chaser; but I 'd not fret about the way 
 your pelisse was braided, nor because your new phaeton 
 made so much noise with the axles." 
 
 "By the way," said Conyers, "I have such a horse to show 
 you! He is in the village. Might I drive him up here? 
 Would you allow me to take j'ou back?" 
 
 "Not on any account, sir! I have grave misgivings about 
 talking to you so long here, and I am mainly reconciled by 
 remembering how disagreeable I have proved myself." 
 
 "How I wish I had your good spirits! " 
 
 "Why don't you rather wish for my fortunate lot in life, 
 — so secure from casualties, so surrounded with life's com- 
 forts, so certain to attach to it consideration and respect? 
 Take my word for it, Mr. Conyers, your own position is 
 not utterly wretched ; it is rather a nice thing to be a Lieu- 
 tenant of Hussars, with good health, a good fortune, and a 
 
CONYERS MAKES A MORNING CALL. 249 
 
 fair promise of mustachios. There, now, enough of imper- 
 tinence for one day. I have a deal to do, and you '11 not 
 help me to do it. I have a whole tulip-bed to transplant, 
 and several trees to remove, and a new walk to plan through 
 the beech shrubbery, not to speak of a change of domicile 
 for the pigs, — if such creatures can be spoken of in your 
 presence. Only think, three o'clock, and that weary Darby 
 not got back from his dinner! has it ever occurred to you 
 to wonder at the interminable time people can devote to a 
 meal of potatoes ? " 
 
 "I cannot say that I have thought upon the matter." 
 
 "Pray do so, then; divide the matter, as a German would, 
 into all its ' Bearbeitungen,' and consider it ethnologically, 
 esculently, and aesthetically, and you '11 be surprised how 
 puzzled you '11 be! Meanwhile, would you do me a favor? 
 — I mean a great favor." 
 
 "Of course I will; only say what it is." 
 
 ""Well; but I 'm about to ask more than you suspect." 
 
 "I do not retract. I am ready." 
 
 "What I want, then, is that you should wheel that barrow- 
 ful of mould as far as the melon-bed. I 'd have done it 
 myself if you had not been here." 
 
 With a seriousness which cost him no small effort to 
 maintain, Conyers addressed himself at once to the task; 
 and she walked along at his side, with a rake over her 
 shoulder, talking with the same cool unconcern she would 
 have bestowed on Darby. 
 
 "I have often told Miss Barrington," said she, "that our 
 rock melons were finer than hers, because we used a peculiar 
 composite earth, into which ash bark and soot entered, — 
 what you are wheeling now, in fact, however hurtful it may 
 be to your feelings. There! upset it exactly on that spot; 
 and now let me see if you are equally handy with a spade." 
 
 "I should like to know what my wages are to be after all 
 this," said he, as he spread the mould over the bed. 
 
 "We give boys about eightpence a day." 
 
 "Boys! what do you mean by boys?" 
 
 "Everything that is not married is boy in Ireland; so 
 don't be angry, or I '11 send you off. Pick up those stones, 
 and throw these dock-weeds t-o one side." 
 
250 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 "You'll send me a melon, at least, of my own raising, 
 won't you?" 
 
 "I won't promise; Heaven knows where you'll be — 
 where I '11 be, by that time! Would //oii like to pledge your- 
 self to anything on the day the ripe fruit shall glow between 
 those pale leaves ? " 
 
 "Perhaps I might," said he, stealing a half-tender glance 
 towards her. 
 
 "Well, I would not," said she, looking him full and stead- 
 fastly in the face. 
 
 "Then that means 3'ou never eared very much for any 
 one?" 
 
 "If I remember aright, you were engaged as a gardener, 
 not as father confessor. Now, you are really not very 
 expert at the former; but you'll make sad work of the 
 latter." 
 
 "You have not a very exalted notion of my tact. Miss 
 Dill." 
 
 "I don't know, — I'm not sure; I suspect you have at 
 least what the French call ' good dispositions.' Y'ou took 
 to your wheelbarrow very nicel}^, and you tried to dig — as 
 little like a gentleman as need be." 
 
 "AYell, if this does not bate Banagher, my name is n't 
 Darby ! " exclaimed a rough voice, and a hearty laugh fol- 
 lowed his words. "By my conscience, Miss Polly, it's 
 only yerself could do it; and it's truth they say of you, 
 you 'd get fun out of an archdaycon! " 
 
 Conyers flung away his spade, and shook the mould from 
 his boots in irritation. 
 
 "Come, don't be cross," said she, slipping her arm within 
 his, and leading him away; "don't spoil a very pleasant 
 little adventure by ill humor. If these melons come to good, 
 they shall be called after you. Y'ou know that a Duke of 
 Montmartre gave his name to a gooseberry; so be good, 
 and, like him, you shall be immortal." 
 
 "I should like very much to know one thing," said he, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "And what may that be?" 
 
 "I 'd like to know, — are you ever serious?" 
 
 "Not what you would call serious, perhaps; but I 'm very 
 
COXYERS MAKES A MORNING CALL. 
 
 251 
 
 much in earnest, if that will do. That delightful Saxon 
 habit of treating all trifles with solemnity I have no taste 
 for. I 'm aware it constitutes that great idol of English 
 veneration, Respectability; but we have not got that sort of 
 thing here. Perhaps the climate is too moist for it." 
 
 "I'm not a bit surprised that the Colonel fell in love with 
 you," blurted he out, with a frank abruptness. 
 
 "And did he, — oh, really did he?" 
 
 "Is the news so very agreeable, then?" 
 
 "Of course it is. I 'd give anything for such a conquest. 
 There 's no glory in capturing one of those calf elephants 
 
252 BARRINGTON. 
 
 who walk into the suare out of pure stupidity ; but to catch 
 an old experienced creature who has been hunted scores of 
 times, and knows every scheme and artifice, every bait and 
 every pitfall, there is a real triumph in that." 
 
 "Do I represent one of the calf elephants, then?" 
 
 "I cannot think so. I have seen no evidence of your 
 capture — not to add, nor any presumption of my own — to 
 engage in such a pursuit. My dear Mr. Conyers," said 
 she, seriously, "you have shown so much real kindness to 
 the brother, you would not, I am certain, detract from it by 
 one word which could offend the sister. "VYe have been the 
 best of friends up to this; let us part so." 
 
 The sudden assumption of gravity in this speech seemed 
 to disconcert him so much that he made no answer, but 
 strolled along at her side, thoughtful and silent. 
 
 "What are you thinking of?" said she, at last. 
 
 "I was just thinking," said he, "that by the time I have 
 reached my quarters, and begin to con over what I have 
 accomplished by this same visit of mine, I '11 be not a little 
 puzzled to say what it is." 
 
 "Perhaps I can help you. First of all, tell me what was 
 your object in coming." 
 
 "Chiefly to talk about Tom." 
 
 "Well, we have done so. We have discussed the matter, 
 and are fully agreed it is better he should not go to India, 
 but stay at home here and follow his profession, like his 
 father." 
 
 "But have I said nothing about Hunter's offer?" 
 
 "Not a word; what is it? " 
 
 "How stupid of me; what could I have been thinking of 
 all this time?" 
 
 "Heaven knows; but what was the offer you allude to?" 
 
 "It was this: that if Tom would make haste and get his 
 diploma or his license, or whatever it is, at once, and col- 
 lect all sorts of testimonials as to his abilities and what 
 not, that he 'd take him out with him and get him an 
 assistant-surgeoncy in a regiment, and in time, perhaps, a 
 staff-appointment. " 
 
 "I'm not very certain that Tom could obtain his diploma 
 at once. I 'm quite sure he could n't get any of those certifi- 
 
CONYERS MAKES A MORNING CALL. 253 
 
 cates you speak of. First of all, because he does not pos- 
 sess these same abilities you meutiou, nor, if he did, is 
 there any to vouch for them. We are very humble people, 
 Mr. Conyers, with a village for our world ; and we contem- 
 plate a far-away country — India, for instance — pretty 
 much as we should do Mars or the Pole-star." 
 
 "As to that, Bengal is more come-at-able than the Great 
 Bear," said he, laughing. 
 
 "For you, perhaps, not for us. There is nothing more 
 common in people's mouths than go to New Zealand or Swan 
 River, or some far-away island in the Pacific, and make 
 your fortune! — just as if every new and barbarous land was 
 a sort of Aladdin's cave, where each might fill his pockets 
 with gems and come out rich for life. But reflect a little. 
 First, there is an outfit; next, there is a voyage; thirdly, 
 there is need of a certain subsistence in the new country 
 before plans can be matured to render it profitable. After 
 all these come a host of requirements, — of courage, and 
 energy, and patience, and ingenuity, and personal strength, 
 and endurance, not to speak of the constitution of a 
 horse, and some have said, the heartlessness of an ogre. 
 My counsel to Tom would be, get the ' Arabian Nights ' out 
 of your head, forget the great Caliph Conyers and all his 
 promises, stay where you are, and be a village apothecary." 
 
 These words were uttered in a very quiet and matter-of- 
 fact way, but they wounded Conyers more than the accents 
 of passion. He was angry at the cold realistic turn of a 
 mind so devoid of all heroism ; he was annoyed at the half- 
 implied superiority a keener view of life than his own 
 seemed to assert; and he was vexed at being ti-eated as 
 a well-meaning but very inconsiderate and inexperienced 
 young gentleman. 
 
 "Am I to take this as a refusal," said he, stiffly; "am I 
 to tell Colonel Hunter that your brother does not accept his 
 offer?" 
 
 " If it depended on me, — yes ; but it does not. I '11 write 
 to-night and tell Tom the generous project that awaits him; 
 he shall decide for himself." 
 
 "I know Hunter will be annoyed; he '11 think it was 
 through some bungling mismanagement of mine his plan haa 
 
254 BAKKINGTON. 
 
 failed ; be '11 be certain to say, If it was I myself bad spokeu 
 to ber — " 
 
 "Well, tbere 's no bann in letting bini tbink so," said sbe, 
 laugbing. "Tell bini 1 Ibiuk biui cbaiining, tbat 1 bope 
 be '11 bave a deligbtful voyage and a most prosperous career 
 after it, tbat 1 intend to read tbe Indian columns in tbe 
 newspaper from tbis day out, and will always picture bim 
 to my mind as seated in tbe grandest of bowdabs on tbe very 
 tallest of elepbants, bumming ' Kule Britannia ' up tbe slopes 
 of tbe Himalaya, and as tbe penny-a-liners say, extending 
 tbe blessings of tbe Englisb rule in India." Sbe gave ber 
 hand to bim, made a little salutation, — balf bow, balf 
 courtesy, — and, saying "Good-bye," turned back into tbe 
 sbrubbery and left bim. 
 
 He besitated, — almost turned to follow ber; waited a 
 second or two more, and tben, witb an impatient toss of 
 his head, walked briskly to tbe river-side and jumped into 
 his boat. It was a sulky face tbat be wore, and a sulky 
 spirit was at work within bim. Tbere is no greater discon- 
 tent than tbat of bim who cannot define tbe chagrin tbat 
 consumes bim. In reality, be was angry with himself, but 
 he turned the whole force of his displeasure upon her. 
 
 "I suppose she is clever. I'm no judge of tbat sort of 
 thing ; but, for my own part, I 'd rather see her more 
 womanly, more delicate. Sbe has not a bit of heart, tbat 's 
 quite clear; nor, with all her affectations, does she pretend 
 it." These were his first meditations, and after them he lit 
 a cigar and smoked it. The weed was a good one; the 
 evening was beautifullj' calm and soft, and tbe river scenery 
 looked its ver}^ best. He tried to think of a dozen things : 
 he imagined, for instance, what a picturesque thing a boat- 
 race would be in such a spot; he fancied he saw a swift 
 gig sweep round tbe point and head up tbe stream; he 
 caught sight of a little open in tbe trees witb a background 
 of dark rock, and be thought what a place for a cottage. 
 But whether it was tbe "match" or the "chdlet" tbat occu- 
 pied bim, Polly Dill was a figure in tbe picture; and be 
 muttered unconsciously, "How pretty sbe is, what a deal of 
 expression those gray-blue eyes possess ! She 's as active as 
 a fawn, and to the full as graceful. Fancy her an Earl's 
 
CONYERS MAKES A MORNING CALL. 255 
 
 daughter; give her station and all the advantages station 
 will bring with it, — what a girl it would be ! Not that 
 she'd ever have a heart; I'm certain of that. She's as 
 worldly — as worldly as — " The exact similitude did not 
 occur ; but he flung the end of his cigar into the river instead, 
 and sat brooding mournfully for the rest of the way. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 DUBLIN REVISITED. 
 
 The first stage of the Barringtons' journey was Dublin. 
 They alighted at Reynolds's Hotel, in Old Dominick Street, 
 the once favorite resort of country celebrities. The house, 
 it is true, was there, but Reynolds had long left for a land 
 where there is but one summons and one reckoning; even 
 the old waiter, Foster, whom people believed immortal, was 
 gone ; and save some cumbrous old pieces of furniture, — 
 barbarous relics of bad taste in mahogany, — nothing 
 recalled the past. The bar, where once on a time the 
 "Beaux" and "Bloods" had gathered to exchange the smart 
 things of the House or the hunting-field, was now a dingy 
 little receptacle for umbrellas and overcoats, with a rickety 
 case crammed full of unacknowledged and unclaimed let- 
 ters, announcements of cattle fairs, and bills of houses to 
 let. Decay and neglect were on everything, and the grim 
 little waiter who ushered them upstairs seemed as much 
 astonished at their coming as were they themselves with all 
 they saw. It was not for some time, nor without searching 
 inquiry, that Miss Dinah discovered that the tide of popular 
 favor had long since retired from this quarter, and left it a 
 mere barren strand, wreck-strewn and deserted. The house 
 where formerly the great squire held his revels had now fallen 
 to be the resort of the traveller by canal-boat, the cattle 
 salesman, or the priest. While she by an ingenious cross- 
 examination was eliciting these details, Barrington had 
 taken a walk through the city to revisit old scenes and 
 revive old memories. One needs not to be as old as Peter 
 Barrington to have gone through this process and experi- 
 enced all its pain. Unquestionably, every city of Europe 
 has made within such a period as five-and-thirty or forty 
 
DUBLIN REVISITED. 257 
 
 years immense strides of improvement. "Wider and finer 
 streets, more commodious thoroughfares, better bridges, 
 lighter areas, more brilliant shops, strike one on every 
 hand ; while the more permanent monuments of architecture 
 are more cleanly, more orderly', and more cared for than of 
 old. We see these things with astonishment and admira- 
 tion at first, and then there comes a pang of painful regret, 
 — not for the old dark alley and the crooked street, or the 
 tumbling arch of long ago, — but for the time when they 
 were there, for the time when they entered into our daily 
 life, when with them were associated friends long lost sight 
 of, and scenes dimly fading away from memory. It is for 
 our youth, for the glorious spring and elasticity of our 
 once high-hearted spirit, of our lives so free of care, of 
 our days undarkeued by a serious sorrow, — it is for these 
 we mourn, and to our eyes at such moments the spacious 
 street is but a desert, and the splendid monument but a 
 whitened sepulchre! 
 
 "I don't think I ever had a sadder walk in my life, 
 Dinah," said Peter Barrington, with a weary sigh. '"Till I 
 got into the courts of the College, I never chanced upon a 
 spot that looked as I had left it. There, indeed, was the 
 quaint old square as of old, and the great bell — bless it for 
 its kind voice ! — was ringing out a solemn call to some- 
 thing, that shook the window-frames, and made the verj" 
 air tremulous ; and a pale-faced student or two hurried past, 
 and those centurions in the helmets, — ancient porters or 
 Senior Fellows, — I forget which, — stood in a little knot to 
 stare at me. That, indeed, was like old times, Dinah, and 
 my heart grew very full with the memory. After that I 
 strolled down to the Four Courts. I knew you 'd laugh, 
 Dinah. I knew well you 'd say, ' Was there nothing going 
 on in the King's Bench or the Common Pleas? ' Well, there 
 was only a Revenue case, my dear, but it was interesting, 
 very interesting ; and there was my old friend Harry Bushe 
 sitting as the Judge. He saw me, and sent round the tipstaff 
 to have me come up and sit on the bench with him, and we 
 had many a pleasant remembrance of old times — as the 
 cross-examination went on — between us, and I promised to 
 dine with him on Saturday." 
 
 VOL. I. — 17 
 
258 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "And on Saturday we will dine at Antwerp, brother, if I 
 know anj'tbiug of myself." 
 
 "Sure enough, sister, I forgot all about it. Well, well, 
 where could my head have been ? " 
 
 "Pretty much where you have worn it of late years, Peter 
 Barriugton. And what of Withering? Did you see him?" 
 
 "No, Dinah, he was attending a Privy Council; but I got 
 his address, and I mean to go over to see him after dinner." 
 
 "Please to bear in mind that you are not to form any 
 engagements, Peter, — we leave this to-morrow evening b}' 
 the packet, — if it was the Viceroy himself that wanted your 
 company." 
 
 " Of course, dear, I never thought of such a thing. It 
 was only when Harry said, ' You '11 be glad to meet Casey 
 and Burrowes, and a few others of the old set,' I clean for- 
 got everything of the present, and only lived in the long-past 
 time, when life really was a very jolly thing." 
 
 "How did you find your friend looking?" 
 
 "Old, Dinah, very old! That vile wig has, perhaps, 
 something to say to it; and being a judge, too, gives a 
 sternness to the mouth and a haughty imperiousness to the 
 brow. It spoils Harry; utterly spoils that laughing blue 
 eye, and that fine rich humor that used to play about his 
 lips." 
 
 "Which did, you ought to say, — which did some forty 
 years ago. What are 3'ou laughing at, Peter? What is it 
 amuses you so highly ? " 
 
 "It was a charge of O'Grady's, that Harry told me, — a 
 charge to one of those petty juries that, he says, never will 
 go right, do what j'ou may. The case was a young student 
 of Trinit}', tried for a theft, and whose defence was only 
 by witnesses to character, and O'Grady said, ' Gentlemen 
 of the jury, the issue before you is easy enough. This is a 
 young gentleman of pleasing manners and the very best 
 connections, who stole a pair of silk stockings, and you will 
 find accordingly.' And what d'ye think, Dinah? They 
 acquitted him, just out of compliment to the Bench." 
 
 " I declare, brother Peter, such a story inspires any other 
 sentiment than mirth to me." 
 
 " I laughed at it till my sides ached," said he, wiping his 
 
DUBLIN EEVISITED. 259 
 
 eyes. " I took a peep into the Chancery Court and saw 
 O'Connell, who has plenty of business, they tell me. He 
 was in some altercation with the Court. Lord Manners was 
 scowling at him, as if he hated him. I hear that no day 
 passes without some angry passage between them." 
 
 " And is it of these jangling, quarrelsome, irritable, and 
 insolent men your ideal of agreeable society is made up, 
 brother Peter?" 
 
 *' Not a doubt of it, Dinah. All these displays are briefed 
 to them. They cannot help investing in their client's cause 
 the fervor of their natures, simply because they are human ; 
 but they know how to leave all the acrimony of the contest 
 in the wig-box, when they undress and come back to their 
 homes, — the most genial, hearty, and frank fellows in all 
 the world. If human nature were all bad, sister, he who 
 saw it closest would be, I own, most like to catch its corrup- 
 tion, but it is not so, far from it. Every day and every 
 hour reveals something to make a man right proud of his 
 fellow-men." 
 
 Miss Barrington curtly recalled her brother from these 
 speculations to the practical details of their journey, re- 
 minding him of much that he had to consult Withering 
 upon, and many questions of importance to put to him. 
 Thoroughly impressed with the perils of a journey abroad, 
 she conjured up a vast array of imaginary difficulties, and 
 demanded special instructions how each of them was to be 
 met. Had poor Peter been — what he certainly was not — 
 a most accomplished casuist, he might have been puzzled by 
 the ingenious complexity of some of those embarrassments. 
 As it was, like a man in the labyrinth, too much bewildered 
 to attempt escape, he sat down in a dogged insensibility, and 
 actually heard nothing. 
 
 ''Are you minding me, Peter?" asked she, fretfully, at 
 last; " are you paying attention to what I am saj'ing? " 
 
 "Of course I am, Dinah dear; I'm listening with all 
 ears." 
 
 " What was it, then, that I last remarked? What was the 
 subject to which I asked your attention?" 
 
 Thus suddenly called on, poor Peter started and rubbed 
 his forehead. Vague shadows of passport people, and 
 
260 BARRINGTON. 
 
 custom-house folk, and waiters, aud monej'-ebangers, and 
 brigands ; insolent postilions, importunate beggars, cheating 
 innkeepers, and insinuating swindlers were passing through 
 his iiead, with innumerable incidents of the road ; and, try- 
 ing to catch a clew at random, he said, " It was to ask the 
 Envoy, her Majesty's Minister at Brussels, about a washer- 
 woman who would not tear off my shirt buttons — eh, 
 Dinah? wasn't that it?" 
 
 " You are insupportable, Peter Barrington," said she, ris- 
 ing in anger. " I believe that insensibility like this is not to 
 be paralleled ! " and she left the room in wrath. 
 
 Peter looked at his watch, and was glad to see it was past 
 eight o'clock, and about the hour he meant for his visit to 
 Withering. He set out accordingly, not, indeed, quite satis- 
 fied with the way he had lately acquitted himself, but con- 
 soled by thinking that Dinah rarely went back of a morning 
 on the dereliction of the evening before, so that they should 
 meet good friends as ever at the breakfast-table. Withering 
 was at home, but a most discreet-looking butler intimated 
 that he had dined that day t^te-a-tete with a gentleman, and 
 had left orders not to be disturbed on an}^ pretext. " Could 
 you not at least, send in my name?" said Barrington : *•! 
 am a very old friend of your master's, whom he would regret 
 not having seen." A little persuasion aided by an argument 
 that butlers usually succumb to succeeded, aud before Peter 
 believed that his card could have reached its destination, his 
 friend was warmly shaking him by both hands, as he hurried 
 him into the dinner-room. 
 
 " You don't know what an opportune visit you have made 
 me, Barrington," said he; " but first, to present you to my 
 friend. Captain Stapylton — or Major — which is it? " 
 
 "Captain. This da}^ week, the 'Gazette,' perhaps, may 
 call me Major." 
 
 " Always a pleasure to me to meet a soldier, sir," said 
 Barrington; "and I own to the weakness of saying, all the 
 greater when a Dragoon. My own boy was a cavalryman." 
 
 " It was exactly of him we were talking." said Witliering; 
 " my friend here has had a long experience of India, and 
 has frankly told me much I was totally ignorant of. From 
 one thing to another we rambled on till we came to discuss 
 
DUBLIN REVISITED. 261 
 
 our great suit with the Company, and Captain Stapylton 
 assures me that we have never taken the right road in the 
 case." 
 
 "Nay, I could hardly have had such presumption; I 
 merely remarked, that without knowing India and its habits, 
 you could scarcely be prepared to encounter the sort of 
 testimony that would be opposed to you, or to benefit by 
 what might tend greatly in your favor." 
 
 "Just so — continue," said Withering, who looked as 
 though he had got an admirable witness on the table. 
 
 "I'm astonished to hear from the Attorney-General," 
 resumed Stapylton, "that in a case of such magnitude as 
 this you have never thought of sending out an efficient 
 agent to India to collect evidence, sift testimony, and make 
 personal inquiry as to the degree of credit to be accorded to 
 many of the witnesses. This inquisitorial process is the 
 very first step in every Oriental suit ; you start at once, in 
 fact, by sapping all the enemy's works, — countermining him 
 everywhere." 
 
 " Listen, Barrington, — listen to this ; it is all new to 
 us." 
 
 " Everything being done by documentary evidence, there 
 is a wide field for all the subtlety of the linguist; and 
 Hindostanee has complexities enough to gratify the most 
 inordinate appetite for quibble. A learned scholar — a 
 Moonshee of erudition — is, therefore, the very first requisite, 
 great care being taken to ascertain that he is not in the pay 
 of the enemy." 
 
 " What rascals ! " muttered Barrington. 
 "Very deep — very astute dogs, certainly, but perhaps 
 not much more unprincipled than some fellows nearer 
 home," continued the Captain, sipping his wine; " the great 
 peculiarity of this class is, that while employing them in the 
 most palpably knavish manner, and obtaining from them 
 services bought at every sacrifice of honor, they expect all 
 the deference due to the most umblemished integrity." 
 
 "I'd see them — I won't say where— first," broke out 
 Barrington ; " and I 'd see my lawsuit after them, if only to 
 be won by their intervention." 
 
 "Remember, sir," said Stapylton, calmly, "that such are 
 
262 BARRINGTON. 
 
 the weapons employed against you. That great Companj'- 
 does not, nor can it afford to, despise such auxiliaries. The 
 East has its customs, and the natures of men are not light 
 things to be smoothed down by conventionalities. Were 
 you, for instance, to measure a testimony at Calcutta by 
 the standard of Westminster Hall, you would probably 
 do a great and grievous injustice." 
 
 "Just so," said Withering; "you are quite right there, 
 and I have frequently found myself posed by evidence that 
 I felt must be assailable. Go on, and tell my friend what 
 you were mentioning to me before he came in." 
 
 "I am reluctant, sir," said Stapyltou, modestly, "to 
 obtrude upon you, in a matter of such grand importance 
 as this, the mere gossip of a mess-table, but, as allusion 
 has been made to it, I can scarcely refrain. It was when 
 serving in another Presidency an officer of ours, who had 
 been long in Bengal, one night entered upon the question 
 of Colonel Barrington's claims. He quoted the words of 
 an uncle — I think he said his uncle — who w'as a member 
 of the Supreme Council, and said, ' Barrington ought to 
 have known we never could have conceded this right of 
 sovereignty, but he ought also to have known that we 
 would rather have given ten lacs of rupees than have it 
 litigated.' " 
 
 "Have you that gentleman's name?" asked Barrington, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I have ; but the poor fellow is no more, — he was of that 
 fatal expedition to Beloochistan eight years ago." 
 
 "You know our case, then, and what we claim?" asked 
 Barrington. 
 
 "Just as every man who has served in India knows it, 
 — popularly, vaguely. I know that Colonel Barrington 
 was, as the adopted son of a Rajah, invested with supreme 
 power, and only needed the ratification of Great Britain 
 to establish a sovereignty ; and I have heard " — he laid 
 stress on the word "heard" — "that if it had not been 
 for some allegation of plotting against the Company's 
 government, he really might ultimately have obtained that 
 sanction." 
 
 "Just what I have said over and over asain? " burst iu 
 
DUBLIN REVISITED. 263 
 
 Barrington. "It was the worst of treachery that ruined my 
 poor boy." 
 
 "I have heard that also," said Stapylton, and with a 
 degree of feeling and sympathy that made the old man's 
 heart yearn towards him. 
 
 "How I wish you had known him! " said he, as he drew 
 his hand over his eyes. "And do you know, sir," said he, 
 warming, "that if I still follow up this suit, devoting to it 
 the little that is left to me of life or fortune, that I do so less 
 for any hope of gain than to place my poor boy before the 
 world with his honor and fame unstained." 
 
 "My old friend does himself no more than justice there! " 
 cried Withering. 
 
 "A noble object, — may you have all success in it! " said 
 Stapylton. He paused, and then, in a tone of deeper feel- 
 ing, added: "It will, perhaps, seem a great liberty, the 
 favor I'm about to ask; but remember that, as a brother 
 soldier with your son I have some slight claim to approach 
 you. Will you allow me to offer you such knowledge as I 
 possess of India, to aid your suit? Will you associate me, 
 in fact, with your cause? No higher one could there be 
 than the vindication of a brave man's honor." 
 
 "I thank you with all my heart and soul!" cried the old 
 man, giasping his hand. "In my own name, and in that 
 of my poor dear granddaughter, I thank you." 
 
 '"Oh, then, Colonel Barrington has left a daughter? I 
 was not aware of that," said Stapylton, with a certain 
 coldness. 
 
 "And a daughter who knows no more of this suit than of 
 our present discussion of it," said Withering. 
 
 In the frankness of a nature never happier than when 
 indulging its own candor, Barrington told how it was to see 
 and fetch back with him the same granddaughter he had left 
 a spot he had not quitted for years. " She 's coming back 
 to a very humble home, it is true; but if you, sir," said he, 
 addressing Stapylton, "will not despise such lowly fare as 
 a cottage can afford you, and would condescend to come and 
 see us, you shall have the welcome that is due to one who 
 wishes well to my boy's memory." 
 
 "And if you do," broke in Withering, ''you'll see the 
 
264 BARRINGTON. 
 
 prettiest cottage and the first hostess in Europe; and heie 's 
 to her health, — Miss Dinah Barrington! " 
 
 "I'm not going to refuse that toast, though I have just 
 passed the decanter," said Peter. "Here 's to the best of 
 sisters ! " 
 
 "Miss Barrington!" said Stapylton, with a courteous 
 bow; and he drained his glass to the bottom. 
 
 "And that reminds me I promised to be back to tea with 
 her," said Barrington; and renewing with all warmth his 
 invitation to Stapylton, and cordially taking leave of his 
 old fi'iend, he left the house and hastened to his hotel. 
 
 "What a delightful evening I have passed, Dinah!" said 
 he, cheerfully, as he entered. 
 
 "Which means that the Attorney-General gave you a 
 grand review and sham fight of all the legal achievements 
 of the term ; but bear in mind, brother, there is no profes- 
 sional slang so odious to me as the lawyer's, and I posi- 
 tively hate a joke which cost six-and-eightpence, or even 
 three-and-fourpeuce. " 
 
 "Nothing of this kind was there at all, Dinah! Wither- 
 ing had a friend with him, a very distinguished soldier, who 
 had seen much Indian service, and entered with a most cor- 
 dial warmth into poor George's case. He knew it, — as 
 all India knows it, by report, — and frankly told us where 
 our chief difficulties lay, and the important things we were 
 neglecting." 
 
 "How generous! of a perfect stranger too!" said she, 
 with a scarcely detectable tone of scorn. 
 
 "Not — so to say — an utter stranger, for George was 
 known to him by reputation and character." 
 
 "And who is, I suppose I am to say, your friend, 
 Peter?" 
 
 "Captain or Major Stapylton, of the Regent's Hussars?" 
 
 "Oh! I know him, — or, rather, I know of him." 
 
 "What and how, Dinah? I am very curious to hear 
 this." 
 
 "Simply, that while young Conyers was at the cottage 
 he showed me a letter from that gentleman, asking him in 
 the Admiral's name, to Cobham, and containing, at the 
 
DUBLDs REVISITED. 265 
 
 same time, a running criticism on the house and his guests 
 far more flippant than creditable." 
 
 "Men do these things every day, Dinah, and there is no 
 harm in it." 
 
 "That all depends upon whom the man is. The volatile 
 gayety of a high-spirited nature, eager for effect and fond 
 of a sensation, will lead to many an indiscretion ; but very 
 different from this is the well-weighed sarcasm of a more 
 serious mind, who not only shots his gun home, but takes 
 time to sight ere he fires it. I hear that Captain Stapylton 
 is a grand, cold, thoughtful man, of five or six-and-thirty. 
 Is that so ? " 
 
 "Perhaps he may be. He 's a splendid fellow to look at, 
 and all the soldier. But you shall see for yourself, and I '11 
 warrant you'll not harbor a prejudice against him." 
 
 "Which means, you have asked him on a visit, brother 
 Peter?" 
 
 "Scarcely fair to call it on a visit, Dinah," blundered he 
 out, in confusion; '"but I have said with what pleasure we 
 should see him under our roof when we returned." 
 
 "I solemnly declare my belief, that if you went to a cattle- 
 show you 'd invite every one you met there, from the squire 
 to the pig-jobber, never thinking the while that nothing is 
 so valueless as indiscriminate hospitality, even if it were 
 not costly. Nobody thanks you, — no one is grateful for 
 it."' 
 
 "And who wants them to be grateful, Dinah? The 
 pleasure is in the giving, not in receiving. You see your 
 friends with their holiday faces on, when they sit round the 
 table. The slowest and dreariest of them tries to look 
 cheery; and the stupid dog who has never a jest in him has 
 at least a ready laugh for the wit of his neighbor." 
 
 "Does it not spoil some of your zest for this pleasantry 
 to think how it is paid for, brother?" 
 
 "It might, perhaps, if I were to think of it; but, thank 
 Heaven! it's about one of the last things would come into 
 my head. My dear sister, there 's no use in always treat- 
 ing human nature as if it was sick, for if you do, it will end 
 by being hypochondriac ! " 
 
 "I protest, brother Peter, I don't know where you meet all 
 
266 BARRINGTON. 
 
 the good and excellent people you rave about, and I feel it 
 very churlish of you that you never preseut any of them 
 to VIC ! " And so saying, she gathered her knitting mate- 
 rials hastily together, and reminding him that it was past 
 eleven o'clock, she uttered a hui-ried good-night, and 
 departed. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A VERY SAD GOOD-BYE. 
 
 CoNYERS sat alone in his barrack-room, very sad and dis- 
 pirited. Hunter bad left that same morning, and the young 
 soldier felt utterly friendless. He bad obtained some weeks' 
 leave of absence, and already two days of the leave bad gone 
 over, and be bad not energy to set out if be bad even a 
 tbougbt as to tbe wbitber. A variety of plans passed 
 vaguely tbrougb bis bead. He would go down to Ports- 
 moutb and see Hunter off; or be would nestle down in tbe 
 little village of Inistioge and dream away tbe days in quiet 
 f orgetf ulness ; or be would go over to Paris, which he bad 
 never seen, and try whether tbe gay dissipations of that 
 brilliant city might not distract and amuse him. Tbe mail 
 from India bad arrived and brought no letter from bis 
 father, and this, too, rendered him irritable and unhappy. 
 Not that his father was a good correspondent ; be wrote but 
 rarely, and always like one who snatched a hurried moment 
 to catch a post. Still, if this were a case of emergency, 
 any great or critical event in bis life, he was sure his father 
 would have informed him ; and thus was it that he sat bal- 
 ancing doubt against doubt, and setting probability against 
 probability, till bis very bead grew addled with tbe labor of 
 speculation. 
 
 It was already late ; all the usual sounds of barrack life 
 bad subsided, and although on the opposite side of tbe 
 square tbe brilliant lights of tbe mess-room windows showed 
 where the convivial spirits of tbe regiment were assembled, 
 all around was silent and still. Suddenly there came a dull 
 heavy knock to the door, quickly followed by two or three 
 others. 
 
 Not caring to admit a visitor, whom, of course, be sur- 
 mised would be some young brother-officer full of the plans 
 
268 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 and projects of the mess, be made no reply to t"he summons, 
 nor gave any token of bis presence. Tbe sounds, however, 
 were redoubled, and with an energy that seemed to vouch 
 for perseverance; and Conyers, partly in anger, and partly 
 in curiosity, went to the door and opened it. It was not till 
 after a minute or two that he was able to recognize the figure 
 before him. It was Tom Dill, but without a hat or neck- 
 cloth, bis hair dishevelled, his face colorless, and his clothes 
 torn, while from a recent wound in one band tbe blood flowed 
 fast, and dropped on tbe floor. The whole air and appear- 
 ance of tbe young fellow so resembled drunkenness that 
 Conyers turned a stern stare upon him as he stood in the 
 centre of the room, and in a voice of severity said, "By 
 what presumption, sir, do you dare to present yourself in 
 this state before me?" 
 
 "You think I'm drunk, sir, but I am not," said be, 
 with a faltering accent and a look of almost imploring 
 misery. 
 
 "What is the meaning of this state, then? What dis- 
 graceful row have you been in ? " 
 
 "None, sir. I have cut my hand with the glass on the 
 barrack-wall, and torn my trousers too; but it's no matter, 
 I '11 not want them long." 
 
 "What do you mean by all this? Explain yourself." 
 
 "May I sit down, sir, for I feel very weak?" but before 
 the permission could be granted, his knees tottered, and be 
 fell in a faint on the floor. Conyers knelt down beside him, 
 bathed his temples with water, and as soon as signs of ani- 
 mation returned, took him up in his arms and laid him at 
 full length on a sofa. 
 
 In tbe vacant, meaningless glance of the poor fellow as 
 he looked first around him, Conyers could mark how he was 
 struggling to find out where be was. 
 
 "You are with me, Tom, — with your friend Conyers," 
 said he, holding the cold clammy hand between his own. 
 
 •• Thank you, sir. It is very good of you. I do not 
 deserve it," said he, in a faint whisper. 
 
 "My poor boy, you mustn't say that; I am your friend- 
 I told you already I would be so. " 
 
 "But you '11 not be my friend when I tell you — when 1 
 
A VERY SAD GOOD-BYE. 269 
 
 tell you — all ; " and as the last word dropped, he covered 
 his face with both his hands, and burst into a heavy passion 
 of tears. 
 
 "Come, come, Tom, this is not manly; bear up bravelj-, 
 bear up with courage, man. You used to say you had plenty 
 of pluck if it were to be tried." 
 
 '• So I thought I had, sir, but it has all left me; " and he 
 sobbed as if his heart was breaking. "But I believe I 
 could bear anything but this," said he, in a voice shaken 
 by convulsive throes. "It is the disgrace, — that 's what 
 unmans me." 
 
 "Take a glass of wine, collect yourself, and tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 "No, sir. No wine, thank you; give me a glass of 
 water. There, I am better now; my brain is not so hot. 
 You are very good to me, Mr. Conyers, but it 's the last time 
 I'll ever ask it, — the vei-y last time, sir; but I '11 remem- 
 ber it all my life." 
 
 "If you give way in this fashion, Tom, I '11 not think you 
 the stout-hearted fellow I once did." 
 
 "No, sir, nor am I. I '11 never be the same again. I feel 
 it here. I feel as if something gave, something broke." 
 And he laid his hand over his heart and sighed heavily. 
 
 "TVell, take your own time about it, Tom, and let me 
 hear if I cannot be of use to you." 
 
 "No, sir, not now. Neither you nor any one else can 
 help me now. It 's all over, Mr. Conyers, — it 's all 
 finished." 
 
 "What is over, — what is finished?" 
 
 "And so, as I thought it would n't do for one like me to 
 be seen speaking to you before people, I stole away and 
 climbed over the barrack- wall. I cut my hand on the glass, 
 too, but it 's nothing. And here I am, and here 's the money 
 you gave me ; I've no need of it now." And as he laid some 
 crumpled bank-notes on the table, his overcharged heart 
 again betrayed him, and he burst into tears. "Yes, sir, 
 that 's what you gave me for the College, but I was 
 rejected." 
 
 "Rejected, Tom! How was that? Be calm, my poor 
 fellow, and tell me all about it quietly." 
 
270 BAKRIXGTON. 
 
 "I '11 tr}', sir, I will, indeed ; and I '11 tell you nothing but 
 the truth, that you may depend upon." He took a great 
 drink of water, and went on. "If there was one man I was 
 afraid of in the world, it was Surgeon Asken, of Mercer's 
 Hospital. I used to be a dresser there, and he was always 
 angry with me, exposing me before the other students, and 
 ridiculing me, so that if anything was done badly in the 
 wards, he 'd say, ' This is some of Master Dill's work, is n't 
 it? ' Well, sir, would j'ou believe it, on the morning I went 
 up for my examination, Dr. Coles takes ill, and Surgeon 
 Asken is called on to replace him. I did n't know it till I 
 was sent for to go in, and my head went round, and I 
 couldn't see, and a cold sweat came over me, and I was so 
 confused that when I got into the room I went and sat down 
 beside the examiners, and never knew what they were 
 laughing at. 
 
 " ' I have no doubt, Mr. Dill, you'll occupy one of these 
 places at some future day,' says Dr. Willes, 'but for the 
 present your seat is yonder.' I don't remember much more 
 after that, till Mr. Porter said, ' Don't be so nervous, Mr. 
 Dill; collect yourself; I am persuaded you know what I am 
 asking you, if you will not be flurried.' And all I could say 
 was, ' God bless you for that speech, no matter how it goes 
 with me; ' and they all laughed out. 
 
 "It was Asken 's turn now, and he began. ' You are 
 destined for the navy, I understand, sir? ' 
 
 " ' No, sir; for the army,' said I. 
 
 " ' From what we have seen to-day, you '11 prove an orna- 
 ment to either service. Meanwhile, sir, it will be satisfac- 
 tory to the court to have your opinion on gun-shot wounds. 
 Describe to us the case of a man laboring under the worst 
 form of concussion of the brain, and by what indications 
 you would distinguish it from fracture of the base of the 
 skull, and what circumstances might occur to render the dis- 
 tinction more difficult, and what impossible?' That was 
 his question, and if I was to live a hundred years I '11 never 
 forget a word in it, — it's written on my heart, I believe, 
 for life. 
 
 " ' Go on, sir,' said he, ' the court is waiting for you.' 
 
 " ' Take the case of concussion first,' said Dr. "Willes. 
 
A VERY SAD GOOD-BYE. 271 
 
 " ' I hope I may be permitted to conduct my own examina- 
 tion in my own manner,' said Asken. 
 
 "That finished me, and I gave a groan that set them all 
 laughing again. 
 
 " ' Well, sir, I'm waiting,' said Asken. ' You can have 
 no difficulty to describe concussion, if you only give us your 
 present sensations.' 
 
 " ' That's as true as if you swore it,' said I. ' I'm just 
 as if I had a fall on the crown of my head. There 's a 
 haze over my eyes, and a ringing of bells in my ears, and 
 a feeling as if my brain was too big.' 
 
 '"Take my word for it, Mr. Dill,' said he, sneeringly, 
 ♦ the latter is a purely deceptive sensation ; the fault lies in 
 the opposite direction. Let us, however, take something 
 more simple ; ' and with that he described a splinter wound 
 of the scalp, with the whole integuments torn in fragments, 
 and gunpowder and sticks and sand all mixed up with the 
 flap that hung down over the patient's face. ' Now,' said 
 he, after ten minutes' detail of this, — ' now,' said he, ' when 
 you found the man in this case, you 'd take out your scalpel, 
 perhaps, and neatly cut away all these bruised and torn 
 integuments? ' 
 
 " ' I would, sir,' cried I, eagerly. 
 
 '" I knew it,' said he, with a cry of triumph, — * I knew 
 it. I ' ve no more to ask you. You may retire. ' 
 
 " I got up to leave the room, but a sudden flash went 
 through me, and I said out boldly, — 
 
 " ' Am I passed ? Tell me at once. Put me out of pain, 
 for I can't bear any more ! ' 
 
 "'If you'll retire for a few minutes,* said the Presi- 
 dent — 
 
 " ' My heart will break, sir,' said I, ' if I 'm to be in sus- 
 pense any more. Tell me the worst at once.' 
 
 "And I suppose they did tell me, for I knew no more till 
 I found myself in the housekeeper's room, with wet cloths 
 on my head, and the money you see there in the palm of my 
 hand. That told everything. Many were very kind to me, 
 telling how it happened to this and to that man, the first 
 time; and that Asken was thought very unfair, and so on; 
 but I just washed my face with cold water, and put on my 
 
2 i 2 BARRINGTON. 
 
 hat and went away home, that is, to where I lodged, and T 
 wrote to Polly juat this one line : ' Rejected ; I 'm not coming 
 back.' And then I shut the shutters and went to bed in my 
 clothes as I was, and I slept sixteen hours without ever 
 waking. When I awoke, I was all right. I could n't remem- 
 ber everything that happened for some time, but I knew it 
 all at last, and so I went off straight to the Royal Barracks 
 and 'listed." 
 
 "Enlisted? — enlisted?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, in the Fort^'-ninth Regiment of Foot, now in 
 India, and sending off drafts from Cork to join them on 
 Tuesday. It was out of the depot at the bridge I made my 
 escape to-night to come and see you once more, and to give 
 you this with my hearty blessing, for you were the only one 
 ever stood to me in the world, — the only one that let me 
 think for a moment I could be a gentleman ! " 
 
 "Come, come, this is all wrong and hasty and passion- 
 ate, Tom. You have no right to repay your family in this 
 sort; this is not the way to treat that fine-hearted girl who 
 has done so much for j^ou ; this is but an outbreak of angry 
 selfishness." 
 
 "These are hard words, sir, very hard words, and I wish 
 you had not said them." 
 
 "Hard or not, you deserve them; and it is their justice 
 that wounds you." 
 
 "I won't say that it is not, sir. But it isn't justice I 'm 
 asking for, but forgiveness. Just one word out of your 
 mouth to say, ' I 'm sorry for you, Tom; ' or, ' I wish you 
 well.'" 
 
 "So I do, my poor fellow, with all my heart," cried Con- 
 yers, grasping his hand and pressing it cordially, "and I '11 
 get j^ou out of this scrape, cost what it may." 
 
 "If you mean, sir, that I am to get my discharge, it's 
 better to tell the truth at once. I would n't take it. No, 
 sir, I '11 stand by what I 've done. I see I never could be a 
 doctor, and I have my doubts, too, if I ever could be a gen- 
 tleman ; but there *s something tells me I could be a soldier, 
 and I '11 try." 
 
 Conj-ers turned from him with an impatient gesture, and 
 walked the room in moody silence. 
 
A VERY SAD GOOD-BYE. 273 
 
 "I know well enough, sir," continued Tom, "what every 
 one will say; perhaps you yourself are thinking it this very 
 minute: ' It 's all out of his love of low company he 's gone 
 and done this; he 's more at home with those poor ignorant 
 boys there than he would be with men of education and good 
 manners. ' Perhaps it 's true, perhaps it is n't ! But there 's 
 one thing certain, which is, that I '11 never try again to be 
 anything that I feel is clean above me, and I '11 not ask the 
 world to give me credit for what I have not the least preten- 
 sion to." 
 
 "Have you reflected," said Conyers, slowly, "that if you 
 reject my assistance now, it will be too late to ask for it a 
 few weeks, or even a few days hence ? " 
 
 "I have thought of all that, sir. I '11 never trouble you 
 about myself again." 
 
 "My dear Tom," said Conyers, as he laid his arm on the 
 other's shoulder, "just think for one moment of all the 
 misery this step will cause your sister, — that kind, true- 
 hearted sister, who has behaved so nobly by you." 
 
 "I have thought of that, too, sir; and in my heart I 
 believe, though she '11 fret herself at first greatly, it will all 
 tin-n out best in the end. What could I ever be but a dis- 
 grace to her? Who 'd ever think the same of Polly after 
 seeing me? Don't I bring her down in spite of herself; 
 and is n't it a hard trial for her to be a lady when I am in 
 the same room with her? No, sir, I'll not go back; and 
 though I haven't much hope in me, I feel I'm doing right." 
 
 "I know well," said Conyers, pettishly, "that your sister 
 will throw the whole blame on me. She '11 say, naturally 
 enough, You could have obtained his discharge, — you 
 should have insisted on his leaving." 
 
 "That's what you could not, sir," said Tom, sturdily. 
 "It's a poor heart hasn't some pride in it; and I would 
 not go back and meet my father, after my disgrace, if it was 
 to cost me my right hand, — so don't say another word about 
 it. Good-bye, sir, and my blessing go with you wherever 
 you are. I '11 never forget how you stood to me." 
 
 "That money there is yours. Dill," said Conyers, half 
 haughtily. "You may refuse my advice and reject my 
 
 VOL. I. — 18 
 
274 BARRINGTON. 
 
 counsel, but I scarcely suppose you '11 ask ine to take Lack 
 what I once have given." 
 
 Torn tried to speak, but he faltered and moved from one 
 foot to the other, in an embarrassed and hesitating way. 
 He wanted to say how the sum originally intended for one 
 object could not honestly be claimed for another ; he wanted 
 to say, also, that he had no longer the need of so much 
 money, and that the only obligation he liked to submit to 
 was gratitude for the past ; but a consciousness that in at- 
 tempting to say these things some unhappy word, some ill- 
 advised or ungracious expression might escape him, stopped 
 him, and he was silent. 
 
 "You do not wish that we should part coldly, Tom?" 
 
 " No, sir, — oh, no ! " cried he, eagerly. 
 
 " Then let not that paltry gift stand in the way of our 
 esteem. Now, another thing. Will you write to me ? Will 
 you tell me how the world fares with you, and honestly de- 
 clare whether the step you have taken to-day brings with it 
 regret or satisfaction ? " 
 
 "I'm not over-much of a letter- writer," said he, falter- 
 ingly, "but I'll try. I must be going, Mr. Conyers," said 
 he, after a moment's silence ; " I must get back before I'm 
 missed." 
 
 " Not as you came, Tom, however. I'll pass you out of 
 the barrack-gate." 
 
 As they w^alked along side by side, neither spoke till they 
 came close to the gate ; then Conyers halted and said, " Can 
 you think of nothing I can do for you, or is there nothing 
 you would leave to my charge after 3'ou have gone ? " 
 
 "No, sir, nothing." He paused, and then, as if with a 
 struggle, said, " Except you 'd write one line to my sister 
 Polly, to tell her that I went away in good heart, that I 
 did n't give in one bit, and that if it was n't for thinking that 
 maybe I'd never see her again — " He faltered, his voice 
 grew thick, he tried to cough down the rising emotion, but 
 the feeling overcame him, and he burst out into tears. 
 Ashamed at the weakness he was endeavoring to deny, he 
 sprang through the gate and disappeared. 
 
 Conyers slowly returned to his quarters, very thoughtful 
 and very sad. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE COXVEXT OX THE MEUSE. 
 
 "While poor Tom Dill, just entering upon life, went forth in 
 gloom and disappointment to his first venture, old Peter 
 Barrington, broken by years and many a sorrow, set out on 
 his journey with a high heart and a spirit well disposed to 
 see everything in its best light and be pleased with all 
 around him. Much of this is, doubtless, matter of temper- 
 ament ; but I suspect, too, that all of us have more in our 
 power in this wa}' than we practise. Barrington had pos- 
 sibly less merit than his neiglibors, for nature had given him 
 one of those happy dispositions upon which the passing vex- 
 ations of life produce scarcely any other effect than a stimu- 
 lus to humor, or a tendency to make them the matter of 
 amusing memory. 
 
 He had lived, besides, so long estranged from the world, 
 that life had for him all the interests of a drama, and he 
 could no more have felt angry with the obtrusive waiter or 
 the roguish landlord than he would with their fictitious rep- 
 resentatives on the stage. They were, in his eyes, parts 
 admirably played, and no more ; he watched them with a 
 sense of humorous curiosity, and laughed heartily at suc- 
 cesses of which he was himself the victim. Miss Barrington 
 was no disciple of this school ; rogues to her were simpl}' 
 rogues, and no histrionic sympathies dulled the vexation 
 they gave her. The world, out of which she had lived 
 so long, had, to her thinking, far from improved in the 
 mean while. People were less deferential, less courteous 
 than of old. There was an indecent haste and bustle about 
 everything, and a selfish disregard of one's neighbor was the 
 marked feature of all travel. ■ While her brother repaid him- 
 
276 BARRINGTON. 
 
 self for many an inconvenience by thinking over some 
 strange caprice, or some curious inconsistency iu human 
 nature, — texts for amusing afterthought. — she only winced 
 under the infliction, and chafed at every instance of cheating 
 or impertinence that befell them. 
 
 The wonderful things she saw, the splendid galleries rich 
 in art, the gorgeous palaces, the grand old cathedrals, were 
 all marred to her by the presence of the loquacious lackey 
 whose glib tongue had to be retained at the salary of the 
 " vicar of our parish," and who never descanted on a saint's 
 tibia without costing the price of a dinner; so that old Peter 
 at last said to himself, " I believe my sister Dinah would n't 
 enjoy the garden of Eden if Adam had to go about and show 
 her its beauties." 
 
 The first moment of real enjoyment of her tour was on 
 that morning when the}" left Namur to drive to the Convent 
 of Bramaigue, about three miles off, on the banks of the 
 Meuse. A lovelier day never shone upon a lovelier scene. 
 The river, one side guarded by lofty cliffs, was on the other 
 bounded by a succession of rich meadows, dotted with 
 picturesque homesteads half hidden in trees. Little patches 
 of cultivation, labored to the perfection of a garden, varied 
 the scene, and beautiful cattle lay lazily under the giant 
 trees, solemn voluptuaries of the peaceful happiness of their 
 lot. 
 
 Hitherto Miss Dinah had stoutly denied that anything 
 they had seen could compare with their own "vale and 
 winding river," but now she frankly owned that the stream 
 was wider, the cliffs higher, the trees taller and better 
 grown, while the variety of tint in the foliage far exceeded 
 all she had any notion of; but above all these were the 
 evidences of abundance, the irresistible charm that gives 
 the poetry to peasant life ; and the picturesque cottage, 
 the costume, the well-stored granary, bespeak the condition 
 with which we associate our ideas of rural happiness. The 
 giant oxen as they marched proudly to their toil, the gay- 
 caparisoned pony who jingled his bells as he trotted by, the 
 peasant girls as they sat at their lace cushions before the 
 door, the rosy urchins who gambolled in the deep grass, all 
 told of plenty, — that blessing which to man is as the sun- 
 
THE CONVENT ON THE MEUSE. 277 
 
 light to a landscape, making the fertile spots more beautiful, 
 and giving even to ruggeduess an aspect of stern grandeur. 
 
 '• Oh, brother Peter, that we could see something like 
 this at home," cried she. " See that girl yonder watering 
 the flowers in her little garden, — how prettily that old vine 
 is trained over the balcony, — mark the scarlet tassels in 
 the snow-white team, — are not these signs of an existence 
 not linked to daily drudgery ? I wish our people could be 
 like these." 
 
 " Here we are, Dinah : there is the convent ! " cried Bar- 
 rington, as a tall massive roof appeared over the tree-tops, 
 and the little carriage now turned from the high-road into a 
 shady avenue of tall elms. "What a grand old place it 
 is! some great seigniorial chateau once on a time." 
 
 As they drew nigh, nothing bespoke the cloister. The 
 massive old building, broken by many a projection and 
 varied by many a gable, stood, like the mansion of some 
 rich proprietor, in a vast wooded lawn. The windows lay 
 open, the terrace was covered with orange and lemon trees 
 and flowering plants, amid which seats were scattered ; and 
 in the rooms within, the furniture indicated habits of com- 
 fort and even of luxury. With all this, no living thing was 
 to be seen ; and when Barrington got down and entered the 
 hall, he neither found a servant nor any means to summon 
 one. 
 
 " You'll have to move that little slide you see in the door 
 there," said the driver of the carriage, " and some one will 
 come to you." 
 
 He did so ; and after waiting a few moments, a some- 
 what ruddy, cheerful face, surmounted by a sort of widow's 
 cap, appeared, and asked his business. 
 
 '• They are at dinner, but if you will enter the drawing- 
 room she will come to you presently." 
 
 They waited for some time ; to them it seemed very long, 
 for they never spoke, but sat there in still thoughtfulness, 
 their hearts very full, for there was much in that expectancy, 
 and all the visions of many a wakeful night or dreary day 
 might now receive their shock or their support. Their 
 patience was to be further tested ; for, when the door opened, 
 there entered a grim-looking little woman in a nun's costume, 
 
278 BAllKLNGTUN. 
 
 who, without previous salutation, announced herself as 
 Sister Lydia. Whether the opportunity for expausiveness 
 was rare, or that her especial gift was Uuency, never did a 
 little old woman hold forth more volubly. As though anti- 
 cipating all the worldly objections to a conventual existence, 
 or rather seeming to suppose that every possible thing had 
 been actually said on that ground, she assumed the defence 
 the very moment she sat down. Nothing short of long prac- 
 tice with this argument could have stored her mind with all 
 her instances, her quotations, and her references. Nor could 
 anything short of a firm conviction have made her so cour- 
 ageously indifferent to the feelings she was outraging, for 
 she never scrupled to arraign the two strangers before her 
 for ignorance, apathy, worldliness, sordid and poor ambi- 
 tions, and, last of all, a levity unbecoming their time of 
 life. 
 
 " I 'm not quite sure that I understand her aright," whis- 
 pered Peter, whose familiarity with French was not what it 
 had once been ; " but if I do, Dinah, she 's giving us a rare 
 lesson." 
 
 "She's the most insolent old woman I ever met in my 
 life," said his sister, whose violent use of her fan seemed 
 either likely to provoke or to prevent a fit of apoplexy. 
 
 " It is usual," resumed Sister Lydia, " to give persons 
 who are about to exercise the awful responsibility now 
 devolving upon you the opportunity of well weighing and 
 reflecting over the arguments I have somewhat faintly 
 shadowed forth." 
 
 " Oh, not faintly! " groaned Barrington. 
 
 But she minded nothing the interruption, and went on, — 
 
 "And for this purpose a little tract has been composed, 
 entitled ' A Word to the Worldling.' Tliis, with your per- 
 mission, I will place in your hands. You will there find at 
 more length than I could bestow — But I fear I impose 
 upon this lady's patience?" 
 
 " It has left me long since, madam," said Miss Dinah, as 
 she actually gasped for breath. 
 
 In the grim half-smile of the old nun might be seen the 
 triumphant consciousness that placed her above the " mun- 
 dane ; " but she did not resent the speech, simply saying that, 
 
THE CONVENT OX THE MEUSE. 
 
 279 
 
 as it was the hour of recreation, perhaps she would like to 
 see her young ward in the garden with her companions. 
 
 " By all means. We thank you heartily for the offer," 
 cried Barrington, rising hastily. 
 
 "With another smile, still more meaningly a reproof, Sister 
 Lydia reminded him that the profane foot of a man had 
 
 -e-.ar» *<5-^^''i^r-^^ 
 
 never transgressed the sacred precincts of the convent 
 garden, and that he must remain where he was. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake! Dinah, don't keep me a prisoner 
 here a moment longer than you can help it," cried he, " or 
 I'll not answer for my good behavior." 
 
 As Barrington paced up and down the room with impatient 
 steps, he could not escape the self-accusation that all his 
 present anxiety was scarcely compatible with the long, long 
 years of neglect and oblivion he had suffered to glide over. 
 
280 BARRINGTON. 
 
 The years in which he had never heard of Josephine — never 
 asked for her — was a charge there was no rebutting. Of 
 course he could fall back upon all tiiat special pleading inge- 
 nuity and self-love will supply about his own misfortunes, 
 the crushing embarrassments that befell him, and such like. 
 But it was no use, it was desertion, call it how he would ; and 
 poor as he was he had never been without a roof to shelter 
 her, and if it had not been for false pride he would have 
 offered her that refuge long ago. He was actually startled 
 as he thought over all this. Your generous people, who for- 
 give injuries with little effort, who bear no malice nor cherish 
 any resentment, would be angels — downright angels — if we 
 did not find that they are just as indulgent, just as merciful 
 to themselves as to the world at large. They become per- 
 fect adepts in apologies, and with one cast of the net draw in 
 a whole shoal of attenuating circumstances. To be sure, 
 there will now and then break in upon them a startling sus- 
 picion that all is not right, and that conscience has been 
 "cooking" the account; aud when such a moment does 
 come, it is a very painful one. 
 
 "Egad!" muttered he to himself, "we have been very 
 heartless all this time, there's no denying it; and if poor 
 George's girl be a disciple of that grim old woman with the 
 rosary and the wrinkles, it is nobody's fault but our own." 
 He looked at his watch; Dinah had been gone more than 
 half an hour. What a time to keep him in suspense! Of 
 course there were formalities, — the Sister Lydia described 
 innumerable ones, — jail delivery was nothing to it, but 
 surely five-and-thirty minutes would suffice to sign a score 
 of documents. The place was becoming hateful to him. 
 The grand old park, with its aged oaks, seemed sad as a 
 graveyard, and the great silent house, where not a footfall 
 sounded, appeared a tomb. "Poor child! what a dreary 
 spot you have spent your brightest years in, — what a 
 shadow to throw over the whole of a lifetime! " 
 
 He had just arrived at that point wherein his grand- 
 daughter arose before his mind a pale, careworn, sorrow- 
 sti-uck girl, crushed beneath the dreary monotony of a 
 joyless life, and seeming only to move in a sort of dreamy 
 melancholy, when the door opened, and Miss Barriugton 
 
THE CONVENT ON THE MEUSE. 281 
 
 entered with her arm around a young girl tall as herself, and 
 from whose commanding figure even the ungainly dress she 
 wore could not take away the dignit}'. 
 
 "This is Josephine, Peter," said Miss Dinah; and though 
 Barrington rushed forward to clasp her in his arms, she 
 merely crossed hers demurely on her breast and courtesied 
 deeply. 
 
 "It is your grandpapa, Josephine," said Miss Dinah, half 
 tartly. 
 
 The young girl opened her large, full, lustrous eyes, and 
 stared steadfastly at him, and then, with infinite grace, she 
 took his hand and kissed it. 
 
 "My own dear child," cried the old man, throwing his 
 arms around her, "it is not homage, it is your love we 
 want." 
 
 "Take care, Peter, take care," whispered his sister; "she 
 is very timid and very strange." 
 
 "You speak English, I hope, dear?" said the old man. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I like it best," said she. And there was the 
 very faintest possible foreign accent in the words. 
 
 "Is n't that George's own voice, Dinah? Don't you think 
 you heard himself there? " 
 
 "The voice is certainly like him," said Miss Dinah, with 
 a marked emphasis. 
 
 "And so are — no, not her eyes, but her brow, Dinah. 
 Yes, darling, you have his own frank look, and I feel sure 
 you have his own generous nature." 
 
 "They say I'm like my mother's picture," said she, 
 unfastening a locket she wore from its chain and handing it. 
 And both Peter and his sister gazed eagerly at the minia- 
 ture. It was of a very dark but handsome woman in a 
 rich turban, and who, though profusely ornamented with 
 costly gems, did, in reality, present a resemblance to the 
 cloistered figure before them. 
 
 "Am I like her?" asked the girl, with a shade more of 
 earnestness in her voice. 
 
 "You are, darling; but like your father, too, and every 
 word you utter brings back his memory; and see, Dinah, if 
 that is n't George's old trick, — to lay one hand in the palm 
 of the other." 
 
282 BARRINGTON. 
 
 As if corrected, the young girl dropped her arms to her 
 sides and stood like a statue. 
 
 "Be like him iu everything, dearest child," said the old 
 man, "if you would have my heart all your own." 
 
 "I must be what I am," said she, solemnly. 
 
 "Just so, Josephine; well said, my good girl. Be natu- 
 ral," said Miss Dinah, kissing her, "and our love will 
 never fail you." 
 
 There was the faintest little smile of acknowledgment to 
 this speech; but faint as it was, it dimpled her cheek, and 
 seemed to have left a pleasant expression on her face, for 
 old Peter gazed on her with increased delight as he said, 
 "That was George's own smile; just the Avay he used to 
 look, half grave, half merry. Oh, how you bring him back 
 to me ! " 
 
 "You see, my dear child, that you are one of us; let us 
 hope you will share iu the happiness this gives us." 
 
 The girl listened attentively to Miss Dinah's words, and 
 after a pause of apparent thought over them, said, "I will 
 hope so." 
 
 "May we leave this, Dinah? Are we free to get away? " 
 whispered Barrington to his sister, for an unaccountable 
 oppression seemed to weigh on him, both from the place 
 and its belongings. 
 
 "Yes; Josephine has only one good-bye to say; her trunks 
 are already on the carriage, and there is nothing more to 
 detain us." 
 
 "Go and say that farewell, dear child," said he, affection- 
 ately; "and be speedy, for there are longing hearts here to 
 wish for your return." 
 
 With a grave and quiet mien she walked away, and as she 
 gained the door turned round and made a deep, respectful 
 courtesy, — a movement so ceremonious that the old man 
 involuntarily replied to it by a bow as deep and reverential. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 George's daughter. 
 
 I SUPPOSE, nay, I am certain, that the memory of our hap- 
 piest moments ought ever to be of the very faintest and 
 weakest, since, could we recall them in all their fulness and 
 freshness, the recollection would only serve to deepen the 
 gloom of age, and imbitter all its daily trials. Nor is it, 
 altogether, a question of memory ! It is in the very essence 
 of happiness to be indescribable. Who could impart in 
 words the simple pleasure he has felt as he lay day-dreaming 
 in the deep grass, lulled by the humming insect, or the splash 
 of falling water, with teeming fancy peopling the space 
 around, and blending the possible with the actual? The 
 more exquisite the sense of enjoyment, the more will it 
 defy delineation. And so, when we come to describe the 
 happiness of others, do we find our words weak, and our 
 attempt mere failure. 
 
 It is in this difficulty that I now find myself. I would tell, 
 if I could, how enjoyably the Barriugtons sauntered about 
 through the old villages on the Rhine and up the Moselle, 
 less travelling than strolling along in purposeless indolence, 
 resting here, and halting there, always interested, always 
 pleased. It was strange into what perfect harmony these 
 three natures — unlike as they were — blended ! 
 
 Old Peter's sympathies went with all things human, and 
 he loved to watch the village life and catch what he could 
 of its ways and instincts. His sister, to whom the love of 
 scenery was a passion, never wearied of the picturesque 
 land they travelled ; and as for Josephine, she was no longer 
 the demure pensionnaire of the convent, — thoughtful and 
 reserved, even to secrecy, — but a happy child, revelling in 
 a thousand senses of enjoyment, and actually exulting in 
 
284 BARRINGTON. 
 
 the beauty of all she saw around her. What depression 
 must come of captivity, when even its faintest image, the 
 cloister, could have weighed down a heart like hers! Such 
 was Barringtou's thought as he beheld her at play with the 
 peasant children, weaving garlands for a village fete^ or 
 joyously joining the chorus of a peasant song. There 
 was, besides, something singularly touching in the half- 
 consciousness of her freedom, when recalled for an instant 
 to the past by the tinkling bell of a church. She would seem 
 to stop in her play, and bethink her how and why she was 
 there, and then, with a cry of joy, bound away after her 
 companions in wild delight. 
 
 "Dearest aunt," said she, one day, as they sat on a rocky 
 ledge over the little river that traverses the Lahnech, "shall 
 I always find the same enjoyment in life that I feel now, 
 for it seems to me this is a measure of happiness that could 
 not endure ? " 
 
 "Some share of this is owing to contrast, Fifine. Youi 
 convent life had not too many pleasures." 
 
 "It was, or rather it seems to me now, as I look back, a 
 long and weary dream; but, at the same time, it appears 
 more real than this ; for do what I may I cannot imagine 
 this to be the world of misery and sorrow I have heard so 
 much of. Can any one fancy a scene more beautiful than 
 this before us? Where is the perfume more exquisite than 
 these violets I now crush in my hand? The peasants, as 
 they salute us, look happy and contented. Is it, then, only 
 in great cities that men make each other miserable?" 
 
 Dinah shook her head, but did not speak. 
 
 "I am so glad grandpapa does not live in a city. Aunt, 
 I am never wearied of hearing you talk of that dear cottage 
 beside the river; and through all my present delight I feel 
 a sense of impatience to be there, to be at 'home.' " 
 
 "So that you will not hold us to our pledge to bring you 
 back to Bramaigne, Fifine," said Miss Dinah, smiling. 
 
 "Oh no, no! Not if you will let me live with you. 
 Never!" 
 
 "But you have been happy up to this, Fifine? You have 
 said over and over again that your convent life was dear to 
 you, and all its ways pleasant." 
 
GEORGE'S DAUGHTER. 285 
 
 "It is just the same change to me to live as I now do, as 
 in my heart I feel changed after reading out one of those 
 delightful stories to grandpapa, — Rob Roy, for instance. 
 It all tells of a world so much more bright and beautiful 
 than I know of, that it seems as though new senses were 
 given to me. It is so strange and so captivating, too, to 
 hear of generous impulses, noble devotion, — of faith that 
 never swerved, and love that never faltered. 
 
 "In novels, child; these were in novels." 
 
 "True, aunt; but they had found no place there had they 
 been incredible ; at least, it is clear that he who tells the 
 tale would have us believe it to be true." 
 
 Miss Dinah had not been a convert to her brother's notions 
 as to Fifine's readings; and she was now more disposed to 
 doubt than ever. To overthrow of a sudden, as though by a 
 great shock, all the stern realism of a cloister existence, and 
 supply its place with fictitious incidents and people, seemed 
 rash and perilous ; but old Peter only thought of giving a 
 full liberty to the imprisoned spirit, — striking off chain and 
 fetter, and setting the captive free, — free in all the glorious 
 liberty of a young imagination. 
 
 "Well, here comes grandpapa," said Miss Dinah, "and, 
 if I don't mistake, with a book in his hand for one of your 
 morning readings." 
 
 Josephine ran eagerly to meet him, and, fondly drawing 
 her arm within his own, came back at his side. 
 
 "The third volume, Fifine, the third volume," said he, 
 holding the book aloft. "Only think, child, what fates are 
 enclosed within a third volume ! AVhat a deal of happiness 
 or long-living misery are here included ! " 
 
 She struggled to take the book from his hand, but he 
 evaded her grasp, and placed it in his pocket, saying, — 
 
 "Not till evening, Fifine. I am bent on a long ramble 
 up the Glen this morning, and you shall tell me all about 
 the sisterhood, and sing me one of those little Latin canti- 
 cles I 'm so fond of." 
 
 "Meanwhile, I'll go and finish my letter to Polly Dill. 
 I told her, Peter, that by Thursday next, or Friday, she 
 might expect us." 
 
 "I hope so, with all my heart; for, beautiful as all this 
 
286 BARRINGTON. 
 
 is, it wants the greatest cbarin, — it's not liome! Then I 
 want, besides, to see Filine full of household cares." 
 
 "Feeding the chickens instead of chasing the butterflies, 
 Fifiue. Totting up the house-bills, in lieu of sighing over 
 ' Waverley. ' " 
 
 "And, if I know Fifine, she will be able to do one with- 
 out relinquishing the other," said Peter, gravely. "Our 
 daily life is all the more beautiful when it has its landscape 
 reliefs of light and' shadow." 
 
 "I think I could, too," cried Fifine, eagerly. "I feel as 
 though I could work in the fields and be happy, just in the 
 conscious sense of doing what it was goocl to do, and what 
 others would praise me for. " 
 
 "There's a paymaster will never fail you in such hire," 
 said Miss Dinah, pointing to her brother; and then, turning 
 away, she walked back to the little inn. As she drew nigh, 
 the landlord came to tell her that a young gentleman, on 
 seeing her name in the list of strangers, had made many 
 inquiries after her, and begged he might be informed of her 
 return. On learning that he was in the garden, she went 
 thither at once. 
 
 "I felt it was you. I knew who had been asking for me, 
 Mr. Conyers," said she, advancing towards Fred with her 
 hand out. "But what strange chance could have led you 
 here?" 
 
 "You have just said it. Miss Barrington; a chance, — a 
 mere chance. 1 had got a short leave from my regiment, 
 and came abroad to wander about with no very definite 
 object; but, growing impatient of the wearisome hordes of 
 our countrymen on the Rhine, I turned aside yesterday from 
 that great high-road and reached this spot, whose greatest 
 charm — shall I own it? — was a fancied resemblance to a 
 scene I loved far better." 
 
 "You are right. It was only this morning my brother 
 said it was so like our own cottage." 
 
 "And he is here also?" said the young man, with a half- 
 constraint. 
 
 "Yes, and very eager to see you, and ask your forgive 
 ness for his ungracious manner to you ; not that I saw it, 
 or understand what it could mean, but he says that he has 
 a pardon to crave at your hands." 
 
GEORGE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 287 
 
 So confused was Conyers for an instant that he made 
 no answer, and when he did speak it was falteringly and 
 with embarrassment. 
 
 "I never could have anticipated meeting you here. It is 
 more good fortune than I ever looked for." 
 
 "We came over to the Continent to fetch away my grand- 
 niece, the daughter of that Colonel Harrington you have 
 heard so much of." 
 
 "And is she — " He stopped, and grew scarlet with con- 
 fusion ; but she broke in, laughingly, — 
 
 "No, not black, only dark-complexioned; in fact, a bru- 
 nette, and no more." 
 
288 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "Oil, I don't mean, — I surely could not have said — " 
 
 "No matter what you meant or said. Your unuttered 
 question was one that kept occurring to my brother and 
 myself every morning as we journeyed here, though neither 
 of us had the courage to speak it. But our wonders are 
 over ; she is a dear good girl, and we love her better every 
 day we see her. But now a little about yourself. Why do 
 I find you so low and depressed ? " 
 
 "1 have had much to fret me. Miss Barriugton. Some 
 -were things that could give but passing unhappiness ; others 
 were of graver import." 
 
 "Tell me so much as you may of them, and I will try to 
 help you to bear up against them." 
 
 "I will tell you all, — everything! " cried he. "It is the 
 very moment I have been longing for, when I could pour out 
 all my cares before you and ask, What shall I do ? " 
 
 Miss Barrington silently drew her arm within his, and 
 they strolled along the shady alley without a word. 
 
 "I must begin with my great grief, — it absorbs all the 
 rest," said he, suddenly. "My father is coming home; he 
 has lost, or thrown up, I can't tell which, his high employ- 
 ment. I have heard both versions of the story; and his 
 own few words, in the only letter he has written me, do not 
 confirm either. His tone is indignant; but far more it is 
 sad and depressed, — he who never wrote a line but in the 
 joyousness of his high-hearted nature; who met each acci- 
 dent of life with an undaunted spirit, and spurned the very 
 thought of being cast down by fortune. See what he says 
 here." And he took a much crumpled letter from his pocket, 
 and folded down a part of it. "Read that. 'The time 
 for men of my stamp is gone by in India. We are as 
 much bygones as the old flint musket or the matchlock. 
 Soldiers of a different temperament are the fashion now; 
 and the sooner we are pensioned or die off the better. For 
 my own part, I am sick of it. I have lost my liver and 
 have not made my fortune, and like men who have missed 
 their opportunities, I come away too discontented with 
 myself to think well of any one. They fancied that by 
 coldness and neglect they might get rid of me, as they did 
 once before of a far worthier and better fellow; but though 
 
GEORGE'S DAUGHTER. 289 
 
 I never had the courage that he had, they shall not break 
 my heart.' Does it strike you to whom he alludes there?" 
 asked Conyers, suddenly; "for each time that I read the 
 words I am more disposed to believe that they refer to 
 Colonel Harrington." 
 
 "I am sure of it! " cried she. "It is the testimony of a 
 sorrow-stricken heait to an old friend's memory; but I hear 
 my brother's voice; let me go and tell him you are here." 
 But Barrington was already coming towards them. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Conyers! " cried he. "If you knew how I have 
 longed for this moment! I believe you are the only man iu 
 the world I ever ill treated on my own threshold ; but the 
 very thought of it gave me a fit of illness, and now the best 
 thing I know on my recovery is, that I am here to ask your 
 pardon." 
 
 "I have really nothing to forgive. I met under your 
 roof with a kindness that never befell me before ; nor do I 
 know the spot on earth where I could look for the like 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "Come back to it, then, and see if the charm should not 
 be there still." 
 
 "Where 's Josephine, brother?" asked Miss Barrington, 
 who, seeing the young man's agitation, wished to change 
 the theme. 
 
 "She's gone to put some ferns in water; but hei'e she 
 comes now." 
 
 Bounding wildly along, like a child in joyous freedom, 
 Josephine came towards them, and, suddenly halting at 
 sight of a stranger, she stopped and courtesied deeply, while 
 Conyers, half ashamed at his own unhappy blunder about 
 her, blushed deeply as he saluted her. Indeed, their meet- 
 ing was more like that of two awkward timid children than 
 of two young persons of their age ; and they eyed each other 
 with the distrust school boys and girls exchange on a first 
 acquaintance. 
 
 "Brother, I have something to tell you," said Miss Bar- 
 rington, who was eager to communicate the news she had 
 just heard of General Conyers ; and while she drew him to 
 one side, the young people still stood there, each seeming to 
 expect the other would make some advance towards acquaint- 
 
 VOL. I. — 19 
 
290 BxVRKINGTON. 
 
 auceship. Conyers tried to saj' some commonplace, — some 
 one of the fifty things that would have occuired so naturally 
 in presence of a young lady to whom he had been just pre- 
 sented; but he could think of none, or else those that he 
 thought of seemed inappropriate. How talk, for instance, 
 of the world and its pleasures to one who had been estranged 
 from it! While he thus struggled and contended with 
 himself, she suddenly started as if with a Hash of memory, 
 and said, "How forgetful! " 
 
 "Forgetful! — and of what?" asked he. 
 
 "I have left the book I was reading to grandpapa on the 
 rock where we were sitting. I must go and fetch it." 
 
 "May I go with you?" asked he, half timidly. 
 
 "Yes, if you like." 
 
 "And your book, — what was it? " 
 
 "Oh, a charming book, — such a delightful story! So 
 many people one would have loved to know! — such scenes 
 one would have loved to visit ! — incidents, too, that keep 
 the heart in intense anxietj', that you wonder how he who 
 imagined them could have sustained the thrilling interest, 
 and held his own heart so long in terrible suspense!" 
 
 "And the name of this wonderful book is — " 
 
 "' Waverley.'" 
 
 "I have read it," said he, coldly. 
 
 "And have j'ou not longed to be a soldier? Has not 
 your heart bounded with eagerness for a life of adventure 
 and peril ? " 
 
 " I am a soldier," said he, quietly. 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied she, slowly, while her steadfast glance 
 scanned him calml}' and deliberatel}'. 
 
 " You find it hard to recognize as a soldier one dressed as 
 I am, and probably wonder how such a life as this consorts 
 with enterprise and danger. Is not that what is passing in 
 your mind ? " 
 
 " Mayhap," said she, in a low voice. 
 
 " It is all because the world has changed a good deal since 
 "Waverley's time." 
 
 " How sorry I am to hear it ! " 
 
 " Nay, for your sake it is all the better. Young ladies 
 have a pleasanter existence now than they had sixty years 
 
GEORGE'S DAUGHTER. 291 
 
 since. They lived then lives of household drudgery or 
 utter weariness." 
 
 " And what have they now? " asked she, eagerly. 
 
 ' ' What have they not ! All that can embellish life is 
 around them ; they are taught in a hundred ways to employ 
 the faculties which give to existence its highest charm. 
 They draw, sing, dance, ride, dress becomingly, read what 
 may give to their conversation an added elegance and make 
 their presence felt as an added lustre." 
 
 "How unlike all this was our convent life!" said she, 
 slowly. "The beads in my rosary were not more alike 
 than the days that followed each other, and but for the 
 change of season I should have thought life a dreary sleep. 
 Oh, if you but knew what a charm there is in the change- 
 ful year to one who lives in any bondage ! " 
 
 " And yet I remember to have heard how you hoped you 
 might not be taken away from that convent life, and be 
 compelled to enter the world," said he, with a malicious 
 twinkle of the eye. 
 
 "True; and had I lived there still I had not asked for 
 other. But how came it that you should have heard of me ? 
 I never heard of you ! " 
 
 " That is easily told. I was your aunt's guest at the 
 time she resolved to come abroad to see you and fetch you 
 home. I used to hear all her plans about you, so that at 
 last— I blush to own — I talked of Josephine as though 
 she were my sister." 
 
 "How strangely cold you were, then, when we met!" 
 said she, quietly. "Was it that you found me so unlike 
 what you expected ? " 
 
 "Unlike, indeed! " 
 
 "Tell me how — tell me, I pray you, what you had 
 pictured me." 
 
 "It was not mere fancy I drew from. There was a 
 miniature of you as a child at the cottage, and I have looked 
 at it till I could recall every line of it." 
 
 " Go on ! " cried she, as he hesitated. 
 
 " The child's face was very serious, — actually grave for 
 childhood,— and had something almost stern in its expres- 
 sion ; and vet I see nothing of this in yours." 
 
292 BARllINGTON. 
 
 "So that, like grandpapa," said she, laughing, "you 
 were disappointed in not finding me a young tiger from 
 Bengal ; but be patient, and remember how long it is since 
 I left the jungle." 
 
 Sportively as the words were uttered, her eyes flashed 
 and her cheek colored, and Conyers saw for the first time 
 how she resembled her portrait in infancy. 
 
 " Yes," added she, as though answering what was passing 
 In his mind, "you are thinking just like the sisters, ' What 
 years and years it would take to discipline one of such a 
 race ! ' I have heard that given as a reason for numberless 
 inflictions. And now, all of a sudden, comes grandpapa to 
 say, ' We love you so because you are one of us.' Can you 
 understand this?" 
 
 "I think I can, — that is, I think I can understand 
 why — " he was going to add, "why they should love 
 you ; " but he stopped, ashamed of his own eagerness. 
 
 She waited a moment for him to continue, and then, her- 
 self blushing, as though she had guessed his embarrassment, 
 she turned away. 
 
 " And this book that we have been forgetting, — let us go 
 and search for it," said she, walking on rapidly in front of 
 him ; but he was speedily at her side again. 
 
 "Look there, brother Peter, — look there!" said Miss 
 Dinah, as she pointed after them, " and see how well fitted 
 we are to be guardians to a young lady ! " 
 
 "I see no harm in it, Dinah, — I protest, I see no harm 
 in it." 
 
 "Possibly not, brother Peter, and it may only be a part 
 of your system for making her — as you phrase it — feel 
 a holy horror of the convent." 
 
 "Well," said he, meditatively, "he seems a fine, frank- 
 hearted young fellow, and in this world she is about to 
 enter, her first experiences might easily be worse." 
 
 "I vow and declare," cried she, warmly, "I believe it is 
 your slipshod philosophy that makes me as severe as a holy 
 inquisitor! " 
 
 "P^very evil calls forth its own correction, Dinah," said 
 he, laughing. " If there were no fools to skate on the Sei^ 
 pentine, there had been no Humane Society." 
 
GEORGE'S DAUGHTER. 293 
 
 "One might grow tired of the task of resuscitating, Peter 
 Harrington," said she, hardly. 
 
 "Not you, not you, Dinah, — at least, if I was the 
 drowned man," said he, drawing her affectionately to his 
 side; "and as for those young creatures yonder, it 's like 
 gathering dog-roses, and they '11 stop when they have pricked 
 their fingers." 
 
 "I'll go and look after the nosegay myself," said she, 
 turning hastily away, and following them. 
 
 A real liking for Conyers, and a sincere interest in him 
 were the great correctives to the part of Dragon which Miss 
 Dinah declared she foresaw to be her future lot in life. 
 For years and years had she believed that the cares of a 
 household and the rule of servants were the last trials of 
 human patience. The larder, the dairy, and the garden 
 were each of them departments with special opportunities 
 for deception and embezzlement, and it seemed to her that 
 new discoveries in roguery kept pace with the inventions of 
 science ; but she was energetic and active, and kept herself 
 at what the French would call "the level of the situation;" 
 and neither the cook nor the dairymaid nor Darby could 
 be vainglorious over their battles with her. And now, all 
 of a sudden, a new part was assigned her, with new duties, 
 functions, and requirements ; and she was called on to exer- 
 cise qualities which had lain long dormant and in disuse, 
 and renew a knowledge she had not employed for many a 
 year. And what a strange blending of pleasure and pain 
 must have come of that memory of long ago! Old conquests 
 revived, old rivalries and jealousies and triumphs; glori- 
 ous little glimpses of brilliant delight, and some dark hours, 
 too, of disappointment, — almost despair! 
 
 "Once a bishop, always a bishop," says the canon; but 
 might we not with almost as much truth say, "Once a 
 beauty, always a beauty " ? — not in lineament and feature, 
 in downy cheek or silky tresses, but in the heartfelt con- 
 sciousness of a once sovereign power, in that sense of hav- 
 ing been able to exact a homage and enforce a tribute. 
 And as we see in the deposed monarch how the dignity of 
 kingcraft clings to him, how through all he does and says 
 there runs a vein of royal graciousness as from one the 
 
294 BARRINGTON. 
 
 fount of honor, so it is with beauty. There lives throufh 
 all its -wreck the splendid niemor}- of a despotism the most 
 absolute, the most fascinating of all ! 
 
 "I am so glad that young Conyers has no plans, Dinah," 
 said Barriugton; "he says he will join us if we permit 
 him." 
 
 "Humph!" said Miss Barrington, as she went on with 
 her knitting. 
 
 "I see nothing against it, sister." 
 
 "Of com-se not, Peter," said she, snappishly; "it would 
 surprise me much if you did." 
 
 "Do ijox^ Dinah?" asked he, with a true simplicity of 
 voice and look. 
 
 • "I see great danger in it, if that be what you mean. And 
 what answer did you make him, Peter? " 
 
 "The same answer that 1 make to every one, — I would 
 consult my sister Dinah. ' Le Roi s'avisera ' meant, I take 
 it, that he 'd be led by a wiser head than his own." 
 
 "He was wise when he knew it," said she, sententiously, 
 and continued her work. 
 
 And from that day forth they all journeyed together, and 
 one of them was very happ}', and some were far more than 
 happy; and Aunt Dinah was anxious even beyond her 
 wont. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE RAMBLE. 
 
 Day after day, week after week rolled on, and they still 
 rambled about among the picturesque old villages on the 
 Moselle, almost losing themselves in quaint unvisited spots, 
 whose very names were new to them. To Barrington and 
 his sister this picture of a primitive peasant life, with its 
 own types of costume and custom, had an indescribable 
 charm. Though debarred, from his ignorance of their 
 dialect, of anything like intercourse with the people, he 
 followed them in their ways with intense interest, and he 
 would pass hours in the market-place, or stroll through the 
 fields watching the strange culture, and wondering at the 
 very implements of their labor. And the young people all 
 this while? They were never separate. They read, and 
 walked, and sat together from dawn to dark. They called 
 each other Fifine and Freddy. Sometimes she sang, and 
 he was there to listen; sometimes he drew, and she was as 
 sure to be leaning over him in silent wonder at his skill ; 
 but with all this there was no love-making between them, — 
 that is, no vows were uttered, no pledges asked for. Confi- 
 dences, indeed, they interchanged, and without end. She 
 told the story of her friendless infancy, and the long dreary 
 years of convent life passed in a dull routine that had 
 almost barred the heart against a wish for change ; and he 
 gave her the story of his more splendid existence, charming 
 her imagination with a picture of that glorious Eastern life, 
 which seemed to possess an instinctive captivation for her. 
 And at last he told her, but as a great secret never to be 
 revealed, how his father and her own had been the dearest, 
 closest friends; that for years and years they had lived 
 together like brothers, till separated by the accidents of 
 
296 BARRINGTON. 
 
 life. Her father weut away to a long distant station, and 
 }us remained to hold a high military charge, from which he 
 was now relieved and on his way back to Europe. ""What 
 happiness for you, Freddy," cried she, as her eyes ran over, 
 "to see him come home in honor! AVhat had I given that 
 such a fate were mine ! " 
 
 For an instant he accepted her words in all their flattery, 
 but the hypocrisy was brief; her over-full heart was burst- 
 ing for sympathy, and he was eager to declare that his sor- 
 rows were scarcely less than her own. "No, Fifine," said 
 he, "my father is coming back to demand satisfaction of a 
 Government that has wronged him, and treated him with the 
 worst ingratitude. In that Indian life men of station wield 
 an almost boundless power; but if they are irresponsible as 
 to the means, they are tested by the results, and whenever 
 an adverse issue succeeds tliey fall irrevocably. What my 
 father may have done, or have left undone, 1 know not. I 
 have not the vaguest clew to his present difficulty, but, with 
 his high spirit and his proud heart, that he would resent the 
 very shadow of a reproof I can answer for, and so I believe, 
 what many tell me, that it is a mere question of personal 
 feeling, — some small matter in which the Council have not 
 shown him the deference he felt his due, but which his 
 haughty nature would not forego." 
 
 Now these confidences were not love-making, nor any- 
 thing approaching to it, and yet Josephine felt a strange 
 half-pride in thinking that she had been told a secret which 
 Con3'ers had never revealed to any other; that to her he had 
 poured forth the darkest sorrow of his heart, and actually 
 confided to her the terrors that beset him, for he owned 
 that his father was rash and headstrong, and if he deemed 
 himself wronged would be reckless in his attempt at 
 justification. 
 
 "You do not come of a very patient stock, then," said 
 she, smiling. 
 
 "Not very, Fifine." 
 
 "Nor I," said she, as her eyes flashed brightly. "My 
 poor Ayah, who died when I was but five years old, used to 
 tell me such tales of my father's proud spirit and the lofty 
 way he bore himself, so that I often fancy I have seen him 
 
THE RAMBLE. 297 
 
 and heard him speak. You have heard he was a Rajah? " 
 asked she, with a touch of pride. 
 
 The 3'outh colored deeply as he muttered an assent, for he 
 knew that she was ignorant of the details of her father's 
 fate, and he dreaded any discussion of her story. 
 
 "And these Rajahs," resumed she, "are really great 
 princes, with power of life and death, vast retinues, and 
 splendid armies. To my mind, they present a more gor- 
 geous picture than a small European sovereignty with some 
 vast Protectorate looming over it. And now it is my uncle," 
 said she, suddenly, "who rules there." 
 
 "I have heard that your own claims, Fifine, are in litiga- 
 tion," said he, with a faint smile. 
 
 "Not as to the sovereignty," said she, with a grave look, 
 half rebukeful of his levity. "The suit grandpapa prose- 
 cutes in my behalf is for my mother's jewels and her for- 
 tune; a woman cannot reign in the Tannanoohr." 
 
 There was a haughty defiance in her voice as she spoke, 
 that seemed to say, "This is a theme I will not suffer to be 
 treated lightly, — beware how you transgress here." 
 
 "And yet it is a dignity would become you well," said he, 
 seriously. 
 
 "It is one I would glory to possess," said she, as 
 proudly. 
 
 "AVould you give me a high post, Fifine, if you were on 
 the throne? — would you make me Commander-in-Chief of 
 your army?" 
 
 "More likely that I would banish you from the realm," 
 said she, with a haughty laugh; "at least, until you learned 
 to treat the head of the state more respectfully." 
 
 "Have I ever been wanting in a proper deference? " said 
 he, bowing, with a mock humility. 
 
 "If you had been, sir, it is not now that you had first 
 heard of it," said she, with a proud look, and for a few 
 seconds it seemed as though their jesting was to have a 
 serious ending. She was, however, the earliest to make 
 terms, and in atone of heart}' kindliness said: "Don't be 
 angry, Freddy, and I '11 tell you a secret. If that theme be 
 touched on, I lose my head: whether it be in the blood that 
 circles in my veins, or in some early teachings that imbued 
 
298 BAllRINGTON. 
 
 my childhood, or long dreaming over what can never be, I 
 cannot tell, but it is enough to speak of these things, and 
 at once my imagination becomes exalted and my reason is 
 routed." 
 
 "I have no doubt your Ayah was to blame for this; she 
 must have filled your head with ambitions, and hopes of a 
 grand hereafter. E)ven I myself have some experiences of 
 this sort; for as my father held a high post and was sur- 
 rounded with great state and pomp, I grew at a very early 
 age to believe myself a very mighty personage, and gave 
 my orders with despotic insolence, and suffered none to 
 gainsay me." 
 
 "How silly!" said she, with a supercilious toss of her 
 head that made Conyers flush up ; and once again was peace 
 endangered between them. 
 
 "You mean that what was only a fair and reasonable 
 assumption in you was an absurd pretension in me, Miss 
 Barrington ; is it not so ? " asked he, in a voice tremulous 
 with passion. 
 
 " I mean that we must both have been very naughty chil- 
 dren, and the less we remember of that childhood the better 
 for us. Are we friends, Freddy ? " and she held out her 
 hand. 
 
 "Yes, if you wish it," said he, taking her hand half coldly 
 in his own. 
 
 "Not that way, sir. It is I who have condescended; not 
 you." 
 
 "As you please, Fifine, — will this do?" and kneeling 
 with well-assumed reverence, he lifted her hand to his lips. 
 
 "If my opinion were to be asked, Mr. Conyers, I would 
 say it would not do at all," said Miss Dinah, coming sud- 
 denly up, her cheeks crimson, and her eyes flashing. 
 
 "It was a little comedy we were acting, Aunt Dinah," 
 said the girl, calmly. 
 
 "I beg, then, that the piece may not be repeated," said 
 she, stiffl3^ 
 
 "Considering how ill Freddy played his part, aunt, he 
 will scarcely regret its withdrawal." 
 
 Conyers, however, could not get over his confusion, and 
 looked perfectly miserable for very shame. 
 
THE RAMBLE. 299 
 
 *'My brother has just had a letter which will call us home- 
 ward, Mr. Couyers," said Miss Dinah, turning to him, and 
 now using a tone devoid of all irritation. "Mr. Withering 
 has obtained some information which may turn out of great 
 consequence in our suit, and he wishes to consult with my 
 brother upon it." 
 
 "I hope — I sincerely hope — you do not think — " he 
 began, in a low voice. 
 
 "I do not think anything to your disadvantage, and I 
 hope I never may," replied she, in a whisper low as his 
 own; "but bear in mind, Josephine is no finished coquette 
 like Polly Dill, nor must she be the mark of little gallan- 
 tries, however harmless. Josephine, grandpapa has some 
 news for you; go to him." 
 
 "Poor Freddy," whispered the girl in the youth's ear as 
 she passed, "what a lecture you are in for! " 
 
 "You mustn't be angry with me if I play Duenna a little 
 harshly, Mr. Conyers," said Miss Dinah; "and I am far 
 more angry with myself than you can be. I never con- 
 curred with my brother that romance reading and a young 
 dragoon for a companion were the most suitable educational 
 means for a young lady fresh from a convent, and I have 
 only myself to blame for permitting it." 
 
 Poor Conyers was so overwhelmed that he could say 
 nothing; for though he might, and with a safe conscience, 
 have answered a direct charge, yet against a general allega- 
 tion he was powerless. He could not say that he was the 
 best possible companion for a young lady, though he felt, 
 honestly felt, that he was not a bad one. He had never 
 trifled with her feelings, nor sought to influence her in his 
 favor. Of all flirtation, such as he would have adventured 
 with Polly Dill, for instance, he was guiltless. He re- 
 spected her youth and ignorance of life too deeply to take 
 advantage of either. He thought, perhaps, how ungenerous 
 it would have been for a man of the world like himself to 
 entrap the affections of a young, artless creature, almost a 
 child in her innocence. He was rather fond of imagining 
 himself "a man of the world," old soldier, and what not, 
 — a delusion which somehow very rarely befalls any but 
 very young men, and of which the experience of life from 
 
300 BAliUINGTON. 
 
 thirty to forty is the sovereign remedy. And so over- 
 whelmed and confused and addled was he with a variety of 
 eeusatious, he heard very little of what Miss Dinah said to 
 him, though that worthy lady talked very fluently and very 
 well, concluding at last with words which awoke Conyers 
 from his half- trance with a sort of shock. "It is for these 
 reasons, my dear Mr. Conyers, — reasons whose force and 
 nature you will not dispute, — that I am forced to do what, 
 were the occasion less important, would be a most ungenerous 
 task. I mean, I am forced to relinquish all the pleasure that 
 I had promised ourselves from seeing you our guest at the 
 cottage. If you but knew the pain I feel to speak these 
 words — " 
 
 "There is no occasion to say more, madam," said he; 
 for, unfortunately, so unprepared was he for the announce- 
 ment, its chief efifect was to wound his pride. "It is the 
 second time within a few months destiny has stopped my 
 step on your threshold. It only remains for me to submit 
 to my fate, and not adventure upon an enterprise above my 
 means." 
 
 "You are offended with me, and yet you ought not," said 
 she, sorrowfully; "you ought to feel that I am consulting 
 your interests fully as much as ours." 
 
 "I own, madam," said he, coldly, "I am unable to take 
 the view you have placed before me." 
 
 "Must I speak out, then? — must I declare my meaning 
 in all its matter-of-fact harshness, and say that your family 
 and your friends would have little scruple in estimating the 
 discretion which encouraged your intimacy with my niece, 
 — the son of the distinguished and highly favored General 
 Conyers with the daughter of the ruined George Barring- 
 ton? These are hard words to say, but I have said them." 
 
 "It is to my father you are unjust now. Miss Barrington." 
 
 "No, Mr. Conyers; there is no injustice in believing that 
 a father loves his son with a love so large that it cannot 
 exclude even worldliness. There is no injustice in believ- 
 ing that a proud and successful man would desire to see 
 his son successful too ; and we all know what we call suc- 
 cess. I see you are very angry with me. You think me 
 very worldly and very small-minded; perhaps, too, you 
 
THE RAMBLE. 301 
 
 would like to say that all the perils I talk of are of my 
 own inventing; that Fifine and you could be the best of 
 friends, and never think of more than friendship ; and that 
 I might spare my anxieties, and not fret for sorrows that 
 have no existence; — and to all this I would answer, I'll 
 not risk the chance. No, Mr. Conyers, 1 '11 be no party to 
 a game where the stakes are so unequal. What might give 
 you a month's sorrow might cost her the misery of a life 
 long." 
 
 "I have no choice left me. I will go, — I will go to-night, 
 Miss Barrington." 
 
 "Perhaps it would be better," said she, gravely, and 
 walked slowly away. 
 
 I will not tell the reader what harsh and cruel things Con- 
 yers said of every one and everything, nor how severely he 
 railed at the world and its ways. Lord Byron had taught 
 the youth of that age a very hearty and wholesome contempt 
 for all manner of conventionalities, into which category a 
 vast number of excellent customs were included, and Con- 
 yers could spout "Manfred" by heart, and imagine himself, 
 on very small provocation, almost as great a man-hater; 
 and so he set off on a long walk into the forest, determined 
 not to appear at dinner, and equall}' determined to be the 
 cause of much inquiry, and, if possible, of some uneasiness. 
 "I wonder what that old-maid," — alas for his gallantry, 
 it was so he called her, — "what she would say if her harsh, 
 ungenerous words had driven me to — " what he did not pre- 
 cisely define, though it was doubtless associated with snow 
 peaks and avalanches, eternal solitudes and demoniac pos- 
 sessions. It might, indeed, have been some solace to him 
 had he known how miserable and anxious old Peter became 
 at his absence, and how incessantly he questioned evei'y 
 one about him. 
 
 "I hope that no mishap has befallen that boy, Dinah; he 
 was always punctual. I never knew him stray away in this 
 fashion before." 
 
 "It would be rather a severe durance, brother Peter, if a 
 young gentleman could not prolong his evening walk with- 
 out permission." 
 
 "What says Fifine? I suspect she agrees with me." 
 
302 BARRINGTON. 
 
 *'If that means that he ought to be here, grandpapa, 
 I do." 
 
 "I must read over WitLeriug's letter again, brother," said 
 Miss Dinah, by way of changing the subject "He writes, 
 you say, from the Home?" 
 
 "Yes; he was obliged to go down there to search for 
 some papers he wanted, and he took Stapylton with him ; 
 and he says they had two capital days at the partridges. 
 They bagged, — egad! I think it was eight or ten brace 
 before two o'clock, the Captain or Major, I forget which, 
 being a first-rate shot." 
 
 "What does he say of the place, — how is it looking? " 
 
 "In perfect beauty. Your deputy, Polly, would seem to 
 have fulfilled her part admirably. The garden in prime 
 order; and that little spot next your own sitting-room, he 
 says, is positively a better flower-show than one he paid a 
 shilling to see in Dublin. Polly herself, too, comes in for 
 a very warm share of his admiration." 
 
 "How did he see her, and where?" 
 
 "At the Home. She was there the evening they arrived, 
 and AVithering insisted on her presiding at the tea-table for 
 them." 
 
 "It did not require very extraordinary entreaty, I will 
 make bold to say, Peter." 
 
 "He does not mention that; he only speaks of her good 
 looks, and what he calls her very pretty manners. In a 
 situation not devoid of a certain awkwardness he says she 
 displayed the most perfect tact; and although doing the 
 honors of the house, she, with some very nice ingenuity, 
 insinuated that she was herself but a visitor." 
 
 "She could scarce have forgotten herself so far as to think 
 anything else, Peter," said Miss Dinah, bridling up. "I 
 suspect her very pretty manners were successfully exercised. 
 That old gentleman is exactly of the age to be fascinated 
 by her." 
 
 "What! Withering, Dinah, —do you mean Withering? " 
 cried he, laughing. 
 
 "I do, brother; and I say that he is quite capable of 
 making her the offer of his hand. Y^ou may laugh, Peter 
 Harrington, but my observation of young ladies has been 
 
THE RAMBLE. 303 
 
 closer and finer than yours." And the glance she gave at 
 Josephine seemed to say that her gun had been double- 
 shotted. 
 
 "But your remark, sister Dinah, rather addresses itself 
 to old gentlemen than to young ladies." 
 
 "Who are much the more easily read of the two," said 
 she, tartly. "But really, Peter, 1 will own that I am more 
 deeply concerned to know what Mr. Withering has to say 
 of our lawsuit than about Polly Dill's attractions." 
 
 "He speaks very hopefully, — very hopefully, indeed. In 
 turning over George's papers some Hindoo documents have 
 come to light, which Stapylton has translated, and it 
 appears that there is a certain Moonshee, called Jokeeram, 
 who was, or is, in the service of Meer Rustum, whose testi- 
 mony would avail us much. Stapylton inclines to think he 
 could trace this man for us. His own relations are princi- 
 pally in Madras, but he says he could manage to institute 
 inquiries in Bengal." 
 
 "What is our claim to this gentleman's interest for us, 
 Peter?" 
 
 "Mere kindness on his part; he never knew George, 
 except from hearsay. Indeed, they could not have been 
 contemporaries. Stapylton is not, I should say, above five- 
 and-thirty." 
 
 "The search after this creature with the horrid name will 
 be, of course, costly, brother Peter. It means, I take it, 
 sending some one out to India; that is to say, sending one 
 fool after another. Are you prepared for this expense?" 
 
 "Withering opines it would be money well spent. What 
 he says is this: The Company will not willingly risk another 
 inquiry before Parliament, and if we show fight and a firm 
 resolve to give the case publicity, they will probably pro- 
 pose terms. This Moonshee had been in his service, but 
 was dismissed, and his appearance as a witness on our side 
 would occasion great uneasiness." 
 
 "You are going to play a game of brag, then, brother 
 Peter, well aware that the stronger purse is with your 
 antagonist? " 
 
 "Not exactly, Dinah; not ex;actly. We are strengthening 
 our position so far that we may say, ' You see our order 
 
304 BARRINGTOX. 
 
 of battle; would it uot be as well to make peace? ' Listen 
 to what Witheriug says." And Peter opened a letter of 
 several sheets, aud sought out the place he wanted. 
 
 "Here it is, Dinah. ' From one of those Hindoo papers 
 we learn that Kam Shamsoolah Sing was not at the Meer's 
 residence during the feast of the Khamadan, and could not 
 possibly have signed the document to which his name aud 
 seal are appended. Jokeeram, who was himself the Moon- 
 shee interpreter in Luckerabad, writes to his friend Cossieu 
 Aga, and says — ' " 
 
 "Brother Peter, this is like the Arabian Nights in all 
 but the entertainment to me, and the jumble of these abom- 
 inable names only drives me mad. If you flatter yourself 
 that you can understand one particle of the matter, it must 
 be that age has sharpened your faculties, that's all." 
 
 "I'm not quite sure of that, Dinah," said he, laughing. 
 "I 'm half disposed to believe that years are not more mer- 
 ciful to our brains than to our ankles ; but I '11 go and take 
 a stroll in the shady alleys under the linden-trees, and who 
 knows how bright it will make me! " 
 
 "Am I to go with you, grandpapa?" said the young girl, 
 rising. 
 
 "No, Fifine; I have something to say to you here," said 
 Miss Dinah; and there was a significance in the tone that 
 was anything but reassuring. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 UNDER THE LIXDEN. 
 
 That shady alley under the linden-trees was a very favorite 
 walk with Peter Barrington. It was a nice cool lane, with 
 a brawling little rivulet close beside it, with here and there a 
 dark silent pool for the dragon-fly to skim over and see his 
 bronzed wings reflected in the still water ; and there was a 
 rustic bench or two, where Peter used to sit and fancy he 
 was meditating, while, in reality, he was only watctyng a 
 speckled lizard in the grass, or listening to the mellow black- 
 bii'd over his head. I have had occasion once before to re- 
 mark on the resources of the man of imagination, but I 
 really suspect that for the true luxury of idleness there is 
 nothing like the temperament devoid of fancy. There is a 
 grand breadth about those quiet, peaceful minds over which 
 no shadows flit, and which can find sufficient occupation 
 through the senses, and never have to go " within" for their 
 resources. These men can sit the livelong day and watch 
 the tide break over a rock, or see the sparrow teach her 
 young to fly, or gaze on the bee as he dives into the deep 
 cup of the foxglove, and actually need no more to fill the 
 hours. For them there is no memory with its dark bygones, 
 there is no looming future with its possible misfortunes; 
 there is simply a half-sleepy present, with soft sounds and 
 sweet odors through it, — a balmy kind of stupor, from 
 which the awaking comes without a shock. 
 
 When Barrington reached his favorite seat, and hghted 
 his cigar, — it is painting the lily for such men to smoke, — 
 he intended to have thought over the details of Withering's 
 letter, which were both curious and interesting ; he intended 
 to consider attentively certain points which, as Withering 
 VOL. I. — 20 
 
306 BARRIXGTON. 
 
 said, " he must master before he could adopt a final re- 
 solve ; " but they were knotty points, made knottier, too, by 
 hard Hindoo words for things unknown, and names totally 
 unpronounceable. He used to think that he understood 
 "George's claim" pretty well; he had fancied it was a 
 clear and very intelligible case, that half a dozen honest 
 men might have come to a decision on in an hour's 
 time ; but now he began to have a glimmering perception 
 that George must have been egregiously duped and basely 
 betrayed, and that the Company were not altogether un- 
 reasonable in assuming their distrust of him. Now, all 
 these considerations coming down upon him at once were 
 overwhelming, and they almost stunned him. Even his late 
 attempt to enlighten his sister Dinah on a matter he so im- 
 perfectly understood now recoiled upon him, and added to 
 his own mystification. 
 
 " AVell, well," muttered he, at last, " I hope Tom sees his 
 way through it," — Tom was Withering, — " and if lie does, 
 there's no need of my bothering my head about it. What 
 use w^ould there be in lawyers if they hadn't got faculties 
 sharper than other folk? and as to 'making up my mind,' 
 my mind is made up already, that I want to win the cause if 
 he'll only show me how." From these musings he was 
 drawn off by watching a large pike, — the largest pike, he 
 thought, he had ever seen, — which would from time to time 
 dart out from beneath a bank, and after lying motionless in 
 the middle of the pool for a minute or so, would, with one 
 whisk of its tail, skim back again to its hiding-place. " That 
 fellow has instincts of its own to warn him," thought he ; 
 "he knows he wasn't safe out there. He sees some peril 
 that I cannot see ; and that ought to be the way with Tom, 
 for, after all, the lawyers are just pikes, neither more nor 
 less." At this instant a man leaped across the stream, and 
 hurriedly passed into the copse. "What! Mr. Conyers — 
 Conyers, is that you?" cried Barrington ; and the young 
 man turned and came towards him. " I am glad to see you 
 all safe and sound again," said Peter; "we waited dinner 
 half an hour for you, and have passed all the time since in 
 conjecturing what might have befallen you." 
 
 " Did n't Miss Barrington say — did not Miss Barrington 
 
UNDER THE LINDEN. 307 
 
 know — " He stopped in deep confusion, and could not 
 finish his speech. 
 
 " My sister knew nothing, ---at least, she did not tell me 
 any reason for your absence." 
 
 " No, not for my absence," began he once more, in the 
 same embarrassment; "but as I had explained to her that 
 I was obliged to leave this suddenly, — to start this 
 evening — " 
 
 " To start this evening ! and whither? " 
 
 " I cannot tell ; I don't know, — that is, I have no 
 plans." 
 
 " My dear boy," said the old man, affectionately, as he 
 laid his hand on the other's arm, " if you don't know where 
 you are going, take my word for it there is no such great 
 necessity to go." 
 
 " Yes, but there is," replied he, quickly; " at least Miss 
 Barrington thinks so, and at the time we spoke together she 
 made me believe she was in the right." 
 
 " And are you of the same opinion now?" asked Peter, 
 with a humorous drollery in his eye. 
 
 "I am, — that is, I was a few moments back. I mean, 
 that whenever I recall the words she spoke to me, I feel 
 their full conviction." 
 
 "Come, now, sit down here beside me! It can scarcely 
 be anything I may not be a party to. Just let me hear the 
 case like a judge in chamber " — and he smiled at an illus- 
 tration that recalled his favorite passion, " I won't pretend 
 to say my sister has not a wiser head — as I well know she 
 has a far better heart — than myself, but now and then she 
 lets a prejudice or a caprice or even a mere apprehension 
 run away with her, and it 's just possible it is some whim of 
 this kind is now uppermost." 
 
 Conyers only shook his head dissentingly, and said 
 nothing. 
 
 "Maybe I guess it, — I suspect that I guess it," said 
 Peter, with a sly drollery about his mouth. " My sister 
 has a notion that a young man and a young woman ought 
 no more to be in propinquity than saltpetre and charcoal. 
 She has been giving me a lecture on my blindness, and ask- 
 ing if I can't see this, that, and the other; but, besides 
 
308 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 being the least obsen'aut of ruaukiud, I 'm one of the most 
 hopeful as regards whatever 1 wish to be. Now we have all 
 of us goue ou so pleasantly together, with such a thorough 
 good understanding — such loyalty, as the French would 
 call it — that I can't, for the life of me, detect any ground 
 for mistrust or dread. Haven't I hit the blot, Couyers — 
 eh ? " cried he, as the young fellow grew redder and redder, 
 till his face became crimson. 
 
 "I assured Miss Barrington," began he, in a faltering, 
 broken voice, " that I set too much store on the generous 
 confidence 3'ou extended to me to abuse it ; that, received as 
 I was, like one of your own blood and kindred, I never 
 could forget the frank trustfulness with which 3'ou discussed 
 everything before me, and made me, so to say, ' One of 
 you.' The moment, however, that my intimacy suggested a 
 sense of constraint, I felt the whole charm of my privilege 
 would have departed, and it is for this reason I am going ! " 
 The last word was closed with a deep sigh, and he turned 
 away his head as he concluded. 
 
 "And for this reason you shall not go one step," said 
 Peter, slapping him cordially on the shoulder. " I verily 
 believe that women think the world was made for nothing 
 but love-making, just as the crack engineer believed rivers 
 were intended by Providence to feed navigable canals ; but 
 you and I know a little better, not to say that a young fellow 
 with the stamp gentleman indelibly marked on his forehead 
 would not think of making a young girl fresh from a convent 
 — a mere child in the ways of life — the mark of his 
 attentions. Am I not right? " 
 
 " I hope and believe you are ! " 
 
 "Stay where j^ou are, then; be happy, and help us to 
 feel so; and the onlj^ pledge I ask is, that whenever you 
 suspect Dinah to be a shrewder observer and a truer prophet 
 than her brother — you understand me — you'll just come 
 and say, ' Peter Barrington, I 'm off ; good-b3'e ! ' " 
 
 " There's my hand on it," said he, grasping the old man's 
 with warmth. " There 's only one point — I have told Miss 
 Barrington that I would start this evening." 
 
 " She'll scarcely hold 3^ou very closely to your pledge." 
 
 " But, as I understand her, you are going back to 
 Ireland?" 
 
UNDER THE LINDEN. 309 
 
 " And you are coming along with us. Is n't that a very 
 simple arrangement ? " 
 
 " I know it would be a very pleasant one." 
 
 " It shall be, if it depend on me. I want to make you a 
 fisherman too. When I Avas a young man, it was my 
 passion to make every one a good horseman. If I liked a 
 fellow, and found out that he could n't ride to hounds, it 
 gave me a shock little short of hearing that there was a blot 
 on his character, so associated in my mind had become per- 
 sonal dash and prowess in the field with every bold and 
 manly characteristic. As I grew older, and the rod usurped 
 the place of the hunting-whip, I grew to fancy that your 
 angler would be the truest type of a companion ; and if you 
 but knew," added he, as a glassy fulness dulled his eyes, 
 " what a flattery it is to an old fellow when a young one will 
 make a comrade of him, — what a smack of bygone days it 
 brings up, and what sunshine it lets in on the heart, — take 
 my word for it, you 3'Oung fellows are never so vain of an 
 old companion as we are of a young one ! What are you so 
 thoughtful about?" 
 
 " I was thinking how I was to make this explanation to 
 Miss Harrington." 
 
 " You need not make it at all ; leave the whole case in my 
 hands. My sister knows that I owe you an amende and a 
 heavy one. Let this go towards a part payment of it. But 
 here she comes in search of me. Step away quietly, and 
 when we meet at the tea-table all will have been settled." 
 
 Conyers had but time to make his escape, when Miss 
 Barrington came up. 
 
 " I thought I should find you mooning down here, Peter," 
 said she, sharply. " Whenever there is anything to be done 
 or decided on, a Barrington is always watching a fly on a 
 fish-pond." 
 
 " Not the women of the family, Dinah, — not the women. 
 But what great emergency is before us now?" 
 
 " No great emergency, as you phrase it, at all, but what to 
 men like yourself is frequently just as trying, — an occasion 
 that requires a little tact. I have discovered — what I long 
 anticipated has come to pass. — Conyers and Fifine are on 
 very close terms of intimacy, which might soon become 
 
310 BARRINGTOX. 
 
 attachment. I have charged him with it, and he has not 
 altogether denied it. On the whole he has behaved well, and 
 he goes away to-night." 
 
 "I have just seen him, Dinah. I got at his secret, not 
 without a little dexterity on my part, and learned what had 
 passed between you. "We talked the thing over very calmly 
 together, and the upshot is — he's not going." 
 
 " Not going ! not going ! after the solemn assurance he 
 gave me ! " 
 
 "But of which I absolved him, sister Dinah; or rather, 
 which I made him retract." 
 
 "Peter Barrington, stop! " cried she, holding her hands 
 to her temples. " I want a little time to recover myself. I 
 must have time, or I'll not answer for my senses. Just 
 reply to one question. I "11 ask you, have you taken an oath 
 — are you under a vow to be the ruin of your family ? " 
 
 " I don't think I have, Dinah. I 'm doing everything for 
 the best." 
 
 " If there *s a phrase in the language condemns the person 
 that uses it, it's 'Doing everything for the best.' What 
 does it mean but a blind, uninquiring, inconsiderate act, the 
 work of a poor brain and sickly conscience? Don't talk to 
 me, sir, of doing for the best, but do the best, the very best, 
 according to the lights that guide you. You know well, 
 perfectly well, that Fifine has no fortune, and that this 
 young man belongs to a very rich and a very ambitious 
 family, and that to encourage what might lead to attachment 
 between them would be to store up a cruel wrong and a great 
 disappointment." 
 
 " My dear Dinah, you speak like a book, but I don't 
 agree with you." 
 
 " You don't. Will you please to state why? '* 
 
 "In the first place, Dinah, forgive me for saying it, but 
 we men do not take your view of these cases. "We neither 
 think that love is as catching or as dangerous as the small- 
 pox. "We imagine that two young people can associate 
 together every day and yet never contract a lien that might 
 break their hearts to dissolve." 
 
 "Talking politics together, perhaps; or the state of the 
 Three per Cents?" 
 
UNDER THE LINDEN. 311 
 
 " Not exactly that, but talking of fifty other things that 
 interest their time of life and tempers. Have they not 
 songs, drawings, flowers, landscapes, and books, with all 
 their thousand incidents, to discuss? Just remember what 
 that writer who calls himself ' Author of AVaverley ' — what 
 he alone has given us of people to talk over just as if we 
 knew them." 
 
 "Brother Peter, I have no patience with you. You 
 enumerate one by one all the ingredients, and you disparage 
 the total. You tell of the flour, and the plums, and the 
 suet, and the candied lemon, but you cry out against the 
 pudding ! Don't you see that the very themes you leave for 
 them all conduce to what you ignore, and that your music 
 and painting and romance-reading only lead to love-mak- 
 ing? Don't you see this, or are you in reality — I didn't 
 want to say it, but you have made me — are you an old 
 fool?" 
 
 " I hope not, Dinah; but I'm not so sure you don't think 
 me one." 
 
 "It's nothing to the purpose whether I do or not," said 
 she; "the question is, have you asked this young man to 
 come back with us to Ireland ? " 
 
 " I have, and he is coming." 
 
 " I could have sworn to it," said she, with a sudden 
 energy ; " and if there was anything more stupid, you 'd 
 have done it also." And with this speech, more remarkable 
 for its vigor than its politeness, she turned away and left 
 him. 
 
 Ere I close the chapter and the subject, let me glance, 
 and only glance, at the room where Conyers is now stand- 
 ing beside Josephine. She is drawing, not very attentively 
 or carefully, perhaps, and he is bending over her and relat- 
 ing, as it seems, something that has occurred to him, and 
 has come to the end with the words, " And though I was to 
 have gone this evening, it turns out that now I am to stay 
 and accompany you to Ireland." 
 
 " Don't sigh so painfully over it, however," said she, 
 gravely ; " for when you come to mention how distressing it 
 is, I 'm sure they '11 let you off." . 
 
 " Fifine," said he, reproachfully, "is this fair, is this 
 generous?" 
 
312 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " I don't know whether it be unfair, I don't want it to be 
 generous," said she, boldly. 
 
 "In point of fact, then, you only wish for me here to 
 quarrel with, is tliat the truth?" 
 
 " I think it better fun disagreeing with you than always 
 saying how accurate you are, and how wise, and how well- 
 judging. That atmosphere of eternal agreement chokes 
 me ; I feel as if I were suffocating." 
 
 "It's not a very happy temperament; it's not a disposi- 
 tion to boast of." 
 
 "You never did hear me boast of it; but I have heard 
 you very vainglorious about your easy temper and your 
 facile nature, which were simply indolence. Now, I have 
 had more than enough of that in the convent, and I long for 
 a little activity." 
 
 " Even if it were hazardous? " 
 
 "Even if it were hazardous," echoed she. "But here 
 comes Aunt Dinah, with a face as stern as one of the 
 sisters, and an ej^e that reminds me of penance and bread 
 and water ; so help me to put up my drawings, and say 
 nothing of what we were talking." 
 
 "My brother has just told me, Mr. Conyers," said she, in 
 a whisper, " a piece of news which it only depends upon 
 you to make a most agreeable arrangement." 
 
 " I trust you may count upon me, madam," said be, in 
 the same tone, and bowed low as he spoke. 
 
 "Then come with me and let us talk it over," said she, 
 as she took his arm and led him away. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chaptkb Page 
 
 I. FiFixE AND Polly i 
 
 n. At Home agaix 12 
 
 m. A Small Dinxer-Party 22 
 
 rV. A Move lm Advance 35 
 
 V. A Cabinet Council 44 
 
 VI. An Express 51 
 
 VII. Cross-Examinings 59 
 
 VIIL General Conyers 67 
 
 IX. Major M'Cormick's Letter 77 
 
 X. Interchanged Confessions 89 
 
 XI. Stapylton's Visit at "The Home" .... 96 
 XII. A Doctor and his Patient 108 
 
 XIII. Cross-Purposes 116 
 
 XIV. Storms 129 
 
 XV. The Old Leaven 143 
 
 XVI. A Happy Meeting 152 
 
 XVn. Meet Companionship 161 
 
 XVIII. Aunt Dorothea 169 
 
 XIX. Correspondence 174 
 
 XX. The End 188 
 
Vi CUJSTENTS. 
 
 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Coup^ of the North Midland 205 
 
 The White Lace Bonnet 223 
 
 Fast Asleep and Wide Awake 243 
 
 The Road versus the Rail 268 
 
 The Tunnel of Trubau 283 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 Volume Two. 
 
 2Etd)ings. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 PAas 
 
 Miss Dinah's Indignation 66 
 
 Iillustratfons in tfje Etxt. 
 
 The Consultation 109 
 
 The Ma.tor is all "Attention" 127 
 
 Meet Companions 163 
 
BARRINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FIFINE AND POLLY. 
 
 There are a few days in our autumnal season — very few 
 and rare ! — when we draw the curtain against the glare of 
 the sun at breakfast, and yet in the evening are glad to 
 gather around the cheerful glow of the fire. These are days 
 of varied skies, with fleecy clouds lying low beneath a broad 
 expanse of blue, with massive shadows on the mountains, 
 and here and there over the landscape tips of sunlight that 
 make the meanest objects pictures ; and, with all these, 
 a breezy wind that scatters the yellow leaves and shakes the 
 tree-tops, while it curls the current of the bright river into 
 mimic waves. The sportsman will tell you that on such days 
 the birds are somewhat wild, and the angler will vow that no 
 fish will rise to the fly, nor is it a scent-lying day for the 
 harriers ; and yet, with all this, there is a spring and elas- 
 ticity in the air that impart themselves to the temperament, 
 so that the active grow energetic, and even the indolent feel 
 no touch of lassitude. 
 
 It was on the morning of such a day that Barrington, with 
 his sister and granddaughter, drew nigh the Home. Conyers 
 had parted with them at Dublin, where his regiment was now 
 stationed, but was to follow in a day or two. All the de- 
 scriptions — descriptions which had taken the shape of warn- 
 ings — which they had given .Josephine of the cottage could 
 not prevent her asking at each turn of the road if that large 
 house yonder, if that sombre tower over the trees, if that 
 
 VOL. II. — 1 
 
BAKRINGTON. 
 
 massive gate-lodge were not theirs. "I know this is it, 
 grandpapa,"' said she, clapping her bauds with delight as they 
 came opposite a low wall within which lay the spacious lawn 
 of Cobham Park, a portion of the bouse itself being just 
 visible through the trees; " dou't tell me, auut," cried she, 
 " but let me guess it." 
 
 ''It is the seat of Sir Charles Cobham, child, one of the 
 richest baronets in the kingdom." 
 
 " There it is at last, — there it is ! " cried she, straining out 
 of the carriage to see the handsome portico of a very large 
 building, to which a straight avenue of oaks led up from the 
 bigh-road. '• My heart tells me, auut, that this is ours ! " 
 
 " It was once on a time, Fifine," said the old man, with a 
 quivering voice, and a glassy film over his eyes; "it was 
 once, but it is so no longer." 
 
 "Barringtou Hall has long ceased to belong to us," said 
 Miss Dinah; "and after all the pains I have taken in 
 description, I cannot see bow you could possibly coufouud it 
 with our little cottage." 
 
 The young girl sat back without a word, and, whether from 
 disappointment or the rebuke, looked forth no more. 
 
 " We are drawing very near now, Fifine," said the old 
 man, after a long silence, which lasted fully two miles of the 
 ■way. "Where you see tbe tall larches yonder — not there 
 — lower down, at the bend of the stream; tbose are tbe 
 trees. I declare, Dinab, I fancy they have grown since we 
 saw them last." 
 
 "I have no doubt you do, Peter; not that you will find 
 tbe cottage far more commodious and comfortable than you 
 remembered it." 
 
 "Ah, they've repaired tbat stile, I see," cried be; " and 
 very well they've done it, without cutting away the ivy. 
 Here we are, darling ; here we are ! " and be grasped tbe 
 young girl's band in one of bis, wbile be drew tbe other 
 across his eyes. 
 
 " They 'renot very attentive, I must say, brother Peter, or 
 they would not leave us standing, with our own gate locked 
 against us." 
 
 "I see Darby running as fast as be can. Here he 
 comes ! " 
 
FIFINE AND POLLY. 3 
 
 "Ob, by the powers, ye 're welcome home, your honor's 
 reverence, and the mistresses ! " cried Darby, as he fumbled 
 at the lock, and then failing in all his efforts, — not very 
 wonderful, seeing that he had taken a wrong key, — he seized 
 a huge stone, and, smashing the padlock at a blow, threw 
 wide the gate to admit them. 
 
 "You are initiated at once into our Irish ways, Fifine," 
 said Miss Barrington. "All that you will see here is in the 
 same style. Let that be repaired this evening, sir, and at 
 your own cost," whispered she to Darby, into whose hand at 
 the same moment Peter was pressing a crown piece. 
 
 "'Tis the light of my eyes to see your honors home 
 again! 'Tis like rain to the new potatoes what I feel in 
 my heart, and looking so fresh and well too! And the 
 young lady, she isn't — " 
 
 From what dread anticipation Darby's sudden halt saved 
 him the expression is not for me to say, but that Peter Bar- 
 rington guessed it is probable, for be lay back in the carriage 
 and shook with laughter. 
 
 "Drive on, sir," said Miss Dinah to the postilion, ''and 
 pull up at the stone cross." 
 
 "You can drive to the door now, ma'am," said Darby, 
 "the whole way; Miss Polly had the road made while you 
 were awa3\" 
 
 "What a clever girl! Who could have thought it?" said 
 Barrington. 
 
 "I opine that we might have been consulted as to the 
 change. On a matter as important as this, Peter, I think 
 our voices might have been asked." 
 
 "And how well she has done it too! " muttered he, half 
 aloud; "never touched one of those copper beeches, and 
 given us a peep of the bright river through the meadows." 
 
 As the carriage rolled briskly along. Darby, who trotted 
 alongside, kept up a current narrative of the changes effected 
 during their absence. 
 
 "The ould pigeon-bouse is tuck down, and an iligant 
 new one put up in the island; and the calves' paddock is 
 thrown into the flower-garden, and there 's a beautiful flight 
 of steps down to the river, paved with white stones, — sor- 
 row one isn't white as snow." 
 
4 BAKlilNGTON. 
 
 "It is a mercy we had not a sign over the door, brother 
 Peter," whispered Miss Dinah, ''or this young lady's zeal 
 would have had it emblazoned like a shield in heraldry." 
 
 "Oh, how lovely, how beautiful, how exquisite!" cried 
 Josephine, as they came suddenly round the angle of a copse 
 and directly in front of the cottage. 
 
 Nor was the praise exaggerated. It was all that she had 
 said. Over a light trellis-work, carried along under the 
 thatch, the roses and jessamine blended with the clematis 
 and the passion-flower, forming a deep eave of flowers, 
 di-ooping in heavy festoons across the spaces between the 
 windows, and meeting the geraniums which grew below. 
 Through the open sashes the rooms might be seen, looking 
 more like beautiful bowers than the chambers of a dwelling- 
 house. And over all, in sombre grandeur, bent the great 
 ilex-trees, throwing their grand and tranquil shade over the 
 cottage and the little grass-plot and even the river itself, as 
 it swept smoothly by. There was in the stillness of that 
 perfumed air, loaded with the sweet-brier and the rose, a 
 something of calm and tranquillity; while in the isolation 
 of the spot there was a sense of security that seemed to fill 
 up the measure of the young girl's hopes, and made her 
 exclaim with rapture, "Oh, this, indeed, is beautiful! " 
 
 "Yes, my darling P'ifine! " said the old man, as he pressed 
 her to his heart; "your home, your own home! I told you, 
 my dear child, it was not a great castle, no fine chateau, 
 like those on the Meuse and the Sambre, but a lowly 
 cottage with a thatched roof and a rustic porch." 
 
 "In all this ardor for decoration and smartness," broke 
 in Miss Dinah, "it would not surprise me to find that the 
 peacock's tail had been picked out in fresh colors and 
 varnished." 
 
 "Faix! your honor is not far wrong," interposed Darb}^ 
 who had an Irish tendency to side with the majority. " She 
 made us curry and wash ould Sheela, the ass, as if she was 
 a race-horse." 
 
 "I hope poor Wowsky escaped," said Barrington, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "That's what he didn't! He has to be scrubbed with 
 soap and water every morning, and his hair divided all the 
 
FIFINE AND POLLY. 6 
 
 way down his back, like a Christian's, and his tail looks 
 like a bunch of switch grass." 
 
 "That 's the reason he has n't come out to meet me; the 
 poor fellow is like his betters, — he 's not quite sure that his 
 altered condition improves him." 
 
 "You have at least one satisfaction, brother Peter," said' 
 Hiss Dinah, sharply; "3'ou find Darby just as dirty and 
 uncared for as you left him." 
 
 "By my conscience, there 's another of us is n't much 
 changed since we met last," muttered Darby, but in a 
 voice only audible to himself. 
 
 "Oh, what a sweet cottage! What a pretty summer- 
 house!" cried Josephine, as the carriage swept round the 
 copse, and drew short up at the door. 
 
 "This summer-house is your home, Fifine," said Miss 
 Barrington, tartly. 
 
 "Home! home! Do you mean that we live here, — live 
 here always, aunt?" 
 
 "Most distinctly I do," said she, descending and address- 
 ing herself to other cares. "Where's Jane? Take these 
 trunks round by the back door. Carry this box to the 
 green-room, — to Miss Josephine's room," said she, with a 
 stronger stress on the words. 
 
 "Well, darling, it is a very humble, it is a very lowly," 
 said Barrington, "but let us see if we cannot make it a very 
 happy home ; " but as he turned to embrace her, she was 
 gone. 
 
 "I told you so, brother Peter, — I told you so, more than 
 once; but, of course, you have your usual answer, ' We must 
 do the best we can ! ' which simply means, doing worse than 
 we need do." 
 
 Barrington was in no mood for a discussion ; he was too 
 happy to be once more at home to be ruffled by any provoca- 
 tion his sister could give him. Wherever he turned, some 
 old familiar object met his eye and seemed to greet him, and 
 he bustled in and out from his little study to the garden, 
 and then to the stable, where he patted old Roger; and 
 across to the cow-house, whei-e Maggie knew him, and bent 
 her great lazy eyes softly on him; and then down to the 
 liver-side, where, in gilt letters, "Josephine" shone on the 
 
6 BARRINGTON. 
 
 trim row-boat he had last seen half rotten on the bank; for 
 Poll}' had been there too, and her thoughtful good-nature, 
 forgetting nothing which might glad them on their coming. 
 
 Meanwhile, Josephine had reached her chamber, and, lock- 
 ing the door, sat down and leaned her head on the table. 
 Though no tears fell from her eyes, her bosom heaved and 
 fell heavily, and more than one deep sigh escaped her. Was 
 it disappointment that had so overcome her? Plad she fan- 
 cied something grander and more pretentious than this 
 lonely cottage? Was it that Aunt Dinah's welcome was 
 wanting in affection? What revulsion could it be that so 
 suddenly overwhelmed her? Who can tell these things, 
 who can explain how it is that, without any definite picture 
 of an unexpected joy, imagination will so work upon us 
 that reality will bring nothing but a blank? It is not that 
 the object is less attractive than is hoped for, it is simply 
 that a dark shadow has passed over our own hearts; the 
 sense of enjoyment has been dulled, and we are sad without 
 a reason. If we underrate sorrows of our youth, — and this 
 is essentially one of them, — it is because our mature age 
 leaves us nothing of that temperament on which such afflic- 
 tions preyed. 
 
 Josephine, without knowing why, without even a reason, 
 wished herself back in the convent. There, if there was a 
 life of sombre monotony and quietude, there was at least 
 companionship ; she had associates of her own age. They 
 had pursuits in common, shared the same hopes and wishes 
 and fears ; but here — but here — Just as her thoughts had 
 carried her so far, a tap — a very gentle tap — came to the 
 door. Josephine heard it, but made no answer. It was 
 repeated a little louder, and then a low pleasing voice she 
 had never heard before said, " May I come in ? " 
 
 "No," said Josephine, — "yes — that is — who are 
 you?" 
 
 "Polly Dill," was the answer; and Josephine arose and 
 unlocked the door. 
 
 ''Miss Barrington told me I might take this liberty," said 
 Polly, with a faint smile. "She said, 'Go and make 
 acquaintance for yourself; I never play master of the 
 ceremonies.' " 
 
FiriNE AND rOLLY. 7 
 
 "And you are Pollj^ — the Polly Dill I have heard so 
 much of?" said Josephiue, regarding her steadily and 
 fixedly. 
 
 "How strauded your friends must have been for a topic 
 when they talked of me ! " said Polly, laughing. 
 
 "It is quite true you have beautiful teeth, — I never saw 
 such beautiful teeth," said Josephine to herself, while she 
 still gazed earnestly at her. 
 
 "And you," said Polly, "are so like what I had pictured 
 you, — what I hoped you would be. I find it hard to believe 
 I see you for the first time." 
 
 "So, then, you did not think the Rajah's daughter should 
 be a Moor?" said Josephine, half haughtily. "It is very 
 sad to see what disappointments I had caused." Neither 
 the saucy toss of the head, nor the tone that accompanied 
 these words, were lost upon Polly, who began to feel at once 
 that she understood the speaker. 
 
 "And your brother," continued Josephine, "is the famous 
 Tom Dill I have heard such stories about? " 
 
 "Poor Tom! he is anything rather than famous." 
 
 "AVell, he is remarkable; he is odd, original, or whatever 
 you would call it. Fred told me he never met any one like 
 him." 
 
 "Tom might say as much of Mr. Conyers, for, in truth, 
 no one ever showed him such kindness." 
 
 "Fred told me nothing of that; but perhaps," added she, 
 with a flashing eye, "you were more in his confidence than 
 I was." 
 
 "I knew very little of Mr. Conyers; I believe I could 
 count on the fingers of one hand every time I met him." 
 
 "How strange that you should have made so deep an im- 
 pression. Miss Dill!" 
 
 "I am flattered to hear it, but more surprised than 
 flattered." 
 
 "But I don't wonder at it in the least," said Josephine, 
 boldly. "You are very handsome, you are very graceful, 
 and then — " She hesitated and grew confused, and stam- 
 mered, and at last said, "and then there is that about 
 you which seems to say, ' I have only to wish, and I cau 
 doit.'" 
 
8 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "I have no such gift, I assure you," said Polly, with a 
 half-sad smile. 
 
 "Oh, I know you are very clever; I have heard how accom- 
 plished you were, how beautifully 3'ou rode, how charmingly 
 you sang. I wish he had not told me of it all — for if — 
 for if — " 
 
 "If what? Say on!" 
 
 *'If you were not so superior to me, I feel that I could love 
 you ; " and then with a bound she threw her arms around 
 Polly's neck, and clasped her affectionately to her bosom. 
 
 Sympathy, like a fashionable physician, is wonderfully 
 successful where there is little the matter. In the great ills 
 of life, when the real afflictions come down to crush, to 
 wound, or to stun us, we are comparatively removed from 
 even the kindest of our comforters. Great sorrows are very 
 selfish things. In the lighter maladies, however, in the 
 smaller casualties of fortune, sympathy is a great remedy, 
 and we are certain to find that, however various our tem- 
 peraments, it has a sort of specific for each. Now Jose- 
 phine Barrington had not any great cares upon her heart; if 
 the balance were to be struck between them, Polly Dill 
 could have numbered ten, ay, twenty, for her one, but she 
 thought hers was a case for much commiseration, and she 
 liked commiseration, for there are moral hypochondrias as 
 well as physical ones. And so she told Polly how she had 
 neither father nor mother, nor any other belongings than 
 "dear old grandpapa and austere Aunt Dinah;" that she 
 had been brought up in a convent, never knowing one of 
 the pleasures of youth, or her mind being permitted to stray 
 beyond the dreary routine of prayer and penance. Of music 
 she knew nothing but the solemn chants of the organ, and 
 even flowers were to her eyes but the festal decorations of 
 the high altar; and, lastly, she vaguely balanced between 
 going back to the dismal existence of the cloister, or enter- 
 ing upon the troubled sea of life, so full of perils to one 
 unpractised and unskilled as she was. Now Polly was a 
 very pretty comforter through these afflictions; her own 
 home experiences were not all rose-colored, but the physi- 
 cian who whispers honeyed consolations to the patient has 
 often the painful consciousness of a deeper malady within 
 
FEFINE AND POLLY. 9 
 
 than that for which he ministers. Polly knew something 
 of a life of struggle and small fortune, with its daily inci- 
 dent of debt and dun. She knew what it was to see money 
 mix itself with every phase of existence, throwing its 
 damper over joy, arresting the hand of benevolence, even 
 denying to the sick-bed the little comforts that help to cheat 
 misery. She knew how penury can eat its canker into the 
 heart till all things take the color of thrift, and life becomes 
 at last the terrible struggle of a swimmer storm-tossed and 
 weary; and yet, with all this experience in her heart, she 
 could whisper cheerful counsels to Josephine, and tell her 
 that the world had a great many pleasant paths through it, 
 though one was occasionally footsore before reaching them ; 
 and in this way they talked till they grew very fond of each 
 other, and Josephine was ready to confess that the sorrow 
 nearest to her heart was parting with her. "But must you 
 go, dearest Polly, — must you really go? " 
 
 "I must, indeed," said she, laughing; "for if I did not, 
 two little sisters of mine would go supperless to bed, not to 
 speak of a small boy who is waiting for me with a Latin 
 grammar before him ; and the cook must get her orders for 
 to-morrow; and papa must have his tea; and this short, 
 stumpy little key that you see here unlocks the oat-bin, with- 
 out which an honest old pony would share in the family 
 fast: so that, all things considered, my absence would be 
 far from advisable." 
 
 "And when shall we meet again, Polly?" 
 
 "Not to-morrow, dear; for to-morrow is our fair at 
 Inistioge, and I have yarn to buy, and some lambs to 
 sell." 
 
 "And could you sell lambs, Polly?" said Josephine, with 
 an expression of blank disappointment in her face. 
 
 Polly smiled, but not without a certain sadness, as she 
 said, "There are some sentimentalities which, to one in my 
 condition, would just be as unsuitable as Brussels lace or 
 diamonds. They are born of luxury and indolence, and 
 pertain to those whose existence is assured to them; and 
 my own opinion is, they are a poor privilege. At all 
 events," added she, rapidly, "they are not for me, and I do 
 not wish for them." 
 
10 BARRINGTON, 
 
 "The daj' after to-morrow, then, you will come here, — 
 promise me that." 
 
 "It will be late, then, towards evening, for I have made 
 an engagement to put a young horse iu harness, — a thiee- 
 year-old, and a sprightly one, they tell me, — so that I may 
 look on the morning as filled. I see, my dear child, how 
 shocked you are with all these unladylike cares and duties; 
 but poor Tom and I used to weld our lives together, and 
 while I took my share of boat-building one day, he helped 
 me in the dairy the day after; but now that he is gone, our 
 double functions devolve upon me." 
 
 " How happy you must be! " 
 
 "I think I am; at least, I have no time to spare for 
 unhappiness." 
 
 "If I could but change with you, Polly! " 
 
 "Change what, my dear child?" 
 
 "Condition, fortune, belongings, — everything." 
 
 "Take my word for it, you are just as well as you are; 
 but I suppose it's very natural for one to fancy he could 
 carry another's burden easier than his own, for it was only 
 a few moments back I thought how I should like to be 
 you." 
 
 " To be me, — to be me ! " 
 
 "Of course I was wrong, dearest. It was only a passing, 
 fleeting thought, and I now see how absurd I was to wish to 
 be very beautiful, dearly loved, and affectionately cared for, 
 with a beautiful home to live in, and every hour free to be 
 happ}-. Oh, what a sigh, dearest, what a sigh! but I assure 
 you I have my calamities too; the mice have got at the 
 seeds in my onion-bed, and I don't expect to see one come 
 up." 
 
 If .losephine's first impulse was to feel angry, her next 
 was to laugh out, which she did heartih'; and passing her 
 arm fondly round Polly's waist, she said, " I '11 get used to 
 your raillery, Polly, and not feel sore at it; but remember, 
 too, it's a spirit I never knew before." 
 
 "How good and generous, then, to bear it so well! " said 
 Polly, affectionately; "your friend Mr. Conyers did not show 
 the same patience." 
 
FrFIXE AND POLLY. 11 
 
 "You tried him, theu? " said Josephine, with a half-eager 
 glance. 
 
 " Of course ; I talked to him as I do to every one. But 
 there goes your dinner-bell." Cheeking herself on a reflec- 
 tion over the pretension of this summons of three people to 
 a family meal in a cottage, Polly tied on her bonnet and 
 said "Good-bye." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 AT HOME AGAIN. 
 
 The Barringtons had not been quite a fortnight settled in 
 their home, when a note came from Conyers, lamenting, in 
 most feeling terms, that he could not pay them his promised 
 visit. If the epistle was not very long, it was a grumble 
 from beginning to end. "Nobody would know," wrote he, 
 " it was the same regiment poor Colonel Hunter commanded. 
 Our Major is now in command, — the same Stapylton 3'ou 
 have heard me speak of ; and if we never looked on him too 
 favorably, we now especially detest him. His first step was 
 to tell us we were disorderly, ill-dressed, and ill-disciplined ; 
 but we were even less prepared to hear that we could not 
 ride. The result of all this is, we have gone to school again, 
 — even old captains, who have served with distinction in the 
 field, have been consigned to the riding-house ; and we poor 
 subs are treated as if we were the last refuse of all the regi- 
 ments of the army, sent here to be reformed and corrected. 
 We have incessant drills, parades, and inspections, and, 
 worse again, all leave is stopped. If I was not in the best 
 of temper with the service before, you may judge how I feel 
 towards it now. In fact, if it were not that I expect my 
 father back in England by the middle of May, I 'd send in 
 my papers and leave at once. How I fall back now in 
 memory to the happy' days of my ramble with you, and 
 wonder if I shall ever see the like again. And how I hate 
 myself for not having felt at the time how immeasurably 
 delightful they were ! Trust me never to repeat the mistake 
 if I have the opportunity given me. I asked this morning 
 for three days — only three — to run down and see you once 
 more before we leave, — for we are ordered to Hounslow, — 
 and I was refused. But this was not all : not content with 
 
AT HOME AGAIN. 13 
 
 rejecting my request, he added what he called an expression 
 of astonishment that an officer so deficient in his duties 
 should care to absent himself from regimental discipline." 
 
 "Poor boy! — this is, indeed, too bad," said Miss Dinah, 
 as she had read thus far; "only think, Peter, how this 
 young fellow, spoiled and petted as he was as a child, — de- 
 nied nothing, pampered as though he were a prince, — should 
 find himself the mark of so insulting a tyranny. Are you 
 listening to me, Peter Barrington?" 
 
 "Eh, — what? No, thank you, Dinah; I have made an 
 excellent breakfast," said Barrington, hurriedly, and again 
 addressed himself to the letter he was reading. "That's 
 what I call a Trump, Dinah, — a regular Trump." 
 
 " Who is the especial favorite that has called for the very 
 choice eulogy? " said she, bridling up. 
 
 " Gone into the thing, too, with heart and soul, — a noble 
 fellow ! " continued Barrington. 
 
 "Pray enlighten us as to the name that calls forth such 
 enthusiasm." 
 
 " Stapylton, my dear Dinah, — Major Stapylton. In all 
 my life I do not remember one instance to parallel with this 
 generous and disinterested conduct. Listen to what Wither- 
 ing says, — not a man given to take up rash impressions in 
 favor of a stranger. Listen to this : ' Stapylton has been 
 very active, — written to friends, both at Calcutta and Agra, 
 and shown, besides, an amount of acuteness in pursuit of 
 what is really important, that satisfies me a right good com- 
 mon lawyer has been lost by his being a soldier.' And here, 
 again he recurs to him : it is with reference to certain docu- 
 ments: 'S. persists in believing that with proper diligence 
 these may be recovered ; he says that it is a common prac- 
 tice with the Mooushees to retain papers, in the hope of their 
 being one day deemed of value ; and he is fully persuaded 
 that they have not been destroyed. There is that about the 
 man's manner of examining a question, — his patience, his 
 instinctive seizure of what is of moment, and his invariable 
 rejection of whatever is immaterial ; and, lastly, his thorough 
 appreciation of the character of that evidence which would 
 have most weight with the Indian Board, which dispose me 
 to regard him as an invaluable ally to our cause.'" 
 
14 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " Do me the favor to regard this picture of your friend 
 now," said Miss Barringtou, as slie handed the letter from 
 Conyers across the table. 
 
 Barringtou read it over attentively. "And what does this 
 prove, my dear sister? " said he. " This is the sort of stereo- 
 typed complaint of every young fellow who has been refused 
 a leave. I have no doubt Hunter was too easy-tempered to 
 liave been strict in discipline, and the chances are these 
 young dogs had everything their own way till Stapylton 
 came amongst them. I find it hard to believe that any man 
 likes unpopularity." 
 
 "Perhaps not, Peter Barringtou; but he may like tyranny 
 more than he hates unpopularity; and, for my own part, 
 this man is odious to me." 
 
 "Don't say so, Diuah, — don't say so, I entreat of you, 
 for he will be our guest here this very day." 
 
 "Our guest! — why, is not the regiment under orders to 
 leave?" 
 
 "So it is; but Withering says it would be a great matter 
 if we could have a sort of consultation together before the 
 Major leaves Ireland. There are innumerable little details 
 which he sees ought to be discussed between us ; and so he 
 has persuaded him to give us a day, — perhaps two days, — 
 no small boon, Dinah, from one so fully occupied as he is." 
 
 "I wish he would not make the sacrifice, Peter." 
 
 "My dear sister, are we so befriended by Fortune that 
 we can afford to reject the kindness of our fellows? " 
 
 "I'm no believer in chance friendships, Peter Barring- 
 ton; neither you nor I are such interesting orphans as to 
 inspire sympathy at first sight." 
 
 .Josephine could not help a laugh at Miss Dinah's illus- 
 tration, and old Barringtou himself heartily joined in the 
 merriment, not sorry the while to draw the discussion into a 
 less stern field. "Come, come, Dinah," said he, gajdy, "let 
 us put out a few bottles of that old Madeira in the sun ; and 
 if Darby can find us a salmon-trout, we '11 do our best to 
 entertain our visitors." 
 
 "It never occurred to me to doubt the probability of their 
 enjoying themselves, Peter; my anxieties were quite on 
 another score." 
 
AT HOME AGAIN. 15 
 
 "Now, Fifine," continued Barriugton, "we shall see if 
 Polly Dill has really made you the perfect housekeeper she 
 boasted. The next day or two will put your talents to the 
 test." 
 
 " Oh, if we could only have Polly herself here ! " 
 
 "What for? — on what pretext, Miss Barriugton?" said 
 Dinah, haughtily. "I have not, so far as I am aware, been 
 accounted very ignorant of household cares." 
 
 "Withering declares that your equal is not in Europe, 
 Dinah." 
 
 "Mr. Withering's suffrage can always be bought by a 
 mock-turtle soup, and a glass of Roman punch after 
 it." 
 
 "How he likes it, — how he relishes it! He says that he 
 comes back to the rest of the dinner with the freshness of a 
 man at an assize case." 
 
 "So like him!" said Dinah, scornfully; "he has never 
 an illustration that is not taken from the Four Courts. I 
 remember one day, when asking for the bill of fare, he 
 said, 'Will you kindly let me look at the cause list.' Pre- 
 pare yourself, Josephine, for an avalanche of law anecdotes 
 and Old Bailey stories, for I assure you you will hear noth- 
 ing for the next three days but drolleries that have been 
 engrossed on parchment and paid stamp duty to the 
 Crown." 
 
 Barrington gave a smile, as though in protest against the 
 speech, and left the room. In truth, he was very anxious to 
 be alone, and to think over, at his leisure, a short passage 
 in his letter which he had not summoned courage to read 
 aloud. It was Withering's opinion that to institute the in- 
 quiries in India a considerable sum of money would be 
 required, and he had left it for Barrington's consideration 
 whether it were wiser to risk the great peril of this further 
 involvement, or once more to try what chance there might 
 be of a compromise. Who knows what success might have 
 attended the suggestion if the old lawyer had but employed 
 any other word! Compromise, however, sounded to his 
 ears like an unworthy concession, — a surrender of George's 
 honor. Compromise might mean money for his grand- 
 daughter, and shame to her father's memory. Not, indeed, 
 
16 BARRINGTON. 
 
 that "Withering was, as a man, one to counsel such a course, 
 but Withering was a lawyer, and in the same spirit that he 
 would have taken a verdict for half his claim if he saw an 
 adverse feeling in the jury-box, so he wOuld bow to circum- 
 stances that were stronger than him, and accept the best 
 he could, if he might not have all that he ought. But could 
 Barrington take this view ? He thought not. His convic- 
 tion was that the main question to establish was the fair 
 fame and honor of his son; his guide was, how George 
 himself would have acted — would have felt — in the same 
 contingency; and he muttered, "He'd have been a hardy 
 fellow who would have hinted at compromise to him" 
 
 The next point was how the means for the coming cam- 
 paign were to be provided. He had already raised a small 
 sum by way of mortgage on the "Home," and nothing 
 remained but to see what further advance could be made on 
 the same security. When Barrington was a great estated 
 gentleman with a vast fortune at his command, it cost him 
 wonderfully little thought to contract a loan, or even to 
 sell a farm. A costly election, a few weeks of unusual 
 splendor, an unfortunate night at play, had made such 
 sacrifices nothing very unusual, and he would give his 
 orders on this score as unconcernedly as he would bid his 
 servant replenish his glass at table. Indeed, he had no 
 more fear of exhausting his fortune than he felt as to out- 
 drinking his cellar. There was enough there, as he often 
 said, for those who should come after him. And now, what 
 a change ! He stood actually appalled at the thought of a 
 mortgage for less than a thousand pounds. But so it is; 
 the cockboat may be more to a man than was once the 
 three-decker. The cottage was his all now ; that lost, and 
 they were houseless. Was it not a bold thing to risk every- 
 thing on one more throw? There was the point over which 
 he now pondered as he walked slowly along in the little 
 shady alley between the laurel hedges. He had no friend 
 nearer his heart than Withering, no one to whom he could 
 unbosom himself so frankly and so freely, and yet this was 
 a case on which he could not ask his counsel. All his life 
 long he had strenuously avoided suffering a question of the 
 kind to intervene between them. Of his means, his re- 
 
AT HOME AGAIN. 17 
 
 sources, his straits, or his demands, Withering knew posi- 
 tively nothing. It was with Barrington a point of delicacy 
 to maintain this reserve towards one who was always his 
 lawyer, and often his guest. The very circumstance of his 
 turning innkeeper was regarded by Withering as savoring 
 far more of caprice than necessit}^ and Barrington took care 
 to strengthen this impression. 
 
 If, then. Withering' s good sense and worldly knowledge 
 would have been invaluable aids to him in this conjunction, 
 he saw he could not have them. The same delicacy which 
 debarred him heretofore, would still interpose against his 
 appeal to that authority. And then he thought how he 
 had once troops of friends to whom he could address 
 himself for counsel. There is nothing more true, indeed, 
 than the oft-uttered scoff on the hollowness of those friend- 
 ships which attach to the days of prosperous fortune, and 
 the world is very prone to point to the utter loneliness of 
 him who has been shipwrecked by Fate ; but let us be just 
 in our severity, and let us own that a man's belongings, his 
 associates, his — what common parlance calls — friends, are 
 the mere accidents of his station, and the}' no more accom- 
 pany him in his fall than do the luxuries he has forfeited. 
 From the level from which he has lapsed they have not 
 descended. They are there, living to-day as they lived 
 yesterday. If their sympathy is not with him, it is because 
 neither are they themselves ; they cross each other no more. 
 Such friendships are like the contracts made with a crew for 
 a particular vo3'age, — they end with the cruise. No man 
 ever understood this better than Barrington ; no man ever 
 bore the world less of ill will for its part towards himself. 
 If now and then a sense of sadness would cloud him at 
 some mark of passing forgetfulness, he would not own to 
 the gloomy feeling; while to any show of recognition, to 
 any sign of a grateful remembrance of the past, he would 
 grow boastful to very vanity. "Look there, Dinah," he 
 would say, "what a noble-hearted fellow that is! I scarcely 
 was more than commonly civil to him formerly, and j'ou 
 saw how courteous he was in making a place for us, how 
 heartily he hoped I was in good health." 
 
 "I'll send over to Dill and have a talk with him," was 
 
 VOL. II. — 2 
 
18 BARRINGTON. 
 
 Barrington's last resolve, as be turned the subject over 
 and over in his mind. "Dill's a shrewd fellow, and I 'm 
 not sure that he has not laid by a little nione}'; he might 
 feel no objection to a good investment for it, with such 
 security." And he looked around as he spoke on the trees, 
 some of -which he planted, every one of which he knew, and 
 sighed heavily. "He '11 scarce love the spot more than I 
 did," muttered he, and walked along with his head down. 
 After awhile he took out AVithering's letter from his pocket 
 and re-read it. Somehow, it was hard to say why, it did 
 not read so promisingly as at first. The ditliculties to be 
 encountered were very stubborn ones, so much so that he 
 very palpably hinted how much better some amicable settle- 
 ment would be than an open contest wherein legal subtlety 
 and craft should be evoked. There was so much of that 
 matter always taken for granted, to be proved, to be demon- 
 strated true on evidence, that it actually looked appalling. 
 "Of the searches and inquiries instituted in India," wrote 
 Withering, "I can speak but vaguely; but I own the very 
 distance magnifies them immensely to my eyes." "Tom is 
 growing old, not a doubt of it," muttered Harrington ; "these 
 were not the sort of obstacles that could have terrified him 
 once on a time. He 'd have said, ' If there 's evidence, we '11 
 have it; if there's a document, we '11 find it.' It's India, 
 that far-away land, that has frightened him. These lawyers, 
 like certain sportsmen, lose their nerve if you take them out 
 of their own country. It 's the new style of fences they 
 can't face. Well, thanks to him who gave it, I have my 
 stout heart still, and I'll go on." 
 
 "Going on" was, however, not the easy task it first 
 seemed, nor was the pleasantest part of it the necessity of 
 keeping the secret from his sister. Miss Dinah had from 
 the first discouraged the whole suit. The adversary was 
 too powerful, the odds against them were too great; the 
 India Board had only to protract and prolong the case and 
 thei/ must be beaten from sheer exhaustion. How, then, 
 should he reconcile her to mortgaging the last remnant 
 of all their fortune for "one more throw on the table"? 
 "No chance of persuading a woman that this would be 
 wise," said he. And he thought, when he had laid the 
 
AT HOME AGAIN. 19 
 
 prejudice of sex as the ground of error, he had completed 
 his argument. 
 
 "Going on " had its fine generous side about it, also, that 
 cheered and elevated him. It was for George he was doing 
 it, and that dear girl, whose every trait recalled her father; 
 for let those explain it who can, she, who had never seen 
 nor even heard of her father since her infancy, inherited all 
 his peculiar ways and habits, and every trick of his manner. 
 Let me own that these, even more than any qualities of ster- 
 ling worth, endeared her to her grandfather; and just as he 
 had often declared no rank or position that could befall 
 George would have been above his deserts, so he averred 
 that if Josephine were to be the greatest heiress in England 
 to-morrow, she would be a grace and an ornament to the 
 station. If Aunt Dinah would occasionally attempt to 
 curb this spirit, or even limit its extravagance, his in- 
 variable answer was, "It may be all as you say, sister, 
 but for the life of me I cannot think my swans to be 
 geese." 
 
 As he thus mused and meditated, he heard the wicket of 
 the garden open and shut, and shortly afterwards a half- 
 shambling shuffling step on the gravel. Before he had 
 time to speculate on whose it should be, he saw Major 
 M'Cormick limping laboriously towards him. 
 
 "How is this. Major?" cried he; "has the change of 
 weather disagreed with your rheumatism?" 
 
 "It's the wound; it's always worse in the fall of the 
 year," croaked the other. "I'd have been up to see you 
 before but for the pains, and that old fool Dill — a greater 
 fool myself for trusting him — made me put on a blister 
 down what he calls the course of the nerve, and I never knew 
 torture till I tried it." 
 
 "My sister Dinah has, I verily believe, the most sover- 
 eign remedy for these pains." 
 
 "Is it the green draught? Oh, don't I know it," burst 
 out the ^[ajor. "You might hear my shouts the day I took 
 it down at Inistioge. There was n't a bit of skin left on 
 my lips, and when I wiped the perspiration off my head my 
 hair came off too. Aquafortis is like egg-flip compared to 
 that blessed draught; and I remember well how I crawled to 
 
20 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 my writing-desk and wrote, ' Have me opened,* for I knew 
 I was poisoned." 
 
 *'Did you tell my sister of your sufferings?" 
 
 "To be sure I did, and she only smiled and said that I 
 took it when I was fasting, or when I was full, I forget 
 which; and that I ought to have taken a brisk walk, and I 
 only able to creep ; and only one spoonful at a time, and it 
 was the whole bottle I swallowed. In fact, she owned 
 afterwards that nothing but the strength of a horse could 
 have saved me." 
 
 Peter found it very hard to maintain a decent gravity at 
 the play of the Major's features, which during the narrative 
 recalled every dire experience of his medicine. 
 
 "Well, come into the house and we '11 give you something 
 better," said Barrington, at last. 
 
 "I think I saw your granddaughter at the window as I 
 came by, — a good-looking young woman, and not so dark 
 as I suspected she 'd be." 
 
 "There 's not a handsomer girl in Ireland; and as to skin, 
 she 's not as brown as her father." 
 
 "It wouldn't be easy to be that; he was about three 
 shades deeper than a Portuguese." 
 
 "George Barrington was confessedly the finest-looking 
 fellow in the King's army, and as English-looking a gen- 
 tleman as any man in it." 
 
 The tone of this speech was so palpably that of one who 
 would not stand the very shadow of a rejoinder, that the 
 Major held his peace, and shuffled along without a word. 
 The thought, however, of administering a rebuke to any one 
 within the precincts of his home was so repugnant to Bar- 
 rington's nature, that he had scarcely uttered the words 
 than he was eager to repair them, and with a most embar- 
 rassed humility he stammered out something about their 
 recent tour abroad and all the enjoyment it had given 
 them. 
 
 "Maybe so," rejoined the other, dryly; "but I never saw 
 any pleasure in spending money you could keep." 
 
 "My dear Major, that is precisely the very money that 
 does procure pleasure." 
 
 "Wasn't that a post-chaise I saw through the trees? 
 
AT HOME AGAIN. 21 
 
 There it is again; it's making straight for the ' Home, '" 
 said M'Cormick, pointing with his stick. 
 
 "Yes," said Peter; "I was expecting a couple of friends 
 to pass a day or so with me here. Will you excuse me if I 
 hurry forward to welcome them ? " 
 
 "Don't make a stranger of me; I'll saunter along at my 
 leisure," said the Major, as Barriugtoa walked briskly on 
 towards the cottage. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SMALL DINNER-PARTY. 
 
 Withering and Stapylton had arrived full)' two hours 
 earlier than they were expected, and Miss Dinah was too 
 deeply engaged in the household cares that wei-e to do them 
 honor to receive them. Josephine, too, was not less busily 
 occupied, for her conventual education had made her won- 
 derfully skilful in all sorts of confectionery, and she was 
 mistress of devices in spun sugar and preserved fruits, 
 which rose in Aunt Dinah's eyes to the dignity of high art. 
 Barrington, however, was there to meet them, and with a 
 cordial welcome which no man could express more grace- 
 fully. The luncheon hour passed pleasantly over, for all 
 were in good humor and good spirits. Withering's holiday 
 always found him ready to enjoy it, and when could old 
 Peter feel so happy as when he had a guest beneath his roof 
 who thoroughly appreciated the cottage, and entered into 
 the full charm of its lovely scenery! Such was Stapylton; 
 he blended a fair liking for the picturesque with a natural 
 instinct for comfort and homeliness, and he saw in this spot 
 what precisely embraced both elements. It was very beau- 
 tiful ; but, better still, it was very lovable. "It was so rare " 
 — so, at least, he told Barrington — "to find a cottage 
 wherein internal comfort had not been sacrificed to some 
 requirement of outward show. There was only one way of 
 doing this," said he, as Barrington led him through the 
 little flower-garden, giving glimpses of the rooms within as 
 they passed, — "only one wa}^ Mr. Barrington; a man must 
 have consummate taste, and strong credit at his banker's." 
 Barrington's cheek grew a thought redder, and he smiled 
 that faint sad smile which now and then will break from one 
 
A SMALL DINNER-PARTY. 23 
 
 who feels that he could rebut what he has just heard, if 
 it were but right or fitting he should do so. Of course, 
 amongst really distressing sensations this has no place; 
 but yet there is a peculiar pain in being complimented by 
 your friend on the well-to-do condition of your fortune when 
 your conscience is full of the long watching hours of the 
 night, or, worse still, the first awaking thought of ditficulties 
 to which you open your eyes of a morning. It is not 
 often, nor are there many to whom you can say, "I cannot 
 tell the day or the hour when all this shall pass away from 
 me; my head is racked with care, and my heart heavy 
 with anxiety." How jarring to be told of all the things 
 you ought to do I You who could so well afford it ! And 
 how trying to have to take shelter from your necessity under 
 the shadow of a seeming stinginess, and to bear every 
 reflection on your supposed thrift rather than own to your 
 poverty ! 
 
 If Withering had been with them as they strolled, this, 
 perhaps, might have been avoided; he had all a lawyer's 
 technical skill to change a topic; but "Withering had gone 
 to take his accustomed midday nap, the greatest of all the 
 luxuries his time of idleness bestowed upon him. 
 
 Now, although Stapylton's alludings — and they were no 
 more — to Barrington's gifts of fortune were such as per- 
 fectly consisted with good taste and good breeding, Barring- 
 ton felt them all painfully, and probably nothing restrained 
 him from an open disclaimer of their fitness save the thought 
 that from a host such an avowal would sound ungracefully. 
 "It is my duty now," reasoned he, "to make my guest feel 
 that all the attentions he receives exact no sacrifice, and that 
 the pleasure his presence affords is unalloyed by a single 
 embarrassment. If he must hear of my difficulties, let it be 
 when he is not beneath my roof." And so he let Stapylton 
 talk away about the blessings of tranquil affluence, and the 
 happiness of him whose only care was to find time for the 
 enjoyments that were secured to him. He let him quote 
 Pope and Wharton and Edmund Burke, and smiled the 
 blandest concurrence with what was irritating him almost 
 to fever. 
 
 "This is Withering's favorite spot," said Peter, as they 
 
24 BARRINGTON. 
 
 gained the shade of a huge ilex-tree, from which two distinct 
 reaches of the river were visible. 
 
 "And it shall be mine, too," said Stapylton, throwing 
 himself down in the deep grass; "and as I know you have 
 scores of things which claim your attention, let me release 
 you, while I add a cigar — the only possible enhancement — 
 to the delight of this glorious nook." 
 
 "Well, it shall be as you wish. We dine at six. I '11 
 go and look after a fish for our entertainment;" and Bar- 
 vington turned away into the copse, not sorry to release 
 his heart by a heavy sigh, and to feel he was alone with 
 his cares. 
 
 Let us turn for a moment to M'Cormick, who continued 
 to saunter slowly about the garden, in the expectation of 
 Barrington's return. Wearied at length with waiting, and 
 resolved that his patience should not go entirely unrequited, 
 he turned into a little shady walk on which the windows of 
 the kitchen opened. Stationing himself there, in a position 
 to see without being seen, he took what he called an obser- 
 vation of all within. The sight was interesting, even if he 
 did not bring to it the appreciation of a painter. There, 
 upon a spacious kitchen table, lay a lordly sirloin, richly 
 and variously colored, flanked by a pair of plump guinea- 
 hens and a fresh salmon of fully twenty pounds' weight. 
 Luscious fruit and vegetables were heaped and mingled in 
 a wild profusion, and the speckled plumage of game wa& 
 half hidden under the massive bunches of great hot-house 
 grapes. It is doubtful if Sueyders himself could have looked 
 upon the display with a higher sense of enjoyment. It is, 
 indeed, a question between the relative merits of two senses, 
 and the issue lies between the eye and the palate. 
 
 Wisely reasoning that such preparations were not made for 
 common guests, IM'Cormick ran over in his mind all the 
 possible and impossible names he could think of, ending 
 at last with the conviction it was some "Nob " he must have 
 met abroad, and whom in a moment of his expansive hospi- 
 tality he had invited to visit him. "Isn't it like them!" 
 muttered he. "It would be long before they'd think of 
 such an entertainment to an old neighbor like myself; but 
 here they are spending — who knows how much ? — for some- 
 
A SMALL DINNER-PARTY. 25 
 
 body that to-morrow or next day won't remember their 
 names, or maybe, perhaps, laugh when they think of the 
 funny old woman they saw, — the ' Fright ' with the yellow 
 shawl and the orange bonnet. Oh, the world, the world ! " 
 
 It is not .for me to speculate on what sort of thing the 
 world had been, if the Major himself had been intrusted 
 with the control and fashion of it; but I have my doubts 
 that we are just as well off as we are. "Well, though they 
 haven't the manners to say ' M'Cormick, will you stop and 
 dine?' they haven't done with me yet; not a bit!" And 
 with this resolve he entered the cottage, and found his way 
 to the drawing-room. It was unoccupied; so he sat himself 
 down in a comfortable armchair, to await events and their 
 issue. There were books and journals and newspapers 
 about; but the Major was not a reader, and so he sat musing 
 and meditating, while the time went by. Just as the clock 
 struck five, Miss Dinah, whose various cares of housewifery 
 bad given her a very busy day, was about to have a look at 
 the drawing-room before she went to dress, and being fully 
 aware that one of her guests was asleep, and the other full 
 stretched beside the river, she felt she could go her "rounds " 
 without fear of being observed. Now, whatever had been 
 the peculiar functions she was lately engaged in, they had 
 exacted from her certain changes in costume more pictur- 
 esque than flattering. In the first place, the sleeves of her 
 dress were rolled up above the elbows, displaying arms more 
 remarkable for bone than beauty. A similar curtailment of 
 her petticoats exhibited feet and ankles which — not to be 
 ungallant — might be called massive rather than elegant; 
 and lastly, her two long curls of auburn hair — curls which, 
 in the splendor of her full toilette, were supposed to be no 
 mean aids to her captivating powers — were noAV tastefully 
 festooned and fastened to the l)ack of her head, pretty much 
 as a pair of hawsers are occasionally disposed on the bow 
 of a merchantman ! Thus costumed, she had advanced into 
 the middle of the room before she saw the Major. 
 
 "A pleasure quite unexpected, sir, is this," said she, 
 with a vigorous effort to shake out what sailors would call 
 her "lower courses." "I was not aware that you were 
 here." 
 
26 BxVRRINGTON. 
 
 "Indeed, then, I came in myself, just like old times. I 
 said tliis morning, if it 's line to-day, I '11 just go over to the 
 * Fisherman's Home.'" 
 
 " ' The Home,' sir, if you please. We retain so much of 
 the former name." But just as she uttered the correction, 
 a chance look at the glass conveyed the condition of her 
 head-gear, — a startling fact which made her cheeks per- 
 fectly crimson. "I lay stress upon the change of name, 
 sir," continued she, "as intimating that we are no longer 
 innkeepers, and expect something, at least, of the deference 
 rendered to those who call their house their own." 
 
 "To be sure, and why not?" croaked out the Major, with 
 a malicious grin. "And I forgot all about it, little think- 
 ing, indeed, to surprise you in 'dishabille,' as they call 
 it." 
 
 " You surprise me, sir, every time we meet," said she, 
 with flashing eyes. "And you make me feel surprised with 
 myself for my endurance ! " And so saying, she retired 
 towards the door, covering her retreat as she went by every 
 object of furniture that presented itself, and, like a skilful 
 general, defending her rear by every artifice of the ground. 
 Thus did she exit, and with a bang of the door — as elo- 
 quent as any speech — close the colloquy. 
 
 "Faix! and the Swiss costume doesn't become j^ou at 
 all!" said the Major, as he sat back in his chair, and 
 cackled over the scene. 
 
 As Miss Barrington, boiling with passion, passed her 
 brother's door, she stopped to knock. 
 
 "Peter!" cried she. "Peter Barrington, I sa}' ! " The 
 words were, however, not well out, when she heard a step 
 ascending the stair. She could not risk another discovery 
 like the last; so, opening the door, she said, "That hate- 
 ful M'Cormick is below. Peter, take care that on no 
 account — " 
 
 There was no time to finish, and she had barely an instant 
 to gain her own room, when Stapylton readied the corridor. 
 
 Peter Barrington had, however, heard enough to inform 
 him of his sister's high behest. Indeed, he was as quick at 
 interpreting brief messages as people have grown in these 
 latter days of telegraphic communication. Oracular utter- 
 
A SMALL DINNER-PARTY. 27 
 
 ings had been more than once in his life his only instructors, 
 and he no\y knew that he had been peremptorily ordered not 
 to ask the Major to dinner. 
 
 There are, doubtless, people in this world — I almost 
 fancy I have met one or two such myself — who would not 
 have felt peculiar difficulty in obeying this command ; who 
 would have gone down to the drawing-room and talked 
 coolly to the visitor, discussing- commonplaces, easily and 
 carelessly, noting the while how at every pause of the con- 
 versation each was dwelling on the self-same point, and yet, 
 with a quiet abstinence, never touching it, till with a sigh, 
 that was half a malediction, the uninvited would rise to take 
 leave. Barrington was not of this number. The man who 
 Bat under his roof was sacred. He could have no faults ; 
 and to such a pitch had this punctilio carried him, that had 
 an actual enemy gained the inside of his threshold, he would 
 have spared nothing to treat him with honor and respect. 
 
 " Well, well," muttered he, as he slowly descended the 
 stairs, " it will be the first time in my life I ever did it, and 
 I don't know how to go about it now." 
 
 When a frank and generous man is about to do something 
 he is ashamed of, how readily will a crafty and less scrupu- 
 lous observer detect it ! M'Cormick read Barrington's secret 
 before he was a minute in the room. It was in vain Peter 
 affected an off-hand easy manner, incidentally dropping a 
 hint that the Attorney-General and another friend had just 
 arrived, — a visit, a mere business visit it was, to be passed 
 with law papers and parchments. " Poor fun when the 
 partridges were in the stubble, but there was no help for it. 
 Who knew, however, if he could not induce them to give him 
 an extra day, and if I can. Major, you must promise to come 
 over and meet them. You '11 be charmed with Withering, he 
 has such a fund of agreeability. One of the old school, 
 but not the less delightful to j-ou and me. Come, now, 
 give me your word — for — shall we say Saturday? — Yes, 
 Saturday ! " 
 
 " I 've nothing to say against it," grumbled out M'Cormick, 
 whose assent was given, as attorneys say, without prejudice 
 to any other claim. 
 
 "You shall hear from me in the morning, then," said 
 
28 BARRINGTON. 
 
 Peter. " I '11 send you a line to say what success I have had 
 with my friends." 
 
 " Any time in the day will do," said the Major, uncon- 
 cernedly ; for, in truth, tlie future never had in his estima- 
 tion the same interest as the present. As for the birds in 
 the bush, he simply did not believe in them at all. 
 
 " No, no," said Barrington, hurriedly. " You shall hear 
 from me early, for I am anxious you should meet Withering 
 and his companion, too, — a brother-soldier." 
 
 " Who may he be? " asked M'Cormick. 
 
 "That's my secret. Major, — that's my secret," said 
 Peter, with a forced laugh, for it now wanted but ten 
 minutes to six; "but you shall know all on Saturday." 
 
 Had he said on the day of judgment, the assurance would 
 have been as palatable to M'Cormick. Talking to him of 
 Saturday on a Monday was asking him to speculate on the 
 infinite. Meanwhile he sat on, as only they sit who under- 
 stand the deep and high mystery of that process. Oh, if 
 you who have your fortunes to make in life, without any 
 assignable mode for so doing, without a craft, a calling, or a 
 trade, knew what success there was to be achieved merely by 
 sitting — by simply being "there," eteruall}' "there" — a 
 warning, an example, an illustration, a what you will, of 
 boredom or infliction; but still "there." The butt of this 
 man, the terror of that, — hated, feared, trembled at, — but 
 j'et recognized as a thing that must be, an institution that 
 ■was, and is, and shall be, when we are all dead and buried. 
 
 Long and dreary may be the days of the sitter, but the 
 hour of his reward will come at last. There will come the 
 time when some one — any one — will be wanted to pair off 
 with some other bore, to listen to his stories and make up 
 his whist-table; and then he will be "there." I knew a man 
 who, merely by sitting on patiently for years, was at last 
 chosen to be sent as a Minister and special Envoy to a for- 
 eign Court just to get rid of him. And for the women 
 sitters, — the well-dressed and prettily got-up simperers, 
 who have sat their husbands into Commissionerships, Colo- 
 nial Secretaryships, and such like, — are they not written 
 of in the Book of Beauty? 
 
 "Here's M'Cormick, Dinah," said Barrington, with a 
 
 I 
 
A SMALL DIKNER-PAETY. 29 
 
 voice shaking with agitation and anxiety, "whom I want to 
 pledge himself to us for Saturday next. Will you add your 
 persuasions to mine, and see what can be done?" 
 
 "Don't you think you can depend upon me? " cackled out 
 the Major. 
 
 "I am certain of it, sir; I feel your word like your bond 
 on such a matter," said Miss Dinah. "My granduiece. Miss 
 Josephine Barringtou," said she, presenting that young lady, 
 who courtesied formally to the unprepossessing stranger. 
 
 "I'm proud of the honor, ma'am," said M'Cormick, 
 with a deep bow, and resumed his seat; to rise again, 
 however, as Withering entered the room and was intro- 
 duced to him. 
 
 "This is intolerable, Peter," whispered Miss Barrington, 
 while the lawyer and the Major were talking together. 
 " You are certain you have not asked him ? " 
 
 "On my honor, Dinah! on my honor! " 
 
 "I hope I am not late?" cried Stapylton, entering; then 
 turning hastily to Barrington, said, "Pray present me to 
 your niece." 
 
 "This is my sister. Major Stapylton; this is m}^ grand- 
 daughter;" and the ladies courtesied, each with a degree of 
 satisfaction which the reader shall be left to assign them. 
 
 After a few words of commonplace civility, uttered, how- 
 ever, with a courtesy and tact which won their way for 
 the speaker, Stapj'lton recognized and shook hands with 
 M'Cormick. 
 
 "You know my neighbor, then? " said Barrington, in some 
 surprise. 
 
 "I am charmed to say I do; he owes me the denouement 
 of a most amusing story, which was suddenly broken off 
 when we last parted, but which I shall certainly claim after 
 dinner." 
 
 "He has been kind enough to engage himself to us for 
 Saturday," began Dinah. But M'Cormick, who saw the 
 moment critical, stepped in, — 
 
 "You shall hear every word of it before you sleep. It's 
 all about Walcheren, though they think Waterloo more the 
 fashion now." 
 
 "Just as this young lady might fancy Major Stapylton a 
 
30 BARRINGTON. 
 
 more interesting event than one of us," said AVithering, 
 laughing. "But what 's become of 3'our boasted punctu- 
 ality, Barrington? A quarter past, — are you waiting for 
 any one?" 
 
 "Are we, Dinah?" asked Barrington, with a look of 
 sheepishness. 
 
 "Not that I am aware of, Peter. There is no one to 
 come ; " and she laid such an emphasis on the word as made 
 the significance palpable. 
 
 To Barrington it was painful as well as palpable; so 
 painful, indeed, that he hurriedly rang the bell, sa^-ing, in a 
 sharp voice, "Of course, we are all here, — there are six of 
 us. Dinner, Darby ! " 
 
 The 3Iajor had won, but he was too crafty to show any 
 triumph at his victory, and he did not dare even to look 
 towards where Miss Barrington stood, lest he should chance 
 to catch her eye. Dinner was at length announced. With- 
 ering gave his arm to Miss Barrington, Stapylton took 
 charge of Josephine, and old Peter, j^leasantly drawing his 
 arm within M'Cormick's, said, "I hope you 've got a good 
 appetite, Major, for I have a rare fish for you to-day, and 
 your favorite sauce, too, — smelt, not lobster." 
 
 Poor Barrington ! it was a trying moment for him, that 
 short walk into the dinner-room, and he felt very grateful to 
 M'Cormick that he said nothing peevish or sarcastic to him 
 on the way. Many a dinner begins in awkwardness, but 
 warms as it proceeds into a pleasant geniality. Such was 
 the case here. Amongst those, besides, who have not the 
 ties of old friendship between them, or have not as yet 
 warmed into that genial good-fellowship which is, so to say, 
 its foster-brother, a character of the M'Cormick class is 
 not so damaging an element as might be imagined, and at 
 times there is a positive advantage in having one of whose 
 merits, by a tacit understanding, all are quite agreed. 
 Withering and Stapylton both read the man at once, and 
 drew out his salient points — his parsimony, his malice, and 
 his prying curiosity — in various ways, but so neatly and 
 so advisedly as to make him fancy he was the attacking 
 party, and very successful, too, in his assaults upon the 
 enemy. Even Barrington, in the honest simplicity of his 
 
A SMALL DINNER-PARTY. 31 
 
 nature, was taken in, and more than once thought that the 
 old Major was too severe upon the others, and sat in won- 
 dering admiration of their self-command and good temper. 
 No deception of this sort prevailed with Miss Barriugton, 
 who enjoj-ed to the fullest extent the subtle raillery with 
 which they induced him to betray every meanness of his 
 nature, and yet never suffered the disclosure to soar above 
 the region of the ludicrous. 
 
 "You have been rather hard upon them, Major," said 
 Barrington, as they strolled about on the greensward after 
 dinner to enjo}" their coffee and a cigar. "Don't you think 
 you have been a shade too severe ? " 
 
 "It will do them good. They wanted to turn me out like 
 a bagged fox, and show the ladies some sport ; but I taught 
 them a thing or two." 
 
 "No, no, M'Cormick, you wrong them there; they had 
 no such intentions, believe me." 
 
 "I know that you didn't see it," said he, with emphasis, 
 "but your sister did, and liked it well,, besides; ay, and the 
 young one joined in the fun. And, after all, I don't see 
 that they got much by the victory, for "Withering was not 
 pleased at my little hit about the days when he used to be a 
 Whig and spout liberal politics; and the other liked just as 
 little my remark about the fellows in the Company's service, 
 and how nobody knew who they were or where they came 
 from. He was in the Madras army himself, but I pretended 
 not to know it; but I found his name written on the leaf of 
 an old book he gave me, and the regiment he was in: and 
 did you see how he looked when I touched on it? But here 
 he comes now." 
 
 "Make j'our peace with him, M'Cormick, make your 
 peace!" said Barrington, as he moved away, not soi'ry, as 
 he went, to mark the easy familiarity with which Stapylton 
 drew his arm within the other's, and walked along at his 
 side. 
 
 "Wasn't that a wonderful dinner we had to-day, from 
 a man that hasn't a cross in his pocket?" croaked out 
 M'Cormick to Stap3'lton. 
 
 "Is it possible? " 
 
 " Sherry and Madeira after* your soup, then Sauterne, — a 
 
32 BARRINGTON. 
 
 thing I don't care for any more than the oyster patties it 
 came with; champagne next, and in tumblers too! Do 
 you ever see it better done at your mess? Or where did 
 you ever taste a finer glass of claret?" 
 
 "It was all admirable." 
 
 "There was only one thing forgotten, — not that it signi- 
 fies to tis." 
 
 "And what might that be? " 
 
 "It wasn't paid for! No, nor will it ever be! " 
 
 "You amaze me, Major. My impression was that our 
 friend here was, without being ricli, in very comfortable 
 circumstances; able to live handsomelj', while he carried 
 on a somewhat costly suit." 
 
 "That's the greatest folly of all," broke out M'Cormick; 
 "and it's to get money for that now that he's going to 
 mortgage this place here, — ay, the very ground under our 
 feet! " And this he said with a sort of tremulous indigna- 
 tion, as though the atrocity bore especially hard upon them. 
 "Kinshela, the attorney from Kilkenny, was up with me 
 about it yesterday. 'It's an elegant investment. Major,' 
 says he, ' and you 're verj' likel}' to get the place into your 
 hands for all the chance old Peter has of paying off the 
 charge. His heart is in that suit, and he '11 not stop as long 
 as he has a guinea to go on with it.' 
 
 "I said, ' I 'd think of it: I 'd turn it over in my mind; ' 
 for there 's various ways of looking at it." 
 
 "I fancy I apprehend one of them," said Stapylton, with 
 a half-jocular glance at his companion. "You have been 
 reflecting over another investment, eh? Am I not right? 
 I remarked you at dinner. I saw how the young brunette 
 had struck 5'ou, and I said to myself, ' She has made a con- 
 quest alread}'! ' " 
 
 "Not a bit of it; nothing of the kind," said INI'Cormick, 
 awkwardly. "I'm too 'cute to be caught that way." 
 
 "Yes, but remember it might be a very good catch. I 
 don't speak of the suit, because I agree with you, the 
 chances in that direction are very^ small, indeed, and I 
 cannot understand the hopeful feeling with which he prose- 
 cutes it; but she is a fine, handsome girl, very attractive 
 in manner, and equal to any station." 
 
A SMALL DINNER-PARTY. 33 
 
 "And what 's the good of all that to me? Would n't it 
 be better if she could make a pease-pudding, like Polly 
 Dill, or know how to fatten a turkey, or salt down a side 
 of bacon ? " 
 
 "I don't think so; I declare, I don't think so," said 
 Stapylton, as he lighted a fresh cigar. "These are house- 
 hold cares, and to be bought with money, and not expen- 
 sively, either. What a man like you or I wants is one who 
 should give a sort of tone, — impart a degree of elegance to 
 his daily life. We old bachelors grow into self-indulgence, 
 which is only another name for barbarism. With a mis- 
 taken idea of comfort we neglect scores of little observ- 
 ances which constitute the small currency of civilization, 
 and without which all intercourse is unpleasing and 
 ungraceful." 
 
 "I'm not quite sure that I understand you aright, but 
 there 's one thing I know, I 'd think twice of it before I 'd ask 
 that young woman to be Mrs. M'Cormick. And, besides," 
 added he, with a sly side-look, "if it 's so good a thing, why 
 don't you think of it for yourself? " 
 
 "I need not tell an old soldier like yon that full pay and 
 a wife are incompatible. Every wise man's experience 
 shows it; and when a fellow goes to the bishop for a license, 
 he should send in his papers to the Horse Guards. Now, 
 I 'm too poor to give up my career. I have not, like you, a 
 charming cottage on a river's bank, and a swelling lawn 
 dotted over with my own sheep before my door. I cannot 
 put off the harness. " 
 
 "Who talks of putting off the harness? " cried Withering, 
 gayly, as he joined them. "Who ever dreamed of doing 
 anything so ill-judging and so mistaken? Why, if it were 
 only to hide the spots where the collar has galled you, you 
 ought to wear the trappings to the last. No man ever knew 
 how to idle, who had n't passed all his life at it! Some go 
 so far as to say that for real success a man's father and 
 grandfather should have been idlers before him. But have 
 you seen Barrington? He has been looking for you all 
 over the grounds." 
 
 "No," said Stapylton; "n^y old brother-officer and my- 
 
 VOL. II. — 3 
 
84 BARRINGTON. 
 
 self got into pipeclay and barrack talk, and strolled away 
 down here unconsciously." 
 
 "Well, we 'd better not be late for tea," broke in the Major, 
 "or we'll hear of it from Miss Dinah!" And there was 
 something so comic in the seriousness of his tone, that they 
 laughed heartily as they turned towards the house. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A MOVE IN ADVANCE. 
 
 How pleasantly did the next day break on the "Home"! 
 Polly Dill arrived in the best of possible spirits. A few 
 lines from Tom had just reached them. They were written 
 at sea; but the poor fellow's notions of latitude and lon- 
 gitude were so confused that it was not easy to say from 
 whence. They were cheery, however, he was in good health, 
 his comrades were kind-hearted creatures, and evidently 
 recognized in him one of a station above their own. He 
 said that he could have been appointed hospital sergeant if 
 he liked, but that whatever reminded him of his old calling 
 was so distasteful that he preferred remaining as he was, 
 the rather as he was given to believe he should soon be 
 a corporal. 
 
 "Not that I mean to stop there, Polly; and now that I haven't 
 got to study for it, I feel a courage as to the future I never knew 
 before. Give my love to 'Mr. Conyers, and say that I 'm never tired 
 of thinking over the last night I saw him, and of all his good nature 
 to me, and that I hope I '11 see his father some day or other to thank 
 him. I suppose father does n't miss me? I 'm sure mother does n't; 
 and it 's only yourself, Polly, will ever feel a heavy heart for the 
 poor castaway ! But cheer up ! for as sure as my name is Tom, I '11 
 not bring discredit on you, and you '11 not be ashamed to take my 
 arm down the main street when we meet. I must close now, for the 
 boat is going. 
 
 " P. S. I dreamed last night you rode Sid Davis's brown mare 
 over the Millrace at Graigue. Would n't it be strange if it came 
 true? I wish I could know it." 
 
 "May I show this to my friend here, Polly?" said Bar- 
 rington, pointing to Withering. "It 's a letter he 'd like to 
 
86 BARIUXGTON. 
 
 read;'* and as she nodded assent, be handed it across the 
 breakfast-table. 
 
 "AVbat is your brother's regiment, Miss Dill?" said 
 Stapyltou, who had just caught a stray word or two of Avhat 
 passed. 
 
 "The Forty-ninth." 
 
 "The Forty-ninth," said he, repeating the words once or 
 twice. "Let me see, — don't I know some Forty-ninth men ? 
 To be sure I do. There 's Reptou and Hare. Your brother 
 will be delighted with Hare." 
 
 "My brother is in the ranks, Major Stapylton," said 
 she, flushing a deep scarlet; and Barrington quickly inter- 
 posed, — 
 
 "It was the wild frolic of a young man to escape a pro- 
 fession he had no mind for." 
 
 "But in foreign armies every one does it," broke in 
 Stapylton, hurriedly. "No matter what a man's rank may 
 be, he must carry the musket ; and I own I like the practice, 
 — if for nothing else for that fine spirit of camaraderie 
 which it engenders." 
 
 Fifine's eyes sparkled with pleasure at what she deemed 
 the well-bred readiness of this speech, while Polly became 
 deadly pale, and seemed with difficulty to repress the repartee 
 that rose to her mind. Not so Miss Dinah, who promptly 
 said, "No foreign customs can palliate a breach of our 
 habits. We are English, and we don't desire to be French- 
 men or Germans." 
 
 "Might we not occasionally borrow from our neighbors 
 with advantage?" asked Stapylton, blandly. 
 
 "I agree with Miss Barrington," said Withering, — "I 
 agree with Miss Barrington, whose very prejudices are 
 always right. An army formed by a conscription which 
 exempts no man is on a totally different footing from one 
 derived from voluntary enlistment." 
 
 "A practice that some say should be reserved for mar- 
 riage," said Barrington, whose happy tact it was to relieve 
 a discussion by a ready joke. 
 
 They arose from table soon after, — Polly to accompany 
 Miss Barrington over the garden and the shrubberies, and 
 show all that had been done in their absence, and all that 
 
A MOVE IN ADVANCE. 37 
 
 she yet iutended to do, if approved of; Withering adjourned 
 to Barriugton's study to pore over parchments; and Stapyl- 
 ton, after vainly seeking to find Josephine in the drawing- 
 room, the flower-garden, or the lawn, betook himself with a 
 book, the first he could find on the table, to the river's side, 
 and lay down, less to read than to meditate and reflect. 
 
 A breezy morning of a fine day in early autumn, with 
 slow sailing clouds above and a flickering sunlight on the 
 grass below, besides a rippling river, whose banks are glow- 
 ing with blue and purple heath-bells, — all these and a 
 Waverley novel were not enough to distract Stapyltou from 
 the cares that pressed upon his mind; for so it is, look 
 where we may on those whom Fortune would seem to have 
 made her especial favorites, and we shall find some unsatis- 
 fied ambition, some craving wish doomed to disappointment, 
 some hope deferred till the heart that held it has ceased to 
 care for its accomplishment. To the world's eyes, here was 
 a man eminently fortunate: already high up in the service, 
 with health, vigor, and good looks, a reputation established 
 for personal gallantry in the field, and an amount of 
 capacity that had already won for him more than one dis- 
 tinction, and yet all these, great and solid advantages as 
 they are, were not sufficient to give the ease of mind we call 
 happiness. 
 
 He had debts, some of them heavy debts, but these sat 
 lightly on him. He was one of those men creditors never 
 crush, some secret consciousness seeming to whisper that, 
 however ill the world may go with them for a while, in the 
 long run they must triumph; and thus Mr. Hirman Davis, 
 to whom he owed thousands, would have cashed him another 
 bill to-morrow, all on the faith of that future which Stapylton 
 talked about with the careless confidence of a mind assured. 
 
 He had enemies, too, — powerful and determined enemies, 
 — who opposed his advancement for many a year, and were 
 still adverse to him; but, like the creditors, they felt he 
 was not a man to be crushed, and so he and his ill-wishers 
 smiled blandly when they met, exchanged the most cordial 
 gi'eetings, and even imparted little confidences of their 
 several fortunes with all that well-bred duplicity which so 
 simulates friendship. 
 
S8 BARRINGTON. 
 
 He bad been crossed, — no, not in love, but in his ambi- 
 tion to marry one greatly above him in station; but her 
 subsequent marriage had been so unfortunate that he felt 
 in part recompensed for the slight she passed upon him; 
 so that, taking it all and all, fate had never been cruel to 
 him without a compensation. 
 
 There are men who feel their whole existence to be a 
 hand-to-hand struggle with the world, who regard the world 
 as an adversary to be worsted, and all whose efforts are 
 devoted to reach that point upon which they can turn round 
 and say, "You see that I have won the game. I was un- 
 known, and I am famous; I was poor, and I am rich; I 
 was passed over and ignored, and now the very highest are 
 proud to recognize me! " Stapylton was one of these. All 
 the egotism of his nature took this form, and it was far 
 more in a spirit against his fellows than in any indulgence 
 of himself he fought and struggled with Fortune. Intrusted 
 by Withering with much of the secret history of Barring- 
 ton's claim against the India Company, he had learned 
 considerabl}' more through inquiries instituted by himself, 
 and at length arrived at the conclusion that if old Barring- 
 ton could be persuaded to limit his demands within moder- 
 ate bounds, and not insist upon the details of that personal 
 reparation Avhich he assumed so essential to his son's honor, 
 a very ample recompense would not be refused him. It was 
 to induce Barrington to take this course Stap3'lton had con- 
 sented to come down with Withering, — so, at least, he said, 
 and so Withering believed. Old lawj-er that he was, with a 
 hundred instincts of distrust about him, he had conceived a 
 real liking for Stapylton, and a great confidence in his judg- 
 ment. "We shall have to divide our labors here. Major," 
 said he, as they travelled along together; "I will leave the 
 ladies to your care. Barrington shall be mine." A very 
 brief acquaintance with Miss Dinah satisfied Stapylton that 
 she was one to require nice treatment, and what he called 
 "a very light hand." The two or three little baits he had 
 thrown out took nothing; the stray bits of sentimentality, 
 or chance scraps of high-toned principle he had addressed 
 to her, had failed. It was only when he had with some 
 sharpness hit off some small meanness in M'Cormick's 
 
A MOVE IN ADVANCE. 39 
 
 nature that she had even vouchsafed him so much as a half- 
 smile of approval, and he saw that even then she watched 
 him closely. 
 
 "No," said he, half aloud to himself, "that old woman 
 is not one easily to be dealt with ; and the younger one, too, 
 would have a will of her own if she had but the way to use 
 it. If Polly had been in her place, — the clever, quick- 
 witted Polly, — she would have gone with me in my plans, 
 associated herself in all my projects, and assured their suc- 
 cess. Oh for a good colleague just to keep the boat's head 
 straight when one is weary of rowing ! " 
 
 "Would I do?" said a low voice near. And, on looking 
 up, he saw Josephine standing over him, with an arch smile 
 on her face as though she had surprised him in a confession. 
 
 " How long have you been there? " asked he, hurriedly. 
 
 "A few seconds." 
 
 " And what have you heard me say ? " 
 
 " That you wanted a colleague, or a companion of some 
 sort; and as I was the only useless person here, I offered 
 myself." 
 
 "In good faith?" 
 
 "In good faith! — why not? I am more likely to gain 
 by the association than you are ; at least, if you can 
 only be as pleasant of a morning as you were yesterday at 
 dinner." 
 
 " I '11 tr}^" said he, springing to his feet ; " and as a suc- 
 cess in these efforts is mainly owing to the amount of zeal 
 that animates them, I am hopeful." 
 
 " Which means a flattery at the outset," said she, smiling. 
 
 " OnW as much as your friend Mr. Withering would throw 
 out to dispose the court in his favor ; and now, which way 
 shall we walk? Are you to be the guide, or I? " 
 
 "You, by all means, since you know nothing of the 
 locality." 
 
 " Agreed. Well, here is my plan. We cross the river in 
 this boat, and take that path yonder that leads up by the 
 waterfall. I know, from the dark shadow of the mountain, 
 that there is a deep glen, very wild, very romantic, and very 
 solemn, through which I mean to conduct you." 
 
 " All this means a very long excursion, does it not? " 
 
40 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " You have just told me that you were free from all 
 engagement." 
 
 " Yes ; but not from all control. I must ask Aunt Dinah's 
 leave before I set out on this notable expedition." 
 
 " Do nothing of the kind. It would be to make a caprice 
 seem a plan. Let us go where you will, — here, along the 
 river's side ; anywhere, so that we may affect to think that 
 we are free agents, and not merely good children sent out 
 for a walk." 
 
 "What a rebel against authority you are for one so des- 
 potic yourself ! " 
 
 ' ' I despotic ! Who ever called me so ? " 
 
 " Your officers say as much." 
 
 " I know from what quarter that came," said he ; and his 
 bronzed face grew a shade deeper. " That dilettante soldier, 
 young Conyers, has given me this character ; but I 'd rather 
 talk of you than myself. Tell me all about your life. Is it 
 as delightful as everything around would bespeak it? Are 
 these trees and flowers, this sunny bank, this perfumed 
 sward, true emblems of the existence they embellish, or is 
 Paradise only a cheat?" 
 
 '* I don't think so. I think Paradise is very like what it 
 looks, not but I own that the garden is pleasanter with guests 
 in it than when only Adam and Eve were there. Mr. With- 
 ering is charming, and you can be very agreeable." 
 
 " I would I knew how to be so," said he, seriousl3% " just 
 at this moment; for I am going away from Ireland, and I 
 am very desirous of leaving a good impression behind me." 
 
 "■ What could it signify to you how you were thought of 
 in this lonely spot?" 
 
 " More than you suspect, — more than you would, perhaps, 
 credit," said he, feelingly. 
 
 There was a little pause, during which they walked along 
 side by side. 
 
 " What are you thinking of? " said she, at last. 
 
 " I was thinking of a strange thing, — it was this : About 
 a week ago there was no effort I was not making to obtain 
 the command of my regiment. I wanted to be Lieutenant- 
 Colonel ; and so bent was I on gaining my object, that if 
 giving away three or four years of that life that I may hope 
 
A MOVE IN ADVANCE. 41 
 
 for would have done it, I 'd have closed the bargain ; and 
 now the ambition is gone, and I am speculating whether I '11 
 not take the cottage of j-our friend Major M'Cormick, — he 
 offered it to me last night, — and become your neighbor. 
 What say you to the project? " 
 
 " For us the exchange will be all a gain." 
 
 " I want your opinion, — your own," said he, with a voice 
 reduced to a mere whisper. 
 
 "I'd like it of all things ; although, if I were your sister 
 or your daughter, I 'd not counsel it." 
 
 "And why not, if you were my sister?" said he, with a 
 certain constraint in his manner. 
 
 "I'd sa}' it was inglorious to change from the noble 
 activity of a soldier's life to come and dream away existence 
 here." 
 
 " But what if I have done enough for this same thing men 
 call fame ? I have had my share of campaigning, and as the 
 world looks there is wondrous little prospect of any renewal 
 of it. These peace achievements suit your friend Conyers 
 better than me." 
 
 "I think you are not just to him. If I read him aright, 
 he is burning for an occasion to distinguish himself." 
 
 A cold shrug of the shoulders was his only acknowl- 
 edgment of this speech, and again a silence fell between 
 them. 
 
 "I would rather talk oi you^ if you would let me," said 
 he, with much significance of voice and manner. " Say 
 would you like to have me for your neighbor?" 
 
 " It would be a pleasant exchange for Major M'Cormick," 
 said she, laughing. 
 
 " I want you to be serious now. What I am asking you 
 interests me too deeply to jest over." 
 
 " First of all, is the project a serious one? " 
 
 "It is." 
 
 " Next, why ask advice from one as inexperienced as I 
 am?" 
 
 " Because it is not counsel I ask, — it is something more. 
 Don't look surprised, and, above all, don't look angry, but 
 listen to me. What I have said now, and what more I would 
 say, might more properly have been uttered when we had 
 
42 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 known each other longer ; but there are emergencies in life 
 which give no time for slow approaches, and there are men, 
 too, that they suit not. Imagine such now before you, — I 
 mean, both the moment and the man. Imagine one who has 
 gone through a great deal in life, seen, heard, and felt much, 
 and yet never till now, never till this very morning, under- 
 stood what it was to know one whose least word or passing 
 look was more to hiin than ambition, higher than all the 
 rewards of glory." 
 
 "We never met till yesterday," said she, calmly. 
 
 "True; and if we part to-morrow, it will be forever. I 
 feel too painfully," added he, with more eagerness, " how I 
 compromise all that I value by an avowal abrupt and rash as 
 this is ; but I have had no choice. I have been offered the 
 command of a native force in India, and must give my 
 answer at once. With hope — the very faintest, so that it 
 be hope — I will refuse. Remember I want no pledge, no 
 promise ; all I entreat is that you will regard me as one who 
 seeks to win your favor. Let time do the rest." 
 
 " I do not think I ought to do this — T do not know if you 
 should ask it." 
 
 "May I speak to your grandfather — may I tell him 
 what I have told you — may I say, ' It is with Josephine's 
 permission — ' " 
 
 " I am called Miss Barrington, sir, by all but those of my 
 
 own family." 
 
 " Forgive me, I entreat you," said he, with a deep 
 humility in his tone. " I had never so far forgotten myself 
 if calm reason had not deserted me. I will not transgress 
 
 again." 
 
 "This is the shortest way back to the cottage," said she, 
 turning into a narrow path in the wood. 
 
 "It does not lead to my hope," said he, despondingly ; 
 and no more was uttered between them for some paces. 
 
 "Do not walk so very fast. Miss Barrington," said he, in 
 a tone which trembled slightly. " In the few minutes — the 
 seconds you could accord me — I might build the whole for- 
 tune of my life. I have already endangered my hopes by 
 rashness ; let me own that it is the fault I have struggled 
 against in vain. This scar"— and he showed the deep 
 
A MOVE IN ADVANCE. 43 
 
 mark of a sabre-wound on the temple — ' '■ was the price of 
 one of my offendiugs ; but it was light in suffering to what I 
 am now enduring." 
 
 " Can we not talk of what will exact no such sacrifice? " 
 said she, calmly. 
 
 " Not now, not now ! " said he, with emotion ; "if you 
 pass that porch without giving me an answer, life has no 
 longer a tie for me. You know that I ask for no pledge, 
 no promise, merely time, — no more than time, — a few more 
 of those moments of which you now would seem eager 
 to deny me. Linger an instant here, I beseech you, and 
 remember that what to you may be a caprice may to me be 
 a destinj'." 
 
 " I will not hear more of this," said she, half angrily. 
 *'If it were not for my own foolish trustfulness, you never 
 would have dared to address such words to one whom you 
 met yesterday for the first time." 
 
 "It is true your generous frankness, the nature they 
 told me you inherited, gives me boldness, but it might teach 
 you to have some pity for a disposition akin to it. One 
 word, — only one word more." 
 
 " Not one, sir! The lesson my frankness has taught me 
 is, never to incur this peril again." 
 
 " Do you part from me in anger? " 
 
 "Not with you ; but I will not answer for myself if you 
 press me further." 
 
 " Even this much is better than despair," said he, mourn- 
 fully ; and she passed into the cottage, while he stood in 
 the porch and bowed respectfully as she went by. "Better 
 than I looked for, better than I could have hoped," muttered 
 he to himself, as he strolled away and disappeared in the 
 wood. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A CABINET COUNCIL. 
 
 "What do you think of it, Dinah?" said Barrington, as 
 they sat in conclave the next morning in her own sitting- 
 room. 
 
 She laid down a letter she had just finished reading on 
 the table, carefully folding it, like one trying to gain time 
 before she spoke: ''He's a clever man, and writes well, 
 Peter; there can be no second opinion upon that." 
 
 ''But his proposal, Dinah, — his proposal? " 
 
 " Pleases me less the more I think of it. There is great 
 disparity of age, — a wide discrepancy in character. A 
 certain gravity of demeanor would not be undesirable, 
 perhaps, in a husband for Josephine, who has her moments 
 of capricious fancy ; but if I mistake not, this man's nature 
 is stern and unbending." 
 
 "There will be time enough to consider all that, Dinah. 
 It is, in fact, to weigh well the chances of his fitness to 
 secure her happiness that he pleads ; he asks permission 
 to make himself known to her, rather than to make his 
 court." 
 
 "I used to fancy that they meant the same thing, — I 
 know that they did in my day, Peter," said she, bridling; 
 " but come to the plain question before us. So far as I 
 understand him, his position is this : ' If I satisfy you 
 that my rank and fortune are satisfactory to you, have I 
 your permission to come back here as your granddaughter's 
 Alitor?'" 
 
 " Not precisely, Dinah, — not exactly this. Here are his 
 words : ' I am well aware that I am much older than Miss 
 Barrington, and it is simply to ascertain from herself if, 
 in that disparity of years, there exists that disparity of 
 
A CABINET COUNCIL. 45 
 
 tastes and temper which would indispose her to regard me 
 as cue to whom she would intrust her happiness. I hope 
 to do this without any offence to her delicacy, though not 
 without peril to my own self-love. Have I your leave for 
 this experiment?'" 
 
 "Who is he? Who are his friends, connections, belong- 
 ings? What is his station independently of his military 
 rank, and what are his means? Can j^ou answer these 
 questions ? " 
 
 "Not one of them. I never found myself till to-day in a 
 position to inquire after them." 
 
 "Let us begin, then, by that investigation, Peter. There 
 is no such test of a man as to make him talk of himself. 
 With you alone the matter, perhaps, would not present much 
 diflBculty to him, but I intend that Mr. Withering's name 
 and my own shall be on the committee; and, take imj word 
 for it, we shall sift the evidence carefully." 
 
 "Bear in mind, sister Dinah, that this gentleman is, first 
 of all, our guest." 
 
 "The first of all that I mean to bear in mind is, that he 
 desires to be your grandson." 
 
 "Of course, — of course. I would only observe on the 
 reserve that should be maintained towards one who honors 
 us with his presence." 
 
 "Peter Barrington, the Arabs, from whom you seem to 
 borrow your notions on hospitality, seldom scruple about 
 cutting a guest's head off when he passes the threshold; 
 therefore I would advise you to adopt habits that may be 
 more suited to the land we live in." 
 
 "All I know is," said Barrington, rising and pacing the 
 room, "that I could no more put a gentleman under my roof 
 to the question as to his father and mother and his fortune, 
 than I could rifle his writing-desk and read his letters." 
 
 "Brother Peter, the weakness of your disposition has cost 
 you one of the finest estates in your country, and if it could 
 be restored to you to-morrow, the same imbecility would 
 forfeit it again. I will, however, take the matter into my 
 own hands." 
 
 "With Withering, I suppose, to assist you?" 
 
 "Certainly not. I am perfectly competent to make any 
 
46 BARRINGTON. 
 
 inquiry I deem requisite without a legal adviser. Perhaps, 
 were 1 to be so accompanied, Major Stapylton would sup- 
 pose that he, too, should appear with his lawyer." 
 
 Barrington smiled faintly at the dry jest, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 "I see," resumed she, "that you are very much afraid 
 about my want of tact and delicacy in this investigation. 
 It is a somewhat common belief amongst men that in all 
 matters of business women err on the score of hardness and 
 persistence. 1 have listened to some edifying homilies from 
 your friend AVithering on female incredulity and so forth, 
 — reproaches which will cease to apply when men shall 
 condescend to treat us as creatures accessible to reason, 
 and not as mere dupes. See who is knocking at the dooi', 
 Peter," added she, sharply. "I declare it recalls the old 
 days of our innkeeping, and Darby asking for the bill of 
 the lame gentleman in No. 4." 
 
 "Upon my life, they were pleasant da3's, too," said Bar- 
 rington, but in a tone so low as to be unheard by his sister. 
 
 " May I come in? " said Withering, as he opened the door 
 a few inches, and peeped inside. "I want to show you a 
 note I have just had from Kinshela, in Kilkenny." 
 
 "Yes, yes; come in," said Miss Barrington. "I only 
 wish you had arrived a little earlier. What is your note 
 about?" 
 
 "It's very short and very purpose-like. The first of it 
 is all about Brazier's costs, which it seems the taxing- 
 officer thinks fair and reasonable, — all excepting that 
 charge for the additional affidavits. But here is what I 
 want to show you. ' Major M'Cormick, of M'Cormick's 
 Grove, has just been here; and although I am not entitled 
 to say as much officially on his part, I entertain no doubt 
 whatever but that he is ready to advance the mone}' we 
 require. I spoke of fifteen hundred, but said twelve might 
 possibly be taken, and twelve would be, I imagine, his 
 limit, since he held to this amount in all our conversation 
 afterwards. He appears to be a man of strange and eccen- 
 tric habits, and these will probably be deemed a sufficient 
 excuse for the singular turn our interview took towards its 
 conclusion. I was speaking of Mr. Barrington's wish for 
 
A CABINET COUNCIL. 47 
 
 the insertion in the deed of a definite period for redemption, 
 and he stopped rue hastily with, ''What if we could strike 
 out another arrangement? What if he was to make a set- 
 tlement of the place ou his granddaughter? I am not too 
 old to marry, and I 'd give him the money at five per cent." 
 I have been careful to give you the very expressions he 
 employed, and of which I made a note when he left the 
 othce ; for although fully aware how improper it would be 
 in me to submit this proposal to Mr. Barrington, I have felt 
 it my duty to put you in possession of all that has passed 
 between us.' " 
 
 "How can you laugh, Peter Barrington? — how is it pos- 
 sible you can laugh at such an insult, — such an outrage as 
 this? Go on, sir," said she, turning to AVithering; "let 
 us hear it to the end, for nothing worse can remain behind." 
 
 "There is no more; at least, there is not auj'thing worth 
 hearing. Kinshela winds up with man}' apologies, and hopes 
 that I will only use his communication for my own guidance, 
 and not permit it in any case to prejudice him in your 
 estimation." As he spoke, he crumpled up the note in his 
 hand in some confusion. 
 
 "Who thinks of Mr. Kinshela, or wants to think of him, 
 in the matter?" said she, angrily. '"I wish, however, I 
 were a man for a couple of hours, to show Major M'Cormick 
 the estimate I take of the honor he intends us." 
 
 "After all, Dinah, it is not that he holds us more cheaply, 
 but rates himself higher." 
 
 "Just so," broke in Withering; "and I know, for my own 
 part, I have never been able to shake off the flatter}' of 
 being chosen by the most nefarious rascal to defend him on 
 his trial. Every man is a great creature in his own eyes." 
 
 "Well, sir, be proud of your client," said she, trembling 
 with anger. 
 
 "No, no, — he 's no client of mine, nor is this a case I 
 would plead for him. I read you Kinshela's note because 
 I thought you were building too confidently on M'Cormick's 
 readiness to advance this money." 
 
 " I understood what that readiness meant, though my 
 brother did not. M'Cormick looked forward to the day — 
 and not a very distant day did he deem it — when he should 
 
48 BAKKINGTON. 
 
 step into possession of this place, and settle down here as 
 its owner." 
 
 Baniugton's face grew pale, and a glassy tilm spread over 
 his eyes, as his sister's words sunk into his heart, "I 
 declare, Dinah," said he, falteringly, "that never did strike 
 me before." 
 
 " ' It never rains but it pours,' says the Irish adage," re- 
 sumed she. "My brother and I were just discussing 
 another proposal of the same kind when you knocked. 
 Read that letter. It is from a more adroit courtier than the 
 other, and, at least, he does n't preface his intentions with a 
 bargain." And she handed Stapylton's letter to Withering. 
 
 "Ah!" said the lawyer, "this is another guess sort of 
 man, and a very different sort of proposal." 
 
 "I suspected that he was a favorite of yours," said Miss 
 Dinah, significantly. 
 
 '■ Well, I own to it. He is one of those men who have a 
 great attraction for me, — men who come out of the conflict 
 of life and its interests without any exaggerated notions of 
 human perfectibility or the opposite, who recognize plenty 
 of good and no small share of bad in the world, but, on 
 the whole, are satisfied that, saving ill health, very few of 
 our calamities are not of our own providing." 
 
 "All of which is perfectly compatible with an odious 
 egotism, sir," said she, warmly; "but I feel proud to say 
 such characters find few admirers amongst women." 
 
 "From which I opine that he is not fortunate enough to 
 number Miss Dinah Barriugton amongst his supporters?" 
 
 " You are right there, sir. The prejudice I had against 
 him before we met has been strengthened since I have seen 
 him." 
 
 "It is candid of you, however, to call it a prejudice," said 
 he, with a smile. 
 
 "Be it so, Mr. Withering; but prejudice is only another 
 word for an instinct." 
 
 "I 'm afraid if we get into ethics we '11 forget all about the 
 proposal," said Barrington. 
 
 "What a sarcasm! " cried Withering, "that if we talk of 
 morals we shall ignore matrimony." 
 
 "I like the man, and I like his letter," said Barrington. 
 
A CABINET COUNCIL. 49 
 
 "I distrust both one and the other," said Miss Dinah. 
 "I almost fancy I could hold a brief on either side," in- 
 terposed Withering. 
 
 "Of course you could, sir; and if the choice were open 
 to you, it would be the defence of the guilty." 
 
 "My dear Miss Barriugton," said Withering, calmly, 
 "when a great legal authority once said that he only needed 
 three lines of any man's writing ' to hang him,' it ought to 
 make us very lenient in our construction of a letter. Now, 
 so far as I can see in this one before us, he neither asks nor 
 protests too much. He begs simply for time, he entreats 
 leave to draw a bill on your affections, and he promises to 
 meet it." 
 
 "Xo, sir, he wishes to draw at sight, though he has never 
 shown us the letter of credit." 
 
 " I vow to Heaven it is hopeless to expect anything prac- 
 tical when you two stand up together for a sparring-match," 
 cried Barriugton. 
 
 "Be practical, then, brother Peter, and ask this gentleman 
 to give you a quarter of an hour in your study. Find out 
 who he is; I don't expect you to learn what he is, but what 
 he has. With his fortune we shall get the clew to himself." 
 "Yes," chimed in Withering, "all that is very business- 
 like and reasonable." 
 
 "And it pledges us to nothing," added she. "We take 
 soundings, but we don't promise to anchor." 
 
 "If you go off again with your figures of speech, Dinah, 
 there is an end of me, for I have one of those unhappy 
 memories that retain the illustration and forget what it 
 typified. Besides this, here is a man who, out of pure good 
 nature and respect for poor George's memory, has been 
 doing us most important services, written letters innumer- 
 able, and taken the most active measures for our benefit. 
 What sort of a figure shall I present if I bring him to 
 book about his rental and the state of his bank account? " 
 
 "With the exercise of a little tact, Barriugton, — a little 
 management — " 
 
 "Ask a man with a club-foot to walk gingerly! I have 
 no more notion of getting at anything by address than I 
 have of tying the femoral artery." 
 
 VOL. n. — 4 
 
60 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "The more blunt the better, Peter Barrington. You may 
 tumble iato the truth, though you 'd never pick your way 
 into it. Meanwhile, leave me to deal with Major M'Cor- 
 mick." 
 
 "You'll do it courteously, Dinah; you'll bear in mind 
 that he is a neighbor of some twenty years' standing? " said 
 Barrington, in a voice of anxiety. 
 
 "I'll do it in a manner that shall satisfy my conscience 
 and his presumption." 
 
 She seated herself at the table as she said this, and dashed 
 off a few hasty lines. Indeed, so hurried was the action, 
 that it looked far more like one of those instances of corre- 
 spondence we see on the stage than an event of real life. 
 
 "Will that do? " said she, showing the lines to Withering. 
 
 The old lawyer read them over to himself, a faint twitch- 
 ing of the mouth being the only sign his face presented of 
 any emotion. "I should say admirably, — nothing better." 
 
 "May I see it, Dinah?" asked Peter. 
 
 "You shall hear it, brother," said she, taking the paper 
 and reading, — 
 
 " ' Miss Barrington informs Mr. Kinshela that if he does not at 
 once retract his epistle of this morning's date, she will place it in 
 the hands of her legal adviser, and proceed against it as a threaten- 
 ing letter.' " 
 
 "Oh, sister, you will not send this?" 
 
 "As sure as my name is Dinah Barrington." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN EXPRESS. 
 
 In the times before telegraphs, — and it is of such I am 
 writing, — a Iiurried express was a far more stirring event 
 than in these our days of incessant oracles. While, there- 
 fore, Barriugton and his sister and Withering sat in deep 
 consultation on Josephine's fate and future, a hasty sum- 
 mons arrived from Dublin, requiring the instantaneous 
 departure of Stapylton, whose regiment was urgently 
 needed in the north of England, at that time agitated by 
 those disturbances called the Bread Riots. They were 
 very formidable troubles, and when we look back upon 
 them now, with the light which the great events of later 
 years on the Continent afford us, seem more terrible still. 
 It was the fashion, however, then, to treat them lightly, and 
 talk of them contemptuously; and as Stapylton was eating 
 a hasty luncheon before departure, he sneered at the rabble, 
 and scoffed at the insolent pretension of their demands. 
 Neither Barrington nor Withering sympathized with the 
 spirit of the revolt, and yet each felt shocked at the tone 
 of haughty contempt Stapylton assumed towards the people. 
 "You'll see," cried he, rising, "how a couple of brisk 
 charges from our fellows will do more to bring these rascals 
 to reason than all the fine pledges of your Parliament folk; 
 and I promise you, for my own i)art, if I chance upon one 
 of their leaders, I mean to lay my mark on him." 
 
 "I fear, sir, it is your instinctive dislike to the plebeian 
 that moves you here," said Miss Dinah. "You will not 
 entertain the question whether these people may not have 
 some wrongs to complain of." 
 
 "Perhaps so, madam," said he; and his swarthy face 
 grew darker as he spoke. "I suppose this is the case where 
 
52 BARRINGTON. 
 
 the blood of a gentleman boils indignantly at the challenge 
 of the ainaille.'' 
 
 "I will not have a French word applied to our own 
 people, sir," said she, angrily. 
 
 ""Well said," chimed in Withering. "It is wonderful 
 how a phrase can seem to carry an argument along with it." 
 
 And old Peter smiled, and nodded his concurrence with 
 this speech. 
 
 "What a sad minority do I stand in!" said Stapylton, 
 with an effort to smile very far from successful. "Will not 
 Miss Josephine Barringtou have generosity enough to aid 
 the weaker side? " 
 
 "Not if it be the worst cause," interposed Dinah. "My 
 niece needs not to be told she must be just before she is 
 generous." 
 
 "Then it is to your own generosity I will appeal," said 
 Stapylton, turning to her; "and I will ask you to ascribe 
 some, at least, of my bitterness to the sorrow I feel at being 
 thus summoned away. Believe me it is no light matter to 
 leave this place and its company." 
 
 "But only for a season, and a very brief season too, I 
 trust," said Barrington. "You are going away in our debt, 
 remember." 
 
 "It is a loser's privilege, all the world over, to withdraw 
 when he has lost enough," said Stapylton, with a sad smile 
 towards Miss Dinah; and though the speech Avas made in 
 the hope it might elicit a contradiction, none came, and a 
 very awkward silence ensued. 
 
 "Youw^ill reach Dublin to-night, I suppose?" said With- 
 ering, to relieve the painful pause in the conversation. 
 
 "It will be late, — after midnight, perhaps." 
 
 "And embark the next morning?" 
 
 "Two of our squadrons have sailed already; the others 
 ■will, of course, follow to-morrow." 
 
 "And young Conyers," broke in Miss Dinah, — "he will, 
 I suppose, accompany this — what shall I call it? — this 
 raid?" 
 
 "Yes, madam. Am I to convey to him your compli- 
 ments upon the first opportunity to flesh his maiden 
 sword?" 
 
AN EXPRESS. 53 
 
 "You are to do nothing of the kind, sir; but tell him from 
 me not to forget that the angry passions of a starving mul- 
 titude are not to be confounded with the vindictive hate of 
 our natural enemies." 
 
 "Natural enemies, my dear Miss Barrington! I hope you 
 cannot mean that there exists anything so monstrous in 
 humanity as a natural enemy? " 
 
 "I do, sir; and I mean all those whose jealousy of us 
 ripens into hatred, and who would spill their heart's blood 
 to see us humbled. When there exists a people like this, 
 and who at every fresh outbreak of a war with us have car- 
 ried into the new contest all the bitter animosities of long 
 past struggles as debts to be liquidated, I call these natural 
 enemies ; and, if you prefer a shorter word for it, I call them 
 Frenchmen." 
 
 "Dinah, Dinah!" 
 
 "Peter, Peter! don't interrupt me. Major Stapylton 
 has thought to tax me with a blunder, but I accept it as a 
 boast!" 
 
 "Madam, I am proud to be vanquished by you," said 
 Stapylton, bowing low. 
 
 "And I trust, sir," said she, continuing her speech, and 
 as if heedless of his interruption, "that no similarity of 
 name will make you behave at Peterloo — if that be the 
 name — as though you were at Waterloo." 
 
 "Upon my life! " cried he, with a saucy laugh, "I don't 
 know how I am to win your good opinion, except it be by 
 tearing off my epaulettes, and putting myself at the head 
 of the mob." 
 
 "You know very little of my sister. Major Stapylton," 
 said Barrington, "or you would scarcely have selected that 
 mode of cultivating her favor." 
 
 "There is a popular belief that ladies always side with 
 the winning cause," said Stapylton, affecting a light and easy 
 manner; "so I must do my best to be successful. May I 
 hope I carry your good wishes away with me?" said he, in 
 a lower tone to Josephine. 
 
 "I hope that nobody will hurt you, and you hurt nobody," 
 said she, laughingly. 
 
 "And this, I take it, is about as much sympathy as ever 
 
64 BARRINGTON. 
 
 attends a man on such a campaign. Mr. Barriugtou, will 
 you grant me two minutes of conversation in your own 
 room?" And, with a bow of acquiescence, Barrington led 
 the way to his study. 
 
 "I ought to have anticipated your request, Major Stapyl- 
 ton," said Barrington, when they found themselves alone. 
 "I owe you a reply to your letter, but the simple fact is, I 
 do not know what answer to give it; for while most sensible 
 of the honor you intend us, 1 feel still there is much to be 
 explained on both sides. We know scarcely anything of each 
 other, and though I am conscious of the generosity which 
 prompts a man with yotir prospects and in ijour position to 
 ally himself with persons in ours, yet I owe it to myself to 
 say, it hangs upon a contingency to restore us to wealth and 
 station. Even a portion of what I claim from the East India 
 Company would make my granddaughter one of the richest 
 heiresses in p]ngland." 
 
 Stapylton gave a cold, a very cold smile, in reply to this 
 speech. It might mean that he was incredulous or indiffer- 
 ent, or it might imply that the issue was one which need not 
 have been introduced into the case at all. Whatever its 
 signification, Barrington felt hurt by it, and hastily said, — 
 
 "Not that I have any need to trouble you with these de- 
 tails: it is rather my province to ask for information 
 regarding your circumstances than to enter upon a discus- 
 sion of ours." 
 
 "I am quite ready to give you the very fullest and clear- 
 est, — I mean to yourself personally, or to your sister; for, 
 except where the lawyer intervenes of necessity and de droit, 
 I own that I resent his presence as an insult. I suppose 
 few of us are devoid of certain family circumstances which 
 it would be more agreeable to deal with in confidence; and 
 though, perhaps, I am as fortunate as most men in this 
 respect, there are one or two small matters on which I 
 would ask your attention. These, however, are neither 
 important nor pressing. My first care is to know, — and 
 I hope I am not peremptory in asking it, — have I your con- 
 sent to the proposition contained in my letter; am I at 
 liberty to address Miss Barrington?" 
 
 Barrington flushed deeply and fidgeted ; he arose and sat 
 
AN EXPRESS. 55 
 
 down again, — all his excitement only aggravated by the 
 well-bred composure of the other, who seemed utterly un- 
 conscious of the uneasiness he was causing. 
 
 "Don't you think, Major, that this is a case for a little 
 time to reflect, — that in a matter so momentous as this, a 
 few days at least are requisite for consideration ? "We ought 
 to ascertain something at least of my granddaughter's own 
 sentiments, — I mean, of course, in a general way. It 
 might be, too, that a day or two might give us some better 
 insight into her future prospects." 
 
 "Pardon my interrupting you; but, on the last point, I 
 am perfectly indifferent. Miss Barrington with half a prov- 
 ince for her dower, would be no more in my eyes than Miss 
 Barrington as she sat at breakfast this morning. Nor is 
 there anything of high-flown sentiment in this declaration, 
 as my means are sutliciently ample for all that I want or 
 care." 
 
 "There, at least, is one difficulty disposed of. You are 
 an eldest son? " said lie ; and he blushed at his own boldness 
 in making the inquiry. 
 
 " I am an only son." 
 
 "Easier again," said Barrington, trying to laugh off the 
 awkward moment. "No cuttmg down one's old timber to 
 pay off the provisions for younger brothers." 
 
 " In my case there is no need of this." 
 
 "And your father. Is he still living, Major Stapylton?" 
 
 "My father has been dead some years." 
 
 Barrington fldgeted again, fumbled with his watch-chain 
 and his eye-glass, and would have given more than he could 
 afford for any casualty that should cut short the interview. 
 He wanted to say, "What is the amount of your fortune? 
 "What is it? Where is it? Are you Wiltshire or Stafford- 
 shire? Who are your uncles and aunts, and your good 
 friends that you pray for, and whei-e do you pray for 
 them ? " A thousand questions of this sort arose in his 
 mind, one only more prying and impertinent than another. 
 He knew he ought to ask them ; he knew Dinah would have 
 asked them. Ay, and would have the answers to them as 
 plain and palpable as the replies to a life assurance circular ; 
 but he could n't do it. No ; not if his life depended on it. 
 
66 BARRIXGTON. 
 
 He had already gone further in his transgression of good 
 manners than it ever occurred to hiui before to do, and he 
 felt something between a holy inquisitor and a spy of the 
 police. 
 
 Stapylton looked at his watch, and gave a slight start. 
 
 " Later than you thought, eh?" cried Peter, overjoyed at 
 the diversion. 
 
 Stapylton smiled a cold assent, and put up his watch with- 
 out a word. He saw all the confusion and embarrassment 
 of the other, and made no effort to relieve him. At last, 
 but not until after a considerable pause, he said, — 
 
 "I believe, Mr. Barrington, — I hope, at least, — I have 
 satisfactorily answered the questions which, with every right 
 on your part, you have deemed proper to put to me. I can- 
 not but feel how painful the task has been to you, and I 
 regret it the more, since probably it has set a limit to inqui- 
 ries which you are perfectly justified in making, but w^hich 
 closer relations between us may make a matter far less for- 
 midable one of these daj's." 
 
 "Yes, yes, — just so; of course," said Barrington, hur- 
 riedly assenting to he knew not what. 
 
 "And I trust I take my leave of you with the understand- 
 ing that when we meet again, it shall be as in the commence- 
 ment of these pleasanter relations. I own to you I am the 
 more eager on this point, that I perceive your sister, Miss 
 Barrington, scarcely regards me very favorably', and I stand 
 the more in need of your alliance." 
 
 "I don't think it possible. Major Stapylton," said Bar- 
 rington, boldly, "that my sister and I could have two 
 opinions upon anything or anybody." 
 
 "Then I only ask that she may partake of yours on this 
 occasion," said Stapylton, bowing. " But I must start ; as 
 it is, I shall be very late in Dublin. Will you present my 
 most respectful adieux to the ladies, and say also a good- 
 bye for me to Mr. Withering?" 
 
 "You'll come in for a moment to the drawing-room, 
 won't you?" cried Barrington. 
 
 "I think not. I opine it would be better not. There 
 ■would be a certain awkwardness about it, — that is, until 
 you have informed Miss Dinah Barrington of the extent to 
 
AN EXPRESS. 57 
 
 which you have accorded me your confideuce, and how com' 
 pletely I have opened every detail of my circumstances. I 
 believe it would be in better taste not to present myself. 
 Tell Withering that if he writes, Manchester will find me. 
 I don't suspect he need give himself any more trouble about 
 establishing the proofs of marriage. They will scarcely 
 contest that point. The great question will and must be, to 
 ascertain if the Company will cease to oppose the claim on 
 being fully convinced that the letter to the Meer Busherat 
 was a forgery, and that no menace ever came fi-oni Colonel 
 Barringtou's hand as to the consequences of opposing his 
 rule. Get them to admit this, — let the issue rest upon this, 
 — and it will narrow the whole suit within manageable 
 limits." 
 
 "Would you not say this much to him before you go? 
 It would come with so much more force and clearness from 
 yourself." 
 
 " I have done so till I was wearied. Like a true lawyer, 
 he insists upon proving each step as he goes, and will not 
 condescend to a hypothetical conclusion, though I have told 
 him over and over again we want a settlement, not a victory. 
 Good-bye, good-bye ! If I once launch out into the cause, 
 I cannot tear mj^self away again." 
 
 " Has your guest gone, Peter? " said Miss Dinah, as her 
 brother re-entered the drawing-room. 
 
 "Yes; it was a hurried departure, and he had no great 
 heart for it, either. By the way. Withering, while it is 
 fresh in my head, let me tell you the message he has sent 
 you." 
 
 "Was there none for we, Peter?" said she, scofflngly. 
 
 " Ay, but there was, Dinah ! He left with me I know 
 not how many polite and charming things to say for 
 him." 
 
 "And am I alone forgotten in this wide dispensation of 
 favors?" asked Josephine, smiling. 
 
 "Of course not, dear," chimed in Miss Dinah. "Your 
 grandpapa has been charged with them all. You could not 
 expect a gentleman so naturally timid and bashful as our 
 late guest to utter them by his own lips." 
 
 "I see," said Withering, laughing, "that you have not 
 
58 BAR KINGTON. 
 
 forgiven the haughty aristocrat for his insolent estimate of 
 the people ! " 
 
 "He an aristocrat! Such bitter words as his never fell 
 from any man who had a grandfather ! " 
 
 " Wrong for once, Dinah," broke in Barrington. " I can 
 answer for it that you are unjust to him." 
 
 " We shall see." said she. " Come, Josephine, I have 
 a whole morning's work before me in the flower-garden, and 
 I want your help. Don't forget, Peter, that Major M'Cor- 
 mick's butler, or boatman, or bailifif, whichever he be, has 
 been up here with a present of seakale this morning. Give 
 him something as you pass the kitchen ; and you, Mr. 
 Withering, whose trade it is to read and unravel mysteries, 
 explain if you can the meaning of this unwonted generosity." 
 
 " I suppose we can all guess it," said he, laughing. " It's 
 a custom that begins in the East and goes round the whole 
 world till it reaches the vast prairie in the Far West." 
 
 "And what can that custom be, Aunt Dinah?" asked 
 Josephine, innocently. 
 
 "It's an ancient rite Mr. Withering speaks, of, child, 
 pertaining to the days when men offered sacrifices. Come 
 along ; I 'm going ! " 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CROSS-EXAMININGS. 
 
 "While Barrington and his lawyer sat in conclave over the 
 details of the great suit, Stapyltou hurried along his road 
 with all the speed he could summon. The way, which for 
 some miles led along the river-side, brought into view 
 M'Cormick's cottage, and the Major himself, as he stood 
 listlessly at his door. 
 
 Halting his carriage for a moment, Stapj'lton jumped out 
 and drew nigh the little quickset hedge which flanked the 
 road. 
 
 "What can I do for you in the neighborhood of Manches- 
 ter, Major? We are just ordered off there to ride down the 
 Radicals." 
 
 "I wish it was nearer home you were going to do it," said 
 he, crankil}'. "Look here," — and he pointed to some fresh- 
 turned earth, — "they were stealing my turnips last night." 
 
 "It would appear that these fellows in the North are 
 growing dangerous," said Stapj^lton. 
 
 " 'T is little matter to us," said M'Cormick, sulkily. 
 "I'd care more about a blight in the potatoes than for all 
 the politics in Europe." 
 
 "A genuine philosopher! How snug you are here, to be 
 sure! A man in a pleasant nook like this can well afford to 
 smile at the busy ambitions of the outer world. I take it 
 you are about the xevy happiest fellow I know?" 
 
 "Maybe I am, maybe I 'm not," said he, peevishly. 
 
 "This spot only wants what I hinted to you t' other even- 
 ing, to be perfection." 
 
 "Ay!" said the other, dryly. 
 
 "And you agree with me heartily, if you had the candor 
 to say it. Come, out with it, man, at once. I saw your 
 gardener this morning with a great basketful of greenery, 
 
60 HARRINGTON. 
 
 fliul a large bouquet ou the top of it, — are not these sig« 
 niticant sigus of a projected campaign? You are wrong, 
 Major, upon my life you are wrong, not to be frank with me. 
 I could, by a strange hazard, as the newspapers say, ' tell 
 you something to your advantage.' " 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 "About the very matter you were thinking of as I drove 
 up. Come, I will be more generous than j'ou deserve." 
 And, laying his arm on M'Cormick's shoulder, he half whis- 
 pered in his ear; "It is a good thing, — a deuced good 
 thing! and I promise you, if I were a marrying man, you 'd 
 have a competitor. I won't say she '11 have one of the great 
 fortunes people rave about, but it will be considerable, — 
 very considerable." 
 
 "How do you know, or what do you know? " 
 
 "I'll tell you in three words. How I know is, because I 
 have been the channel for certain inquiries they made in 
 India. "What I know is, the Directors are sick of the case, 
 they are sorely ashamed of it, and not a little uneasy lest it 
 should come before the public, perhaps before the Parlia- 
 ment. Old Barrington has made all negotiation difficult 
 by the extravagant pretensions he puts forward about 
 his son's honor, and so forth. If, however, the girl were 
 married, her husband would be the person to treat with, and 
 I am assured with him they would deal handsomely, even 
 generousl5^" 
 
 "And why would n't all this make a marrying man of you, 
 though you weren't before? " 
 
 "There 's a slight canonical objection, if you must know," 
 said Stapylton, with a smile. 
 
 "Oh, I perceive, — a wife already! In India, perhaps?" 
 
 "I have no time just now for a long story, M'Cormick," 
 said he, familiarh^ "nor am I quite certain I'd tell it if I 
 had. However, you know enough for all practical purposes, 
 and I repeat to you this is a stake I can't enter for, — you 
 understand me?" 
 
 "There's another thing, now," said M'Cormick; "and as 
 we are talking so freely together, there 's no harm in men- 
 tioning it. It 's only the other day, as I may call it, that 
 we met for the first time? " 
 
CROSS-EXAMININGS. 61 
 
 "Very true: when I was clown here at Cobham." 
 
 "And never heard of each other before?" 
 
 "Not to my knowledge, certainly." 
 
 "That being the case, I 'm curious to hear how you took 
 this wonderful interest in me. It wasn't anything in my 
 appearance, I 'm sure, nor m}' manner; and as to what you 'd 
 hear about me among those blackguards down here, there 's 
 nothing too bad to say of me." 
 
 "I'll be as frank as yourself," said Stapylton, boldly; 
 "you ask for candor, and you shall have it. I had n't talked 
 ten minutes with you till I saw that you were a thorough 
 man of the world; the true old soldier, who had seen enough 
 of life to know that whatever one gets for nothing in this 
 world is just worth nothing, and so I said to myself, ' If it 
 ever occurs to me to chance upon a good opportunity of 
 which I cannot from circumstances avail myself, there 's my 
 man. I'll go to him and say, "M'Cormick, that's open to 
 you, there 's a safe thing! " And when in return he 'd say, 
 "Stapylton, what can I do for you? " my answer would be, 
 "Wait till you are satisfied that I have done you a good 
 turn; be perfectly assured that I have really served you." 
 And then, if I wanted a loan of a thousand or fifteen hun- 
 dred to lodge for the Lieutenant-Colonelcy, I 'd not be 
 ashamed to say, "M'Cormick, let me have so much." ' " 
 
 "That's it, is it?" said M'Cormick, with a leer of in- 
 tense cunning. "Not a bad bargain for ?/o?<, anyhow. It 
 is not every day that a man can sell what is n't his own." 
 
 "I might say, it 's not every day that a man regards a 
 possible loan as a gift, but I 'm quite ready to reassure all 
 your fears on that score; I'll even pledge myself never to 
 borrow a shilling from you." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mean that; you took me up so quick," said 
 the old fellow, reddening with a sense of shame he had not 
 felt for many a year. "I may be as stingy as they call me, 
 but for all that I 'd stand to a man who stands to me." 
 
 "Between gentlemen and men of the world these things 
 are better left to a sense of an honorable understanding 
 than made matters of compact. There is no need of another 
 word on the matter. I shall be curious, however, to know 
 how your project speeds. Write to me, — you have plenty 
 
62 BARRINGTON. 
 
 of time, — and write often. I'm not unlikely to learn 
 Bometbing about the Indian claim, and if 1 do, you shall 
 hear of it." 
 
 "I'm not over good at pen and ink work; indeed, I 
 haven't much practice, but I'll do my best." 
 
 "Do, by all means. Tell me how you get on with Aunt 
 Dinah, who, I suspect, has no strong affection for either of 
 us. Don't be precipitate; hazard nothing by a rash step; 
 secure your way by intimacy, mere intimacy: avoid partic- 
 ular attentions strictly ; be always thei'e, and on some pre- 
 text or other — But why do I say all this to an old soldier, 
 who has made such sieges scores of times? " 
 
 "Well, I think I see my way clear enough," said the old 
 fellow, with a grin. "I wish I was as sure I knew why you 
 take such an interest in me." 
 
 "I believe I have told you already; I hope there is noth- 
 ing so strange in the assurance as to require corroboration. 
 Come, I must say good-bye; I meant to have said five 
 words to you, and I have stayed here five-and-twenty 
 minutes." 
 
 "Would n't you take something? — could n't I offer you 
 anything?" said M'Cormick, hesitatingly. 
 
 "Nothing, thanks. I lunched before I started; and al- 
 though old Dinah made several assaults upon me while I 
 ate, I managed to secure two cutlets and part of a grouse- 
 pie, and a rare glass of Madeira to wash them down." 
 
 "That old woman is dreadful, and I'll take her down a 
 peg yet, as sure as my name is Dan." 
 
 "No, don't, Major; don't do anything of the kind. The 
 people who tame tigers are sure to get scratched at last, and 
 nobody thanks them for their pains. Regard her as the 
 sailors do a fire-ship; give her a wide berth, and steer away 
 from her." 
 
 "Ay, but she sometimes gives chase." 
 
 "Strike your flag, then, if it must be; for, trust me, 
 you '11 not conquer her." 
 
 "We'll see, we'll see," muttered the old fellow, as he 
 waved his adieux, and then turned back into the house 
 again. 
 
 As Stapylton lay back in his carriage, he could not help 
 
CROSS-EXAMININGS. 63 
 
 muttering a malediction on the "dear friend" he had just 
 parted with. When the bourgeois gentilhomme objected to 
 his adversary pushing him en tierce while he attacked 
 him en quarte,, he was expressing a great social want, 
 applicable to those people who in conversation will persist 
 in saying many things which ought not to be uttered, and 
 expressing doubts and distrusts which, however it be rea- 
 sonable to feel, are an outrage to avow. 
 
 "The old fox," said Stapylton, aloud, "taunted me with 
 selling what did not belong to me; but he never suspects 
 that I have bought something without paying for it, and 
 that something himself! Yes, the mock siege he will lay to 
 the fortress will occupy the garrison till it suits me to open 
 the real attack, and I will make use of him, besides, to learn 
 whatever goes on in my absence. How the old fellow swal- 
 lowed the bait! What self-esteem there must be in such a 
 rugged nature, to make him imagine he could be successful 
 in a cause like this! He is, after all, a clumsy agent to 
 trust one's interest to. If the choice had been given me, 
 I 'd far rather have had a woman to watch over them. Polly 
 Dill, for instance, the very girl to understand such a mis- 
 sion well. How adroitly would she have played the game, 
 and how clearly would her letters have shown me the exact j 
 state of events ! " 
 
 Such were the texts of his musings as he drove along, and 
 deep as were his thoughts, they never withdrew him, when 
 the emergency called, from attention to every detail of the 
 journey, and he scrutinized the post-horses as they were 
 led out, and apportioned the rewards to the postilions as 
 though no heavier care lay on his heart than the road and 
 its belongings. While he rolled thus smoothly along, Peter 
 Barringtou had been summoned to his sister's presence, to 
 narrate in full all that he had asked, and all that he had 
 learned of Stapylton and his fortunes. 
 
 Miss Dinah was seated in a deep armchair, behind a 
 formidable embroidery-frame, — a thing so complex and 
 mysterious in form as to suggest an implement of torture. 
 At a short distance off sat Withering, with pen, ink, and 
 paper before him, as if to set down any details of unusual 
 importance; and into this ' imposing presence poor Bar- 
 
64 BARRINGTON. 
 
 ringtoii entered with a woful sense of misgiving and 
 humiliation. 
 
 "We have got a quiet moment at last, Peter," said Miss 
 Barringtou. "I have sent the girls over to Brown's Barn 
 for the tulip-roots, and 1 have told Darby that if any visi- 
 tors came they were to be informed we were particularly 
 occupied by business, and could see no one." 
 
 'Must so," added Withering; "it is a case before the 
 Judge in Chamber." 
 
 "But what have we got to hear?" asked Barrington, with 
 an air of innocence. 
 
 "We have got to hear your report, brother Peter; the 
 narrative of your late conversation with Major JStapylton; 
 given, as nearly as your memory will serve, in the exact 
 words and in the precise order everything occurred." 
 
 "October the twenty-third," said Withering, writing as 
 he spoke; "minute of interview between P. B. and Major 
 S. Taken on the same morning it occurred, with remarks 
 and observations explanatory." 
 
 "Begin," said Dinah, imperiously, while she worked 
 away without lifting her head. "And avoid, so far as 
 possible, anything beyond the precise expression employed." 
 
 "But you don't suppose I took notes in shorthand of what 
 we said to each other, do you? " 
 
 "I certainly suppose you can have retained in your mem- 
 ory a conversation that took place two hours ago," said 
 Miss Dinah, sternly. 
 
 "And can relate it circumstantially and clearly," added 
 Withering. 
 
 "Then I'm very sorry to disappoint you, but I can do 
 nothing of the kind." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that you had no interview with 
 Major Stapylton, Peter?" 
 
 "Or that you have forgotten all about it?" said With- 
 ering. 
 
 "Or is it that you have taken a pledge of secrecy, brother 
 Peter?" 
 
 "No, no, no! It is simply this, that though I retain a 
 pretty fair general impression of what I said myself, and 
 what he said afterwards, I could no more pretend to recount 
 
CROSS-EXAMININGS. 65 
 
 it accurately than I could say off by heart a scene in ' Romeo 
 and Juliet.' " 
 
 "Why don't you take the ' Comedy of Errors' for your 
 illustration, Peter Barriugton? I ask you, Mr. Withering, 
 have you in all your experience met anything like this? " 
 
 "It would go hard with a man in the witness-box to make 
 such a declaration, I must say." 
 
 "What would a jury think of, what would a judge say to 
 him?" said she, using the most formidable of all penalties 
 to her brother's imagination. "Wouldn't the court tell 
 him that he would be compelled to speak out? " 
 
 "They'd have it out on the cross-examination, at all 
 events, if not on the direct." 
 
 "In the name of confusion, what do you want with me?" 
 exclaimed Peter, in despair, 
 
 "We want everything, — everything that you heard about 
 this man. Who he is, what he is; what by the father's 
 side, what by the mother's; what are his means, and where; 
 who knows him, who are his associates. Bear in mind that 
 to us, here, he has dropped out of the clouds." 
 
 "And gone back there too," added Withering. 
 
 "I wish to Heaven he had taken me with him!" sighed 
 Peter, drearily. 
 
 "I think in this case, Miss Barrington," said Withering, 
 with a well-affected gravity, "we had better withdraw a 
 juror, and accept a nonsuit." 
 
 "I have done with it altogether," said she, gathering up 
 her worsted and her needles, and preparing to leave the 
 room. 
 
 "My dear Dinah," said Barrington, entreatingly, "ima- 
 gine a man as wanting in tact as I am, — and as timid, too, 
 about giving casual offence, — conducting such an inquiry 
 as you committed to my hands. Fancy how, at every 
 attempt to obtain information, his own boldness, I might 
 call it rudeness, stared him in the face, till at last, rather 
 than push his investigations, he grew puzzled how to apolo- 
 gize for his prying curiosity." 
 
 "Brother, brother, this is too bad! It had been better to 
 have thought more of your granddaughter's fate and less of 
 your own feelings." And with this she flounced out of the 
 
 VOL. II. — 5 
 
66 BARRINGTON. 
 
 room, upsetting a spider-table, and a case of stuffed birds 
 that stood on it, as she passed. 
 
 "I don't doubt but she's right, Tom," said Peter, when 
 the door closed. 
 
 "Did he not tell you who he was, and what his fortune? 
 Did you really learn nothing from him?" 
 
 "He told me everything; and if I had not been so 
 cruelly badgered, I could have repeated every word of it; 
 but you never made a hound true to the scent by flogging 
 him, Tom, — is n't that a fact, eh? " And consoled by an 
 illustration that seemed so pat to his case, he took his hat 
 and strolled out into the garden. 
 
I 
 
 iOiA&y^y. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 GENERAL CONYERS. 
 
 In a snug little room of the Old Ship Hotel, at Dover, a 
 large, heavy man, with suow-white hair, and moustaches, 
 — the latter less common in those days than the present, — 
 sat at table with a younger one, so like him that no doubt 
 could have existed as to their being father and son. They 
 had dined, and were sitting over their wine, talking occa- 
 sionally, but oftener looking fondly and affectionately at 
 each other ; and once, by an instinct of sudden love, grasp- 
 ing each other's hand, and sitting thus several minutes with- 
 out a word on either side. 
 
 "You did not expect me before to-morrow, Fred," said 
 the old man, at last. 
 
 "No, father," replied young Conyers. "I saw by the 
 newspapers that you were to dine at the Tuileries on Tues- 
 day, and I thought you would not quit Paris the same 
 evening." 
 
 "Yes; I started the moment I took off my uniform. I 
 wanted to be with you, my boy; and the royal politeness 
 that detained me was anything but a favor. How you have 
 grown, Fred, — almost my own height, I believe." 
 
 "The more like you the better," said the youth, as his 
 eyes ran over, and the old man turned away to hide his 
 emotion. 
 
 After a moment he said: "How strange you should not 
 have got my letters, Fred ; but, after all, it is just as well as 
 it is. I wrote in a very angry spirit, and was less just than 
 a little cool reflection might have made me. They made no 
 charges against me, though I thought they had. There were 
 grumblings and discontents, and such-like. They called 
 
68 BARKINGTON. 
 
 iiie a Rajah, and raked up all tbe old stories tbej' used to 
 circulate once on a time about a far better fellow — " 
 
 "You mean Colonel Harrington, don't you?" said Fred. 
 
 "Where or how did you hear of that name? " said the old 
 man, almost sternly. 
 
 "An accident made me the guest of his family, at a little 
 cottage they live in on an Irish river. I passed weeks 
 there, and, through the favor of the name I bore, I received 
 more kindness than I ever before met in life." 
 
 "And they knew you to be a Conyers, and to be my 
 son ? " 
 
 "It was Colonel Barriugton's aunt was my hostess, and 
 she it was who, on hearing my name, admitted me at once 
 to all the privileges of old friendship. She told me of the 
 close companionship which once subsisted between you and 
 her nephew, and gave me rolls of his letters to read wherein 
 every line spoke of you." 
 
 "And Mr. Barrington, the father of George, how did he 
 receive you?" 
 
 "At first with such coolness that I could n't bring myself 
 to recross his threshold. He had been away from home 
 when I arrived, and the day of his return I was unexpect- 
 edly presented to him by his sister, who evidently was as 
 unprepared as myself for the reception I met with." 
 
 "And what was that reception, — how was it? Tell me 
 all as it happened." 
 
 "It was the affair of a moment. Miss Barrington intro- 
 duced me, saying, ' This is the son of poor George's dearest 
 friend, — this is a Conyers; ' and the old man faltered, and 
 seemed like to faint, and after a moment stammered out 
 something about an honor he had never counted upon, — a 
 visit he scarcely could have hoped for; and, indeed, so over- 
 come was he that he staggered into the house only to take 
 to his bed, where he la}' seriously ill for several days after." 
 
 "Poor fellow! It was hard to forgive, — very hard." 
 
 "Ay, but he has forgiven it — whatever it was — heartily, 
 and wholly forgiven it. We met afterwards by a chance in 
 Germany, and while I was hesitating how to avoid a repeti- 
 tion of the painful scene which marked our first meeting, he 
 came manfully towards me with his hand out, and said, 
 
GENERAL CONYERS. 69 
 
 • I have a forgiveness to beg of 3'ou ; and if you only know 
 how I long to obtain it, you would scarce say me no. ' " 
 
 "The worthy father of poor George! I think I hear him 
 speak the very words himself. Go on, Fred, — go on, and 
 tell me further." 
 
 "There is no more to tell, sir, unless I speak of all the 
 affectionate kindness he has shown, — the trustfulness and 
 honor with which he has treated me. I have been in his 
 house like his own sou." 
 
 "Ah! if you had known that sou! If you had seen what 
 a type of a soldier he was! The most intrepid, the boldest 
 fellow that ever breathed; but with a heart of childlike sim- 
 plicity and gentleness. I could tell you traits of him, of 
 his forbearance, his forgiveness, his generous devotion to 
 friendship, that would seem to bespeak a nature that had 
 no room for other than soft and tender emotion ; and yet, 
 if ever there was a lion's heart within a man's bosom it 
 was his." For a moment or two the old man seemed over- 
 come by his recollections, and then, as if by an effort, rally- 
 ing himself, he went on: "You have often heard the adage, 
 Fred, that enjoins watching one's pennies and leaving the 
 pounds to take care of themselves; and yet, trust me, the 
 maxim is truer as applied to our morals than our money. 
 It is by the smaller, finer, and least important traits of a 
 man that his fate in life is fashioned. The caprices we take 
 no pains to curb, the tempers we leave unchecked, the petty 
 indulgences we extend to our vanity and self-love, — these 
 are the great sands that wreck us far oftener than the more 
 stern and formidable features of our character. I ought to 
 know this truth ; I myself lost the best and truest and the 
 noblest friend that ever man had, just from the exercise of 
 a spirit of bantering and ridicule which amused those about 
 me, and gave me that pre-eminence which a sarcastic and 
 witty spirit is sure to assert. You know already how 
 George Barrington and I lived together like brothers. I do 
 not believe two men ever existed more thoroughly and sin- 
 cerely attached to each other. All the contrarieties of our 
 dispositions sers^ed but to heighten the interest that linked 
 us together. As for myself, I was never wearied in explor- 
 ing the strange recesses of that great nature that seemed to 
 
70 BARKINGTON. 
 
 unite all that could be daring and dashing in man with the 
 tenderness of a woman. 1 believe I knew him far better 
 than he knew himself. But to come to what I wanted to tell 
 you, and which is an agony to me to dwell on. Though for 
 a long while our close friendship was known in the regi- 
 ment, and spoken of as a thing incapable of change, a sort 
 of rumor — no, not even a rumor, but an impression — 
 seemed to gain, that the ties between" us were looser on my 
 side than his; that George looked up to me, and thatl, with 
 the pride of a certain superiority, rather lorded it over him. 
 This feeling became painfully strengthened when it got about 
 that Barrington had lent me the greater part of the 
 purchase-money for my troop, — a promotion, by the way, 
 which barred his own advancement, — and it was whispered, 
 so at least I heard, that Barrington was a mere child in 
 my hands, whom I rebuked or rewarded at pleasure. If I 
 could have traced these rumors to any direct source, I could 
 have known how to deal with them. As it was, they were 
 vague, shadowy, and unreal; and their very unsubstantiality 
 maddened me the more. To have told George of them 
 would have been rasher still. The thought of a wrong done 
 to me would have driven him beyond all reason, and he 
 would infallibly have compromised himself beyond recall. 
 It was the very first time in my life I had a secret from 
 him, and it eat into my heart like a virulent disease. The 
 consciousness that I was watched, the feeling that eyes were 
 upon me marking all I did, and tongues were commenting 
 on all I said, exasperated me, and at one moment I would 
 parade my friendship for Barrington in a sort of spirit of 
 defiance, and at another, as though to give the lie to my 
 slanderers, treat him with indifference and carelessness, as 
 it were, to show that I was not bound to him by the weight 
 of a direct obligation, and that our relations involved 
 nothing of dependence. It was when, by some cruel mis- 
 chance, I had been pursuing this spirit to its extreme, that 
 the conversation one night at mess turned upon sport and 
 tiger-hunting. Many stories were told, of course, and we 
 had the usual narratives of hairbreadth escapes and perils 
 of the most appalling kind; till, at length, some one — I 
 forget exactly who it was — narrated a single-handed 
 
GENERAL COXYERS. 71 
 
 encounter with a jaguar, which in horror exceeded anything 
 we had heard before. The details were alone not so terrible, 
 but the circumstances so marvellous, that one and all who 
 listened cried out, ' Who did it? ' 
 
 " ' The man who told me the tale,' replied the narrator, 
 ' and who will probably be back to relate it here to you in a 
 few days, — Colonel Barringtou. ' 
 
 "I have told you the devilish spirit which had me in pos- 
 session. I have already said that I was in one of those 
 moods of insolent mockery in which nothing was sacred to 
 me. No sooner, then, did I hear Barriugton's name than I 
 burst into a hearty laugh, and said, ' Oh! if it was one of 
 George Barringtou's tigers, you ought to have mentioned 
 that fact at the outset. You have been exciting our feel- 
 ings unfairly.' 
 
 " ' I assume that his statement was true,' said the other, 
 gravely. 
 
 " ' Doubtless; just as battle-pieces are true, that is, pic- 
 torially true. The tiger did nothing that a tiger ought not 
 to do, nor did George transgress any of those "unities" 
 which such combats require. At the same time, Barring- 
 ton's stories have always a something about them that 
 stamps the authorship, and you recognize this trait just as 
 you do a white horse in a picture by Wouvermans.' 
 
 "In this strain I went on, heated by my own warmed 
 imagination, and the approving laughter of those around 
 me. I recounted more than one feat of Barringtou's, — 
 things which I knew he had done, some of them almost 
 incredible in boldness. These I told with many a humorous 
 addition and many an absurd commentary, convulsing 
 the listeners with laughter, and rendering my friend 
 ridiculous. 
 
 "He came back from the hills within the week, and before 
 he was two hours in his quarters he had heard the whole 
 story. We were at luncheon in the mess-room when he 
 entered, flushed and excited, but far more moved by emo- 
 tion than resentment. 
 
 " ' Ormsby,' said he, ' you may laugh at me to your heart's 
 content and I'll never grumble at it; but there are some 
 young officers here who, not knowing the ties that attach us, 
 
72 BARRINGTON. 
 
 may fancy that these quizzings pass the limits of mere 
 drollery, and even jeopardize something of my truthfulness. 
 You, 1 know, never meant this any more than I have felt it, 
 but others might, and might, besides, on leaving this and 
 sitting at other tables, repeat what they had heard here. 
 Tell them that you spoke of me as you have a free right to 
 do, in jest, and that your ridicule was the good-humored 
 banter of a friend, — of a friend who never did, never could, 
 impugn my honor. ' 
 
 "His eyes were swimming over, and his lips trembling, 
 as he uttered the last words. I see him now, as he stood 
 there, bis very cheek shaking in agitation. That brave, 
 bold fellow, who would have marched up to a battery with- 
 out quailing, shook like a sickly girl. 
 
 " ' Am I to say that you never draw the long-bow, 
 George?' asked I, half insolently. 
 
 " ' You are to say, sir, that I never told a lie,' cried he, 
 dark with passion. 
 
 " ' Oh, this discussion will be better carried on else- 
 where,' said I, as 1 arose and left the room. 
 
 " As I was in the wrong, totally in the wrong, I was pas- 
 sionate and headstrong. I sat down and wrote a most inso- 
 lent letter to Barrington. I turned all the self-hate that 
 was consuming rne against my friend, and said I know not 
 what of outrage and insult. I did worse ; I took a copy of 
 my letter, and declared that I would read it to the officers in 
 the mess-room. He sent a friend to me to beg I would not 
 take this course of open insult. My answer was, ' Colonel 
 Barrington knows his remedy.' When I sent this message, 
 I prepared for what I felt certain would follow. I knew 
 Barrington so well that I thought even the delay of an hour, 
 then two hours, strange. At length evening drew nigh, 
 and, though I sat waiting in my quarters, no one came from 
 him, — not a letter nor a line apprised me what course he 
 meant to take. 
 
 "Not caring to meet the mess at such a moment, I ordered 
 my horses and drove up to a small station about twenty 
 miles off, leaving word where I was to be found. I passed 
 three days there in a state of fevered expectancy. Barring- 
 ton made no sign, and, at length, racked and distressed by 
 
GENERAL CONYERS. 73 
 
 the conflict with myself, — now summoning up an insolent 
 spirit of defiance to the whole world, now humbling myself 
 in a consciousness of the evil line 1 had adopted, — I re- 
 turned one night to my quarters. The first news that 
 greeted me was that Barrington had left us. He had 
 accepted the offer of a Native command which had been 
 made to him some months before, and of which we had often 
 canvassed together all the advantages and disadvantages. 
 I heard that he had written two letters to me before he 
 started, and torn them up after they were sealed. I never 
 heard from him, never saw him more, till I saw his dead 
 body carried into camp the morning he fell. 
 
 "I must get to the end of this quickl3% Fred, and I will 
 tell you all at once, for it is a theme I will never go back 
 on. I came to England with despatches about two years 
 after Barrington's death. It was a hurried visit, for I was 
 ordered to hold myself in readiness to return almost as soon 
 as I arrived. I was greatly occupied, going about from 
 place to place, and person to person, so many great people 
 desired to have a verbal account of what was doing in India, 
 and to hear confidentially what I thought of matters there. 
 In the midst of the mass of letters which the post brought 
 me every morning, and through which, without the aid of 
 an officer on the staff, I could never have got through, there 
 came one whose singular address struck me. It was to 
 'Captain Ormsby Conyers, 22d Light Dragoons,' a rank I 
 had held fourteen years before that time in that same regi- 
 ment. I opined at once that my correspondent must have 
 been one who had known me at that time and not followed 
 me in the interval. I was right. It was from old Mr. 
 Barrington, — George Barrington's father. What version 
 of my quarrel with his son could have reached him, I can- 
 not even guess, nor by what light he read my conduct in the 
 affair; but such a letter I never read in my life. It was a 
 challenge to meet him anywhere, and with any weapon, but 
 couched in language so insulting as to impugn my courage, 
 and hint that I would probably shelter myself behind the 
 pretext of his advanced age. ' But remember,' said he, ' if 
 God has permitted me to be an old man, it is you who have 
 made me a childless one! ' ^ 
 
74 BARRINGTON. 
 
 For a few seconds he i)aused, overcome by emotion, and 
 then went on: "I sat down and wrote him a letter of contri- 
 tion, almost abject in its terms. I entreated him to believe 
 that for every wrong I had done his noble-hearted son, my 
 own conscience had repaid me in misery ten times told; 
 that if he deemed my self-condemnation insutficient, it was 
 open to him to add to it whatever he wished of obloquy or 
 shame; that if he proclaimed me a coward before the world, 
 and degraded me in the ey.es of men, I would not offer one 
 word in my defence. I cannot repeat all that I said in my 
 deep humiliation. His answer came at last, one single line, 
 re-enclosing my own letter to me: ' Lest I should be tempted 
 to make use of this letter, I send it back to you; there is no 
 need of more between us.' 
 
 "With this our intercourse ceased. When a correspond- 
 ence was published in the ' Harrington Inquiry,' as it was 
 called, I half hoped he would have noticed some letters of 
 mine about George; but he never did, and in his silence I 
 thought I read his continued unforgiveness." 
 
 "I hope, father, that you never believed the charges that 
 were made against Captain Barrington?" 
 
 "Not one of them; disloj-alty was no more his than 
 cowardice. I never knew the Englishman with such a pride 
 of country as he had, nor could j'ou have held out a greater 
 bribe to him, for any achievement of peril, than to say, 
 * What a gain it would be for England! ' " 
 
 "How was it that such a man should have had a host of 
 enemies? " 
 
 "Nothing so natural. Barrington was the most diffident 
 of men; his bashfulness amounted to actual pain. With 
 strangers, this made him cold to very sternness, or, as is 
 often seen in the effort to conquer a natural defect, gave 
 him a manner of over-easy confidence that looked like imper- 
 tinence. And thus the man who would not have wounded 
 the self-love of the meanest beggar, got the reputation of 
 being haughty, insolent, and oppressive. Besides this, 
 when he was in the right, and felt himself so, he took no 
 pains to convince others of the fact. His maxim was, — 
 have T not heard it from his lips scores of times, — 'The 
 end will show.' " 
 
GENERAL CONYERS. 75 
 
 "And yet the end will uot show, father; his fame has not 
 been vindicated, nor his character cleared." 
 
 "In some measure the fault of those who took up his 
 cause. They seemed less to insist on reparation than 
 punishment. They did not say, ' Do justice to this man's 
 memor}' ; ' but, ' Come forward and owu you wronged him, 
 and broke his heart.' Now, the accusation brought against 
 George Barriugton of assuming sovereign power was not 
 settled by his death ; his relatives forgot this, or merged it 
 in their own charge against the Compan}-. They misman- 
 aged everything." 
 
 '• Is it too late to put them on the right track, father; or 
 could you do it?" asked the youth, eagerly. 
 
 " It is not too late, boy ! There is time for it yet. There 
 is, however, one condition necessary, and I do not see how 
 that is to be secured." 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 " I should see Mr. Barrington and confer with him alone ; 
 he must admit me to his confidence, and I own to you, I 
 scarcely deem that possible." 
 
 " May I try — may I attempt this? " 
 
 "I do not like to refuse you, Fred: but if I say Yes, it 
 will be to include you in my own defeated hopes. For many 
 a year Mr. Barrington has refused to give one sign of his 
 forgiveness ; for in his treatment of you I only recognize the 
 honorable feeling of exempting the son from the penalty 
 due to the father. But perhaps defeat is better than self- 
 reproach, and as I have a strong conviction I could serve 
 him, I am ready to risk a failure." 
 
 "I may make the attempt, then?" said Fred, eagerly. 
 " I will write to Miss Barrington to-day." 
 
 " And now of yourself. What of your career? How do 
 you like soldiering, boy?" 
 
 "Less than ever, sir; it is only within the last week or 
 two that we have seen anything beyond barrack or parade 
 duty. Now, however, we have been called to repress what 
 are called risings in the northern shires ; and our task has 
 been to ride at large unarmed mobs and charge down 
 masses, whose grape-shot are brickbats. Not a very glori- 
 ous campaign ! " 
 
76 BARRINGTON. 
 
 The old man smiled, but said nothing for a moment. 
 
 " Your colonel is on leave, is he not?" asked he. 
 
 *' Yes. We are commanded by that Major Stapylton I 
 told you of." 
 
 " A smart officer, but no friend of yours, Fred," said the 
 General, smiling. 
 
 "No, sir; certainly no friend of mine," said the young 
 man, resolutely. " To refuse me a week's leave to go and 
 meet my father, whom I have not seen for years, and, when 
 pressed, to accord me four days, is to disgust me with him- 
 self and the service together." 
 
 " "Well, as you cannot be my guest, Fred, I will be yours. 
 I '11 go back with you to headquarters. Stapylton is a name 
 I used to be familiar with long ago. It may turn out that I 
 know his family; but let us talk of Barrington. I have 
 been thinking it would be better not to link any question of 
 his own interests with my desire to meet him, but simply to 
 say I 'm in England, and wish to know if he would receive 
 me. 
 
 " It shall be as you wish, sir. I will write to his sister by 
 this post." 
 
 "And after one day in town, Fred, I am ready to accom- 
 pany you anywhere." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MAJOR M'CORMICK's LETTER. 
 
 As it was not often that Major M'Cormick performed the 
 part of a letter-writer, perhaps my reader will pardon me 
 if I place him before him on one of these rare occasions. 
 If success would always respond to labor, his would have 
 been a real triumph ; for the effort cost him many days, two 
 sleepless nights, a headache, and half a quire of paper. 
 
 Had not Stapylton retained him by an admirably selected 
 hamper of good things from a celebrated Italian warehouse 
 in the Strand, I am afraid that M'Cormick's zeal might have 
 cooled down to the zero of forgetfulness ; but the reindeer 
 hams and the Yarmouth bloaters, the potted shrimps and the 
 preserved guavas, were an appeal that addressed themselves 
 to that organ which with him paid the double debt of diges- 
 tion and emotion. He felt that such a correspondent was 
 worth a sacrifice, and he made it. That my reader may 
 appreciate the cost of the achievement, I would have him 
 imagine how a mason about to build a wall should be 
 obliged to examine each stone before he laid it, test its 
 constituent qualities, its shape and its size, — for it was thus 
 that almost every word occasioned the Major a reference to 
 the dictionary, spelling not having been cultivated in his 
 youth, nor much practised in his riper years. Graces of 
 style, however, troubled him little ; and, to recur to my 
 figure of the stone-mason, if he was embarrassed in his search 
 for the materials, he cared wonderfully little for the archi- 
 tecture. His letter ran thus, and the reader will perceive 
 that it must have been written some weeks after the events 
 recorded in the last chapter : — 
 
 " Mac's Nest, October, Thursday. 
 
 "Dear S., — A touch of my old Walcheren complaint Las laid 
 me up since Tuesday, and if the shakes make me illegible now. 
 
78 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 that 's the reason why. ISej'ides this the weather is dreadful ; cold 
 eat't winds and rains, sometimes sleet, every day; and the turf so 
 wet, it 's only smoke, not fire. I believe it is the worst climate in 
 Europe, and it gets wetter every year. 
 
 " 'llie hamper eanie to hand, i)ut though it was marked ' Carriage 
 paid, tliis side up,' they upset it and Lruke two bottles, and charged 
 seven and fourpence-halfpeuny for the bringing it, which is, I think, 
 enormous; at least, Tim llacket got over a tlirashing-machine from 
 iScotland last spring for twelve and four, and there 's no comparison 
 between the two. Thanks to you, however, all the same ; but if you 
 can get any of this charge reduced, so much the better, not to speak • 
 of the bottles, — both mixed pickles — which they ought to make 
 good. 
 
 " I am glad to see you are touching up the Radicals in the North ; 
 powder and ball will do more to bring them to reason than spouting 
 in Parliament. The papers say there was nine killed and twenty- 
 three wounded; and one fellow, the 'Stockport Bee,' says, that 'if 
 tlie Butcher that led the dragoons is n't turned out of the service with 
 disgrace no gentleman will degrade himself by entering the army.' 
 Isn't the Butcher yourself? Miss Barrington, always your friend, 
 says it is; and that if the account of another paper, called the 
 ' ^^gis,' be true, you '11 have to go to a court-martial. I stood 
 stoutly to you through it all. and declared that when the niggers was 
 Tip at Jamaica, we had n't time to take the names of the prisoners, 
 and we always cut one of their ears off to know them again. Old 
 Peter laughed till the tears ran down his face, but Dinah said, ' If 
 I did not suppose, sir, that you were inventing a very graceless joke, 
 I \1 insist on your leaving this room and this house on the instant.' 
 It was ten o'clock at night, and raining hard ; so you may guess I 
 cave in. Bad as she is, the young one is her equal, and I gave up 
 all thoughts of what you call ' prosecuting my suit ' in that quarter. 
 She isn't even commonly civil to me, and when I ask her for, 
 maybe, the mustard at dinner, she turns away her head, and says, 
 ' Darby, give Major ]\PCormick the salt.' That's French politeness, 
 perhaps; but I'll pay them all off yet, for they can't get sixpence 
 on the mortgage, and I 'm only drinking out that bin of old ]\Iadeira 
 before I tell them that I won't advance the money. Why should I? 
 The women treat me worse than a dog, and old B. is neither more 
 nor loss than a fool. Dill, the doctor, however be got it, says it 's 
 all up about the suit with the India Company ; that there 's no proof 
 of the Colonel's marriage at all. that the charges against him were 
 never cleared up, and that nothing can come out of it but more dis- 
 grace and more exposure. 
 
 " I wish you'd send me the correct account of what took place 
 between you and one of your suhalterns, for old Dinah keeps harp- 
 
MAJOR MCORMICK'S LETTER. .9 
 
 in? on it in a sort of mysterious and mischievous way of her own, 
 that provokes me. AVas it that be refused to obey orders, or that 
 you, as she says, used such language towards bim that he wrote to 
 report you ? Give it to me in black and white, and maybe I won't 
 try her temper with it. At all events, make out some sort of a case, 
 for the old woman is now intolerable. She said yesterday, ' Major 
 Stapvlton, to whom I write by this post, will see that bis visit here 
 must" be preceded by an explanation.' There's her words for you, 
 and I hope you like them ! 
 
 " I think you are right to be in no hurry about purchasing, for 
 many say the whole system will be changed soon, and the money 
 would be* clean thrown away. Besides this, I have been looking 
 over mv bank-book, and I find I could n't help you just now. Two 
 bad harvests, and the smut in the wheat last year, are running me 
 mighty close. I won't finish this till to-morrow, for I 'm going to 
 dine at 'The Home' to-day. It is the granddaughter's birthday, 
 and there was a regular shindy about who was going to be asked. 
 Old Peter was for a grand celebration, and inviting the Admiral, 
 and the Gores, and God knows who besides ; and Dinah was for 
 what she called a family party, consisting, I suppose, of herself and 
 Darby. I 'II be able, before I close this, to tell you how it was 
 ended ; for I only know now that Dill and his daughter are to be 
 there. 
 
 " Wednesday. — I sit down with a murdering headache to finish 
 this letter. Maybe it was the pickled lobster, or the ice punch, or 
 the other drink they called champagne-cup that did it. But I never 
 passed such a night since T was in the trenches, and I am shaking 
 still, so that T can scarce hold the pen. It was a grand dinner, to 
 be sure, for ruined people to give. Venison from Carrick Woods, 
 and game of every kind, with all kinds of wine; and my Lord Car- 
 rickmore talking to Miss Dinah, and the Admiral following up with 
 the niece, and Tom Brabazon, and Dean of Deanspark, and the 
 devil knows who besides, bringing up the rear, with Dill and your 
 obedient servant. Every dish that came in, and every bottle that 
 was uncorked, I said to myself, ' There goes another strap on the 
 property: ' and I felt as if we were eating the trees and the timber 
 and the meadows all the time at table. 
 
 "It's little of the same sympathy troubled the others. My Lord 
 was as jolly as if he was dining with the King; and old Cobham 
 called for more of the Madeira, as if it was an inn; and Peter him- 
 self — the heartless old fool — when he got up to thank the company 
 for drinking his granddaughter's health, said, ' May I trust that 
 even at my advanced age this may not be the last time I may have 
 to speak my gratitude to you all for the generous warmth with which 
 vou have pledged this toast; but even should it be so, I shall carry 
 
80 BAR KINGTON. 
 
 away with me from this evenin;i;'s happiness a glow of pleasure that 
 will animate me to the last. It was only this morning I learned 
 what 1 know you will all hear with satisfaction, that there is every 
 probability of a speedy arrangement of my long-pending suit with 
 the Company, and that my child here will soon have her own again.' 
 Grand applause and huzzas, with a noise that drowned ' Bother ! ' 
 from myself, and in the middle of the row up jumps the Admiral, 
 and cries out, ' Three cheers more for the Kajah's daughter ! ' I 
 thought the old roof would come down ; and the blackguards in the 
 kitchen took up the cry and shouted like mad, and then we yelled 
 again, and this went on for majbe five minutes. ' What does it all 
 mean,' says I, ' but a cheer for the Court of Bankruptcy, and Hip, 
 hip, hurray ! for the Marshalsea Prison ! ' After that, he had half 
 an hour or more of flatteries and compliments. ISIy Lord was so 
 happy, and Peter Barrington so proud, and the Admiral so delighted, 
 and the rest of us so much honored, that I could n't stand it any 
 longer, but stole away, and got into the garden, to taste a little fresh 
 air and quietness. I had n't gone ten paces, when I came plump 
 upon Miss Dinah, taking her coffee under a tree. ' You are a 
 deserter, I fear, sir,' said she, in her own snappish way; so I 
 thought I "d pay her off, and I said, ' To tell you the truth, Miss 
 Barrington, at our time of life these sort of things are more full of 
 sadness than pleasure. We know how hollow they are, and how 
 little heart there is in the cheers of the people that are so jolly over 
 your wine, but would n't stop to talk to you when you came down to 
 water ! ' 
 
 " 'The worse we think of the world. Major M'Cormick,' says she, 
 * the more risk we run of making ourselves mean enough to suit it." 
 
 " ' I don't suspect, ma'am,' says I, ' that when people have known 
 it so long as you and I, that they are greatly in love with it.* 
 
 '" They may, however, be mannerly in their dealings with it, sir,' 
 said she, fiercely; and so we drew the game, and settled the men 
 for another battle. 
 
 " ' Is there anything new, ma'am ? ' says I, after a while. 
 
 " ' T believe not, sir. The bread riots still continue in the North, 
 where what would seem the needless severity of some of the military 
 commanders has only exasperated the people. You have heard, 
 I suppose, of Major Stapylton's business ? ' 
 
 *' ' Xot a word, ma'am,' says I ; ' for I never see a paper.' 
 
 " 'I know very little of the matter myself,' says she. 'It was, it 
 would appear, at some night assemblage at a place called Lund's 
 Common. A young officer sent forward by Major Stapylton to dis- 
 perse the people, was so struck by the destitution and misery he 
 witnessed, and the respectful attitude they exhibited, that he hesi- 
 tated about employing force, and restricted himself to counsels of 
 
MAJOR M'CORMICK'S LETTER. 81 
 
 quietness and submission. He did more, — not perhaps very pru- 
 dently, as some would say, — he actually emptied his pockets of all 
 the money he had, giving even his watch to aid the starving horde 
 before him. What precise version of his conduct reached his 
 superior, I cannot say; but certainly Major Stapylton commented 
 on it in terms of the harshest severity, and he even hinted at a 
 reason for the forbearance too offensive for any soldier to endure.' 
 
 " She did not seem exactly to know what followed after this, but 
 some sort of inquiry appeared to take place, and witnesses were 
 examined as to what really occurred at Lund's Common ; and 
 amongst others, a Lascar, who was one of the factory hands, — 
 having come to England a great many years before with an officer 
 from India. This fellow's evidence was greatly in favor of young 
 Conyers, and was subjected to a very severe cross-examination from 
 yourself, in the middle of which he said something in Hindostanee 
 that nobody in the court understood but you ; and after this he was 
 soon dismissed and the case closed for that day. 
 
 '" What do you think. Major M'Cormick,' said she, 'but when the 
 coui't of incjuiry opened the next morning, Lal-Adeen, the Lascar, 
 was not to be found high or low. The court have suspended their 
 sittings to search for him ; but only one opinion prevails, — that 
 Major Stapylton knows more of this man's escape than he is likely 
 to tell.' I have taken great pains to give you her own very words 
 in all this business, and I wrote them down the moment I got home, 
 for I thought to myself you "d maybe write about the matter to old 
 Peter, and you ought to be prepared for the way they look at it ; 
 the more because Miss Dinah has a liking for young Conyers, — 
 what she calls a motherly affection ; but I don't believe in the 
 motherly part of it ! But of course you care very httle what the 
 people here say about you at all. At least, I know it would n't 
 trouble me much, if I was in your place. At all events, whatever 
 you do, do with a high hand, and the Horse Guards is sure to stand 
 to you. Moderation may be an elegant thing in civil life, but I 
 never knew it succeed in the army. There 's the rain coming on 
 again, and I just sent out six cars to the bog for turf; so I must 
 conclude, and remain, yours sincerely, 
 
 "Daniel T. M'Cormick. 
 
 " I 'm thinking of foreclosing the small mortgage I hold on ' The 
 Home.' but as they pay the interest regularly, five • per cent, I 
 would n't do it if I knew things were going on reasonably well with 
 them ; send mc a line about wiiat is doing regarding the ' claim,' and 
 it will guide me." 
 
 While Major M'Cormick awaited the answer to his post- 
 
 VOL. II. — 6 
 
82 BARRINGTON. 
 
 script, which to him — as to a lady — was the important 
 part of his letter, a short note arrived at ' The Home ' from 
 Mr. Withering, enclosing a letter he had just received from 
 Major Stapylton. Withering's communication was in answer 
 to one from Barrington, and ran thus : — 
 
 " Dear B., — All things considered, I believe you are right in 
 not receiving General Conyers at this moment. It would probably, 
 as you suspect, enable calumnious people to say that you could 
 make your resentments jilay second when they came in the way of 
 your interests. If matters go on well, as I have every hope they 
 will, you can make the amende to him more sati.«factorily and more 
 gracefully hereafter. Buxton has at length consented to bring the 
 case before the House ; of course it will not go to a division, nor, if 
 it did, could it be carried ; but the discussion will excite interest, the 
 Press will take it up, and after a few regretful and half-civil ex- 
 pressions from the Ministry, the India Board will see the necessity 
 of an arrangement. 
 
 " It is somewhat unfortunate and mal a propos that Stapylton 
 should at this moment have got into an angry collision with young 
 Conyers. I have not followed the case closely, but, as usual in such 
 things, they seem each of them in the wrong, — the young sub want- 
 ing to make his generous sympathy supply the place of military 
 obedience, and the old officer enforcing discipline at the cost of very 
 harsh language. I learn this morning that Conyers has sold out, 
 intending to demand a personal satisfaction. You will see by S.'s 
 letter that he scarcely alludes to this part of the transaction at all. 
 S. feels very painfully the attacks of the Press, and sees, perhaps, 
 more forcibly than I should in his place, the necessity of an exchange. 
 Read attentively the portion I have underlined." 
 
 It is to this alone I have to direct my readers' attention, 
 the first two sides of the letter being entirely filled with 
 details about the "claim": — 
 
 " ' The newspapers have kept me before you for some days back, 
 much more, I doubt not, to their readers' amusement than to my 
 own gratification. I could, if T pleased, have told these slanderers 
 that i did not charge a crowd of women and children, — that I did 
 not cut down an elderly man at his own door-sill, — that I did not 
 use language " offensive and unbecoming " to one of my officers, for 
 his having remonstrated in the name of humanity against the cruelty 
 of my orders. In a word, I mifrht have shown the contemptible 
 scribblers that I knew how to temper duty with discretion, as I shall 
 
MAJOR M'CORMICK'S LETTER. 83 
 
 know how, when the occasion offers, to make the punishment of a 
 calumniator a terror to his colleagues. However, there is a very 
 absurd story going about of a fellow whose insolence I certainly did 
 reply to with the flat of my sabre, and whom I should be but too 
 happy to punish legally, if he could be apprehended. That he made 
 his escape after being captured, and that I connived at or assisted 
 in it, — I forget which, — you have probably heard. In fact, there 
 is nothing too incredible to say of me for the moment ; and what 
 is worse, I begin to suspect that the Home Secretary, having 
 rather burned his fingers in the business, will not be very sorry to 
 make an Admiral Byng of a Major of Hussars. For each and all 
 these reasons 1 mean to exchange, and, if possible, into a regiment in 
 India. This will, of course, take some time ; meanwhile, I have 
 asked for and obtained some months' leave. You will be surprised 
 at my troubling you with so much of purely personal matters, but 
 they are the necessary preface to what I now come. You are aware 
 of the letter I wrote some time back to IMr. Barrington, and the 
 request it jjreferred. If the reply I received was not discouraging, 
 neither was it conclusive. The ordinary commonplaces as to the 
 shortness of our acquaintance, the want of sufficient knowledge of 
 each other's tastes, characters, &c., were duly dwelt upon; but I 
 could not at the end say, was I an accepted or a rejected suitor. 
 Now that the critical moment of my life draws nigh, — for such I 
 feel the present emergency, — an act of confidence in me would have 
 more than double value. Can you tell me that this is the sentiment 
 felt towards me, or am I to learn that the yells of a rabble have 
 drowned the voices of my friends ? In plain words, will jNIiss 
 Josephine Barrington accept my offer? Will she intrust her hap- 
 piness to my keeping, and change the darkest shadow that ever 
 lowered over my life into a gleam of unspeakable brightness? You 
 have given me too many proofs of a friendly disposition towards me, 
 not to make me feel that you are the best fitted to bring this negoti- 
 ation to a good issue. If I do not mistake you much, you look with 
 favor on my suit and wish it success. I am ashamed to say how 
 deeply my hopes have jeopardized my future happiness, but I tell 
 you frankly life has no such prize to my ambition, nor, in fact, any 
 such alternative of despair before me.' 
 
 "Now, my dear Barrington," continued Withering's letter. " there 
 is a great deal in this that I like, and something with which I am not 
 so much pleased. If, however, I am not the Major's advocate to the 
 extent he asks, or expects me, it is because I feel that to be unjustly 
 dealt with is a stronger claim on your heart than that of an}^ other 
 man I ever met with, and the real danger here would be that you 
 should suffer that feeling to predominate over all others. Consult 
 your granddaughter's interests, if you can, independently of this; 
 
84 BARRINGTON. 
 
 reflect well if the plan be one likely to promise her happiness. Take 
 your sensible, clear-headed sister into your counsels ; but, alwve all, 
 ascertain Josephine's own sentiments, and do nothing in direct oj)- 
 position to them." 
 
 " There, Dinah," said Barriugton, placing the letter in 
 her hands, " this is as much to your address as to mine. 
 Read it over carefully, and you'll find me in the garden 
 when you have done." 
 
 Miss Barriugton laid down her great roll of worsted 
 work, and began her task without a word. She had not 
 proceeded very far, however, when Josephine entered in 
 search of a book. " I beg pardon, aunt, if I derange 
 you." 
 
 " We say disturb, or inconvenience, in English, Miss Bar- 
 riugton. What is it you are looking for? " 
 
 " The ' Legend of Montrose,' aunt. I am so much amused 
 by that Major Dalgetty that I can think of nothing but 
 him." 
 
 "Umph!" muttered the old lady. "It was of a char- 
 acter not altogether dissimilar I was thinkiug myself 
 at that moment. Sit down here, child, and let me talk 
 to you. This letter that I hold here, Josephine, concerns 
 
 "Me, aunt — concerns me? And who on earth could 
 have written a letter in which I am interested ? " 
 
 " You shall hear it." She coughed only once or twice, 
 and then went on : "It's a proposal of marriage, — no less. 
 That gallant soldier who left us so lately has fallen in love 
 with 3'ou, — so he says, and of course he knows best. He 
 seems fully aware that, being older than you, and graver 
 in temperament, his offer must come heralded with certain 
 expressions almost apologetic ; but he deals with the matter 
 skilfully, and tells us that being well off as regards fortune, 
 of good blood, and with fair prospects before him, he does 
 not wish to regard his suit as hopeless. Your grandfather 
 was minded to learn how you might feel disposed to accept 
 his addresses by observing your demeanor, by watching 
 what emotion mention of him might occasion, by seeing how 
 far you felt interested in his good or ill repute. I did not 
 agree with him. I am never for the long road when there 
 
MAJOR M'CORMICK'S LETTER. 85 
 
 is a short one, and therefore I mean to let you hear his 
 letter. This is what he writes." "While Miss Dinah read 
 the extract which the reader has just seen, she never 
 noticed, or, if noticed, never attended to, the agitation in 
 her niece's manner, or seemed to remark that from a deep 
 crimson at first her cheeks grew pale as death, and her lips 
 tremulous. " There, child," said Miss Dinah, as she finished 
 — ' ' there are his own words ; very ardent words, but withal 
 respectful. AVhat do you think of them, — of them and 
 of him? " 
 
 Josephine hung down her head, and with her hands firmly 
 clasped together, she sat for a few moments so motionless 
 that she seemed scarcely to breathe. 
 
 "Would you like to thiuk over this before you speak of 
 it, Josephine? Would you like to take this letter to your 
 room and ponder over it alone ? " 
 
 No answer came but a low, half-subdued sigh. 
 
 "If you do not wish to make a confidante of me, Jose- 
 phine, I am sorry for it, but not offended." 
 
 "No, no, aunt, it is not that," burst she in; "it is to 
 yoii and you alone, I wish to speak, and I will be as candid 
 as yourself. I am not surprised at the contents of this 
 letter. I mean, I was in a measure prepai-ed for them." 
 
 "That is to say, child, that he paid you certain atten- 
 tions?" 
 
 She nodded assent. 
 
 "And how did you receive them? Did you let him un- 
 derstand that you were not indifferent to him, — that his 
 addresses were agreeable to you?" 
 
 Another, but shorter, nod replied to this question. 
 
 "I must confess," said the old lady, bridling up, "all 
 this amazes me greatly. Wh}', child, it is but the other day 
 you met each other for the first time. How, when, and 
 where you found time for such relations as you speak of, I 
 cannot, imagine. Do you mean to tell me, Josephine, that 
 you ever talked alone together?" 
 
 "Constantly, aunt! " 
 
 "Constantly!" 
 
 " Yes, aunt. We talked a great deal together." 
 
 " But how, child, — where?" 
 
86 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "Here, aunt, as we used to stroll together every morniug 
 through the wood or in the garden ; then as we went on 
 the river or to the waterfall." 
 
 "I can comprehend nothing of all this, Josephine. I 
 know you mean to deal openly with me ; so say at once, 
 bow did this intimacy ^begin? " 
 
 " I can scarcely say how, aunt, because I believe we 
 drifted into it. We used to talk a great deal of ourselves, 
 and at length we grew to talk of each other, — of our likings 
 and dislikings, our tastes and our tempers. And these did 
 not always agree ! " 
 
 " Indeed! " 
 
 "No, aunt," said she, with a heavy sigh. "We quar- 
 relled very often ; and once, — I shall not easily forget it, 
 — once seriously." 
 
 " What was it about? " 
 
 " It was about India, aunt ; and he was in the wrong, and 
 had to own it afterwards and ask pardon." 
 
 " He must know much more of that country than you, 
 child. How came it that you presumed to set up your 
 opinion against his?" 
 
 "The presumption was his," said she, haughtily. "He 
 spoke of his father's position as something the same as my 
 father's. He talked of him as a Rajah ! " 
 
 " I did not know that he spoke of his father," said Miss 
 Dinah, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Oh, he spoke much of him. He told me, amongst other 
 things, how he had been a dear friend of papa's ; that as 
 young men they lived together like brothers, and never were 
 separate till the fortune of life divided them." 
 
 " What is all this I am listening to? Of whom are you 
 telling me, Josephine ? " 
 
 " Of Fred, Aunt Dinah ; of Fred, of course." 
 
 " Do you mean 3'oung Conyers, child? " 
 
 *'Yes. How could I mean any other ? " • 
 
 " Ta, ta, ta! " said the old lady, drumming with her heel 
 on the floor and her fingers on the table. " It has all turned 
 out as I said it would ! Peter, Peter, will you never be 
 taught wisdom? Listen to me, child!" said she, turning 
 almost sternly towards Josephine. " We have been at 
 
MAJOR M'CORMICK'S LETTER. 87 
 
 cross-purposes with each other all this time. This letter 
 which I have just read for you — " She stopped suddenly 
 as she reached thus far, and after a second's pause, said, 
 "Wait for me here; I will be back presently. I have a 
 word to say to your grandfather." 
 
 Leaving poor Josephine in a state of trepidation and be- 
 wilderment, — ashamed at the confession she had just made, 
 and trembling with a vague sense of some danger that 
 impended over her, — Miss Dinah hurried away to the 
 garden. 
 
 "Here's a new sort of worm got into the celery, Dinah," 
 said he, as she came up, "and a most destructive fellow 
 he is. He looks like a mere ruffling of the leaf, and you 'd 
 never suspect him." 
 
 "It is your peculiarity never to suspect anything, brother 
 Peter, even after you have had warning of peril. Do 
 you remember my telling you, when we were up the Rhine, 
 what would come of that intimacy between Conyers and 
 Josephine ? " 
 
 " I think I do," said he, making what seemed an effort 
 of memory. 
 
 "And can you recall the indolent slipshod answer you 
 made me about it? But of course you cannot. It was an 
 old-maid's apprehensions, and you forgot the whole thing. 
 "Well, Peter, I was right and you were wrong." 
 
 "Not the first time that the double event has come off 
 so ! " said he, smiling. 
 
 "You are too fond of that cloak of humility, Peter 
 Barrington. The plea of Guilty never saved any one from 
 transportation ! " "Waiting a moment to recover her breath 
 after this burst of passion, she went on : " After I had read 
 that letter you gave me, I spoke to Josephine ; I told her in 
 a few words how it referred to her, and frankly asked her 
 what she thought of it. She was very candid and very open, 
 and, I must say, also very collected and composed. Young 
 ladies of the present day possess that inestimable advantage 
 over their predecessors. Their emotions do not overpower 
 them." This was the second time of "blowing off the 
 steam," and she had to wait a moment to rally. " She told 
 me, frankly, that she was not unprepared for such an offer; 
 
88 BARRINGTON. 
 
 that tender passages had ah-eady been exchanged between 
 them. The usual tomfoolery, 1 conclude, — that supreme 
 effort of selfishness people call love, — in a word, Peter, she 
 was in no wise disinclined to the proposal ; the onl}' misfor- 
 tune was, she believed it came from young Conyers." 
 
 Barrington would have laughed, and laughed heartily, if 
 he dared. As it was, the effort to restrain himself sent the 
 blood to his head, and made his eyes run over. 
 
 " You may well blush, Peter Barrington," said she, shak- 
 ing her finger at him. "It's all your own doing." 
 
 " And when you undeceived her, Dinah, what did she 
 say?" 
 
 "I have not done so yet; but my impression is that so 
 susceptible a young lady should find no great difficult}' in 
 transferring her affections. For the present I mean to limit 
 myself to declaring that this offer is not from Conyers ; if 
 she has curiosity to know the writer, she shall learn it. I 
 always had my doubts about these convents ! Bread and 
 water diet makes more epicures than abstinents ! " 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 INTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. 
 
 Miss Barrington, with Josephine at oue side and Polly Dill 
 on the other, sat at work in her little room that opened on 
 the garden. Each was engaged in some peculiar task, and 
 each seemed bent upon her labor in that preoccupied way 
 which would imply that the cares of needlework make no 
 mean call upon human faculties. A close observer would, 
 however, have remarked that though Miss Barrington stitched 
 vigorously away at the background for a fierce tiger with 
 measly spots over him, Polly, seemed oftener to contemplate 
 than continue her handiwork ; while Josephine's looks strayed 
 constantly from the delicate tracery she was following, to the 
 garden, where the roses blended with the jasmine, and the 
 drooping honeysuckles hung listlessly over the boughs of the 
 apple-tree. 
 
 " If 3'our work wearies you, Fifine," said Miss Dinah, 
 "you had better read for us." 
 
 " Oh no, not at all, aunt ; I like it immensely. I was 
 only wondering why one should devise such impossible foli- 
 age, when we have the real thing before us, in all its grace 
 and beauty." 
 
 " Humph ! " said the old lady ; "the sight of a real tiger 
 would not put me out of countenance with my own." 
 
 "It certainly ought not, ma'am," said Polly; while she 
 added, in a faint whisper, '•' for there is assuredly no rivalry 
 in the case." 
 
 "Perhaps Miss Dill is not too absorbed in her study of 
 nature, as applied to needlework, to read out the news- 
 paper." 
 
 " I will do it with pleasure, ma'am. Where shall I 
 begin?" 
 
90 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " Deaths and marriages first, of course, child. Then 
 fashion and varieties ; take the accidents afterwards, and 
 close with anything remarkable iu politics, or any disastrous 
 occurrence in high life." 
 
 Polly obeyed to the letter ; once only straying into an 
 animated account of a run with the Springfield fox-hounds, 
 where three riders out of a large Held came in at the death ; 
 when Miss Dinah stopped her abruptly, saying, " I don't 
 care for the obituary of a fox, young lady. Go on with 
 something else." 
 
 '' Will you have the recent tragedy at Ring's End, 
 ma'am?" 
 
 '' I know it by heart. Is there nothing new in the 
 fashions, — how are bonnets worn? What's the latest 
 sleeve? What's the color in vogue?" 
 
 " A delicate blue, ma'am ; a little off the sky, and on the 
 hyacinth." 
 
 "Very becoming to fair people," said Miss Dinah, with 
 a shake of her blond ringlets. 
 
 " ' The Prince's Hussars ! ' Would you like to hear about 
 them^ ma'am? " 
 
 " By all means." 
 
 "It's a very short paragraph. 'The internal troubles 
 of this unhappy regiment would seem to be never ending. 
 We last week informed our readers that a young subaltern 
 of the corps, the son of one of our most distinguished 
 generals, had thrown up his commission and repaired to 
 the Continent, to enable him to demand a personal satis- 
 faction from his commanding officer, and we now learn that 
 the Major in question is precluded from accepting the gage 
 of battle by something stronger than military etiquette.' " 
 
 " Read it again, child; that vile newspaper slang always 
 puzzles me." 
 
 Polly recited the passage in a clear and distinct voice. 
 
 " What do you understand by it, Polly? " 
 
 "I take it to mean nothing, madam. One of those 
 stirring pieces of intelligence which excites curiosity, and 
 are no more expected to be explained than a bad riddle." 
 
 " It cannot surely be that he shelters himself under his 
 position towards us ? That I conclude is hardly possible ! " 
 
INTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. 91 
 
 Though Miss Barriugton said this as a reflection, she 
 addressed herself ahuost directly to Josephine. 
 
 " As far as I am concerned, aunt," answered Josephine, 
 promptly, " the Major may fight the monster of the Dracheu- 
 fels to-morrow, if he wishes it." 
 
 *• Oh, here is another mystery apparently on the same 
 subject. ' The Lascar, Lal-Adeen, whom our readers will 
 remember as having figured in a police-court a few days 
 back, and was remanded till the condition of his wound — 
 a severe sabre-cut on the scalp — should permit his further 
 examination, and on the same night made his escape from 
 the hospital, has once again, and very unexpectedly, turned 
 up at Boulogne-sur-Mer. His arrival in this country — some 
 say voluntarily, others under a warrant issued for his appre- 
 hension — will probably take place to-day or to-morrow, and, 
 if report speak truly, be followed by some of the most 
 singular confessions which the public has heard for a long 
 time back.' ' The Post ' contradicts the statement, and 
 declares ' no such person has ever been examined before the 
 magistrate, if he even have any existence at all.' " 
 
 "•And what interest has all this for us ?" asked Miss 
 Dinah, sharply. 
 
 "You do not forget, ma'am, that this is the same man 
 Major Stapylton was said to have wounded ; and whose 
 escape scandal hinted he had connived at, and who now 
 ' does not exist.' " 
 
 '• I declare Miss Dill, I remember no such thing; but it 
 appears to me that Major Stapylton occupies a very consider- 
 able space in your own thoughts." 
 
 "I fancy Polly likes him, aunt," said Josephine, with a 
 slight smile. 
 
 " Well, I will own he interests me ; there is about him a 
 mysterious something that says, ' I have more in my head 
 and on my heart than you think of, and more, perhaps, 
 than you could carry if the burden were yours.' " 
 
 "A galley-slave might say the same. Miss Dill." 
 
 "Xo doubt of it, ma'am; and if there be men who mix 
 in the great world, and dine at grand houses, with something 
 of the galley-slave on their conscience, they assuredly im- 
 press us with an amount of fear that is half a homage. One 
 
92 BARRINGTON. 
 
 dreads them as he does a tiger, but the terror is mingled 
 with admiration." 
 
 "This is nonsense, young lady, and baneful nonsense, 
 too, begotten of French novels and a sickly sentimentality. 
 I hope Fifine despises it as heartily as I do." The passion- 
 ate wrath which she displayed extended to the materials of 
 her work basket, and while rolls of worsted were upset 
 here, needles were thrown there; and at last, pushing her 
 embroidery-frame rudely away, she arose and left the 
 room. 
 
 "Dearest Polly, how could you be so indiscreet! You 
 know, far better than I do, how little patience she has with 
 a paradox." 
 
 "My sweet Fifine," said the other, in a low whisper, "I 
 was dying to get rid of her, and I knew there was only one 
 way of effecting it. You may remark that whenever she 
 gets into a rage, she rushes out into the flower-garden, and 
 walks round and round till she 's ready to drop. There she 
 is already; you may gauge her anger by the number of 
 her revolutions in a minute." 
 
 "But why did you wish her away, Polly?" 
 
 "I'll tell you why; that is, there is a charming French 
 word for what I mean, the verb ' agacer, ' all untranslatable 
 as it is. Now there are moments when a person working in 
 the same room — reading, writing, looking out of the win- 
 dow — becomes an insupportable infliction. You reason, 
 and say, ' How absurd, how childish, how ungenerous,' and 
 so forth. It won't do; for as you look round he is there 
 still, and by his mere presence keeps up the ferment in your 
 thoughts. You fancy, at last, that he stands between you 
 and your inner self, a witness that won't let your own con- 
 science whisper to you, and you come in the end to hate him. 
 Your dear aunt was on the high-road to this goal, when I 
 bethought me of my expedient! And now we are all alone, 
 dearest, make me a confession." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "You do not like Major Stapylton?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "And you do like somebody else?" 
 
 "Perhaps," said she, slowly, and dividing the syllables 
 as she spoke them. 
 
INTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. 93 
 
 "That being the ease, and seeing, as you do, that your 
 aunt is entirel}^ of your own mind, at least as to the man 
 you do not care for, why don't you declare as much frankly 
 to your grandfather, and break off the negotiation at 
 once?" 
 
 "Just because that dear old grandpapa asked me not to 
 be precipitate, not to be rash. He did not tell me that I 
 must love Major Stapylton, or must marry him ; but he said, 
 ' If you only knew, Fifine, what a change in our fortune 
 would come of a change in your feelings; if you could but 
 imagine, child, how the whole journey of life might be 
 rendered easier, all because you took the right-hand road 
 instead of the left; if you could guess these things, and 
 what might follow them — ' " She stopped. 
 
 '"Well, go on." 
 
 "No. I have said all that he said; he kissed my cheek 
 as he got thus far, and hurried away from the room." 
 
 "And you, like a sweet, obedient child, hastened away to 
 yours; wrote a farewell, a heart-broken farewell, to Fred 
 Conyers ; and solemnly swore to your own conscience you 'd 
 marry a man you disliked. These are the sort of sacrifices 
 the world has a high admiration for; but do you know, 
 Fifine, the world limps a little in its morality sometimes, 
 and is not one-half the fine creature it thinks itself. For 
 instance, in the midst of all its enthusiasm for you, it has 
 forgotten that in accepting for your husband a man you do 
 not love, you are doing a dishonesty; and that, besides 
 this, you really love another. It is what the French call the 
 aggravating circumstance." 
 
 "I mean to do nothing of the kind!" broke in Fifine, 
 boldly. "Your lecture does not address itself to we." 
 
 "Do not be angry, Fifine," said the other, calmly. 
 
 "It is rather too hard to be rebuked for the faults one 
 might have, but has not committed. It 's like saying how 
 ■wet you 'd have been had you fallen into that pool ! " 
 
 "Well, it also means, don't fall into the pool! " 
 
 "Do you know, Polly," said Josephine, archly, "I have a 
 sort of suspicion that you don't dislike this Major yourself! 
 Am I right?" 
 
 "I'd not say you were altogether wrong; that is, he 
 
94 BARRtNGTOX. 
 
 interests me, or, rather, he puzzles me, and it piques my 
 ingenuity to read him, just as it would to make out a 
 cipher to which I had only one-half the key." 
 
 "Such a feeling as that would never inspire a tender 
 interest, at least, with me." 
 
 "Nor did I say it was, P^Kine. I have read in some 
 book of my father's how certain physicians inoculated them- 
 selves with plague, the better to note the phenomena, and 
 trace the course; and I own I can understand their zeal, and 
 I 'd risk something to decipher this man." 
 
 "This may be very nice in medicine, Poll}-, but very bad 
 in morals! At all events, don't catch the plague for the 
 sake of saving me? " 
 
 "Oh! I assure you any step I take shall be done in the 
 interests of science solely; not but that I have a small debt 
 to acquit towards the gallant Major." 
 
 "You have! What can it possibly be?" 
 
 "Well, it was this wise," said she, with a half-sigh. 
 "We met at a country-house here, and he paid me certain 
 attentions, made me compliments on my riding, which I 
 knew to be good, and my singing, which was just tolerable; 
 said the usual things which mean nothing, and a few of 
 those more serious ones which are supposed to be more 
 significant; and then he asked my father's leave to come 
 and visit him, and actually fixed a day and an hour. And 
 we, poor people, all delighted with the flattery of such high 
 notice, and thinking of the effect upon our neighbors so 
 splendid a visitor would produce, made the most magnificent 
 preparations to receive him, — papa in a black satin waist- 
 coat, mamma in her lilac ribbons. I myself, — having put 
 the roof on a pigeon-pie, and given the last finishing touch 
 to a pagoda of ruby jelly, — I, in a charming figured muslin 
 and a blush rose in my hair, awaited the hour of attack! 
 And, after all, he never came. No, Fifine, never came! 
 He forgot us, or he changed his mind, or something else 
 turned up that he liked better; or — which is just as likely 
 as any of the three — he thought it would be a charming 
 piece of impertinence to pass off on such small folk, who 
 presumed to fancy themselves company for him. At all 
 events, Fifine, we saw him no more. He went his way 
 somewhere, and we were left lamenting." 
 
INTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. 95 
 
 "And you really liked him, Polly?" 
 
 "No, of the two, I disliked him; but I wished very much 
 that he might like me! I saw him very overbearing and very 
 insolent to those who were certainly his equals, assuming a 
 most offensive superiority everywhere and to any one, and I 
 thought what an awful humiliation it would be if so great a 
 personage were to be snubbed by the doctor's daughter. I 
 wanted to give a lesson which could only be severe if it 
 came from one humble as myself; but he defeated me, 
 Fifine, and I am still his debtor! If I did not like him 
 before, you may believe that I hate hirh now; and I came 
 off here this morning, in hot haste, for no other purpose 
 than to set you against him, and induce you to regard him 
 as I do." 
 
 "There was little need," said Fifine, calmly; "but here 
 comes my aunt back again. Make your submission quickly, 
 Polly, or it will be too late to expect mercy." 
 
 "I '11 do better," said Polly, rising. "I '11 let my trial go 
 on in my absence ; " and with this she stepped out of the 
 window as Miss Barrington entered by the door. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 stapylton's visit at "the home." 
 
 So secretly had Barrington managed, that he negotiated the 
 loan of five hundred pounds on a mortgage of the cottage 
 without ever letting his sister hear of it; and when she heard 
 on a particular day that her brother expected Mr. Kinshela, 
 the attorney, from Kilkenny, on business, she made the 
 occasion the pretext of a visit to Dr. Dill, taking Josephine 
 with her, to pass the day there. 
 
 Barrington was therefore free to receive his lawj'er at bis 
 ease, and confer with him alone. Not that he cared much 
 for his company; he felt towards the attorney pretty much 
 as an ardent soldier feels to a non-combatant, the commis- 
 sary, or the paymaster. Had he been a barrister, indeed, 
 old Peter would have welcomed him with the zest of true 
 companionship; he would have ransacked his memory for 
 anecdotes, and prepared for the meeting as for an encounter 
 of sharp wits. Now it is no part of my task to present Mr. 
 Kinshela more than passingly to my reader, and I will 
 merely say that he was a shrewd, commonplace man, whose 
 practice rarely introduced him to the higher classes of his 
 county, and who recognized Barrington, even in his decline, 
 as a person of some consideration. 
 
 They had dined well, and sat over their wine in the little 
 dining-room over the river, a favorite spot of Barriugton's 
 when he wished to be confidential, for it was apart from the 
 rest of the cottage, and removed from all intrusion. 
 
 "So, you won't tell me, Kinshela, who lent us this 
 money? " said the old man, as he passed the decanter across 
 the table. 
 
 "It is not that I won't, sir, but I can't. It was in answer 
 to an advertisement I inserted in the ' Times,' that I got an 
 application from Granger and "Wood to supply particulars; 
 
STAPYLTON'S VISIT AT "THE HOME." 97 
 
 and I must say there was no unnecessary security on their 
 part. It was as speedily settled a transaction as I ever 
 conducted, and I believe in my heart we might have had a 
 thousand pounds on it just as easily as five hundred." 
 
 "As well as it is, Kinshela. When the day of repayment 
 comes round, I'll perhaps find it heavy enough; " and he 
 sighed deeply as he spoke. 
 
 "Who knows, sir? There never was a time that capital 
 expended on land was more remunerative than the present." 
 
 Now, Mr. Kinshela well knew that the destination of the 
 money they spoke of was not in this direction, and that it 
 had as little to say to subsoil drainage or top dressing as 
 to the conversion of the heathen; but he was angling for 
 a confidence, and he did not see how to attain it. 
 
 Barrington smiled before he answered, — one of those sad, 
 melancholy smiles which reveal a sorrow a man is not able 
 to suppress, — and then he said, " I 'm afraid, Kinshela, I '11 
 not test the problem this time." 
 
 "It will be better employed, perhaps, sir. You mean, 
 probably, to take your granddaughter up to the drawing- 
 room at the Castle?" 
 
 "I never so much as thought of it, Joe Kinshela; the fact 
 is, that money is going where I have sent many a hundred 
 before it, — in law ! I have had a long, wearisome, costly 
 suit, that has well-nigh beggared me; and of that sum you 
 raised for me I don't expect to have a shilling by this day 
 week." 
 
 "I heard something about that, sir," said the other, 
 cautiously. 
 
 "And what was it you heard?" 
 
 "Nothing, of course, worth repeating; nothing from any 
 one that knew the matter himself; just the gossip that goes 
 about, and no more." 
 
 "Well, let us hear the gossip that goes about, and I'll 
 promise to tell you if it 's true." 
 
 "Well, indeed," said Kinshela, drawing a long breath, 
 "they say that your claim is against the India Board." 
 
 Barrington nodded. 
 
 "And that it is a matter. little short of a million is in 
 dispute." 
 
 VOL. II. — 7 
 
98 BARRINGTON. 
 
 He nodded again twice. 
 
 ''And they say, too, — of course, on very insufficient 
 knowledge, — that if you would have abated your demands 
 once on a time, you might readily have got a hundred thou- 
 sand pounds, or even more." 
 
 "That's not impossible," muttered Barringtou. 
 
 "But that, no\v — "he stammered for an instant, and 
 then stopped. 
 
 "But now? Goon." 
 
 "Sure, sir, they can know nothing about it; it's just idle 
 talk, and no more." 
 
 "Go on, and tell me what they say now," said Barriugton, 
 with a strong force on the last word. 
 
 "They say you '11 be beaten, sir," said he, with an effort. 
 
 "And do they say why, Kinshela?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; they su}' you won't take advice; and no matter 
 what Mr. Withering counsels, or is settled in consultation, 
 you go your own way and won't mind them; and that you 
 have been heard to declare you '11 have all, or nothing." 
 
 " They give me more credit than I deserve, Kinshela. It 
 is, perhaps, what I ought to have said, for I have often 
 thought it. But in return for all the kind interest my neigh- 
 bors take about me, let them know that matters look better 
 for us than they once did. Perhaps," added he, with a 
 laugh, — " perhaps I have overcome my obstinacy, or perhaps 
 my opponents have yielded to it. At all events, Joe, I be- 
 lieve I see land at last, and it was a long ' lookout ' and 
 many a fog-bank I mistook for it." 
 
 "And what makes you think now you '11 win?" said the 
 other, growing bolder by the confidence reposed in him. 
 
 Barrington half started at the presumption of the ques- 
 tion; but he suddenly remembered how it was he himself 
 who had invited the discussion, so he said calmly, — 
 
 "My hope is not without a foundation. I expect by the 
 mail to-night a friend who may be able to tell me that I 
 have won, or as good as won." 
 
 Kinshela was dying to ask who the friend was, but even 
 his curiosity had its prudenti.al limits; so he merely took 
 out his watch, and, looking at it, remarked that the mail 
 would pass in about twenty minutes or so. 
 
STAPYLTON'S VISIT AT "THE HOME." 99 
 
 "By the wa}', I must n't forget to send a servant to wait on 
 tte roadside;" and he rang the bell and said, "Let Darby 
 go up to the road and take Major Stapyltou's luggage when 
 he arrives." 
 
 "Is that the Major Stapylton is going to be broke for the 
 doings at Manchester, sir?" asked Kinshela. 
 
 "He is the same Major Stapylton that a rascally press is 
 now libelling and calumniating," said Barrington, hotly. 
 "As to being broke, I don't believe that we have come yet 
 to that pass in England that the discipline of our army is 
 administered by every scribbler in a newspaper." 
 
 "I humbly crave your pardon, sir, if I have said the 
 slightest thing to offend; but I only meant to ask, was he 
 the officer they were making such a fuss about?" 
 
 "He is an officer of the highest distinction, and a well- 
 born gentleman to boot, — two admirable reasons for the 
 assaults of a contemptible party. Look you, Kinshela; you 
 and I are neither of us very young or inexperienced men, 
 but I would ask you, have we learned an}- wiser lesson 
 from our intercourse with life than to withhold our judg- 
 ment on the case of one who rejects the sentence of a mob, 
 and appeals to the verdict of his equals? " 
 
 " But if he cut the people down in cold blood, — if it be 
 true that he laid open that poor black fellow's cheek from 
 the temple to the chin — " 
 
 "If he did no such thing," broke in Barrington; "that is 
 to say, if there is no evidence whatever that he did so, 
 what will your legal mind say then, .Joe Kinshela?" 
 
 "Just this, sir. I'd say — what all the newspapers are 
 saying — that he got the man out of the way, — bribed and 
 sent him off." 
 
 ""Why not hint that he murdered him, and buried him 
 within the precincts of the jail? I declare I wonder at 
 your moderation." 
 
 "I am sure, sir, that if I suspected he was an old friend 
 of yours — " 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, — a friend of very short standing; 
 but what has that to say to it? Is he less entitled to fair 
 play whether he knew me or not? " 
 
 "All I know of the case is from the newspapers; and as 
 
100 BARRINGTON. 
 
 I scarcely see one word iu his favor, I take it there is not 
 much to be said iu his defence." 
 
 *'Well, if my ears don't deceive me, that was the guard's 
 horn I heard then. The man himself will be here in five 
 minutes or so. Yon shall contluct the prosecution, Kin- 
 shela, and I '11 be judge between you." 
 
 "Heaven forbid, sir; on no account whatever!" said 
 Kinshela, trembling all over. "I'm sure, Mr. Barrington, 
 you could n't think of repeating Avhat I said to you in 
 confidence — " 
 
 "No, no, Kinshela. You shall do it yourself; and it's 
 only fair to tell you that he is a right clever fellow, and 
 fully equal to the task of defending himself." Peter arose 
 as he spoke, and walked out upon the lawn, affectedly to 
 meet his coming guest, but in reality to cover a laugh 
 that was half smothering him, so comical was the misery 
 expressed in the attorney's face, and so ludicrous was his 
 look of terror. 
 
 Of course I need not say that it never occurred to Bar- 
 rington to realize his threat, which he merely uttered in the 
 spirit of that quizzing habit that was familiar to him. 
 "Yes, Kinshela," cried he, "here he comes. I recognize 
 his voice already; " and Barrington now walked forward to 
 welcome his friend. 
 
 It was not till after some minutes of conversation, and 
 when the light fell strongly on Stapylton's features, that 
 Barrington saw how changed a few weeks of care had made 
 him. He looked at the least ten years older than before. 
 His eyes had lost their bold and daring expression, too, 
 and were deep sunk, and almost furtive in their glance. 
 
 "You are tired, I fear," said Barrington, as the other 
 moved his hand across his forehead, and, with a slight sigh, 
 sank down upon a sofa. 
 
 "Less tired than worried, — harassed," said he, faintly. 
 "Just as at a gaming-table a man may lose more in half 
 an hour's high play than years of hard labor could acquire, 
 there are times of life when we dissipate more strength and 
 vigor than we ever regain. T have had rough usage since 
 I saw you last," said he^ with a very sickly smile. "How 
 are the ladies, — well, I hope?" 
 
STAPYLTON'S VISIT AT "THE HOME." 101 
 
 "Perfectly well. They have gone to pass the day with a 
 neighbor, and will be home presently. By the way, I left a 
 friend here a few moments ago. What can have become of 
 him?" and he rang the bell hastily. "Where's Mr. Kin- 
 shela, Darby?" 
 
 "Gone to bed, sir. He said he 'd a murthering headache, 
 and hoped your honor would excuse him." 
 
 Though Barringtou laughed heartily at this message, 
 Stapylton never asked the reason, but sat immersed in 
 thought and unmindful of all around him. 
 
 "I half suspect you ought to follow his good example, 
 Major," said Peter. "A mug of mulled claret for a night- 
 cap, and a good sleep, will set you all right." 
 
 "It will take more than that to do it," said the Major, 
 sadly. Then suddenly rising, and pacing the room with 
 quick, impatient steps, he said, "What could have induced 
 you to let them bring your claim before the House? They 
 are going to do so, ain't they? " 
 
 "Yes. Tom Withering says that nothing will be so 
 effectual, and I thought you agreed with him." 
 
 "Never. Nothing of the kind. I said, threaten it; 
 insist that if they continue the opposition, that you will, — 
 that you must do so; but I never was the fool to imagine 
 that it could really be a wise step. What 's the fate of all 
 such motions? Task you. There's a speech — sometimes 
 an able one — setting forth a long catalogue of unmerited 
 injuries and long suffering. There 's a claim made out that 
 none can find a flaw in, and a story that, if Parliament 
 was given to softness, might move men almost to tears, and 
 at the end of it up rises a Minister to say how deeply he 
 sympathizes with the calamity of the case, but that this 
 house is, after all, not the fitting locality for a discussion 
 which is essentially a question of law, and that, even if it 
 were, and if all the allegations were established, — a point 
 to which he by no means gave adhesion, — there was really 
 no available fund at the disposal of the Crown to make 
 reparation for such losses. Have you not seen this, or some- 
 thing like this, scores of limes? Can you tell me of one 
 that succeeded ? " 
 
 "A case of such wrong as this cannot go without repara- 
 
102 BARRINGTON. 
 
 tion," said Peter, with emotion. "The whole country will 
 demand it." 
 
 "The countr}' will do no such thing. If it were a ques- 
 tion of penally or punishment, — j-esl the country would 
 demand it. Fine, imprison, transport, hang him! are 
 easy words to utter, and cheap ones ; but pay him, reinstate 
 him, reward him ! have a very different sound and signifi- 
 cance. They figure in the budget, and are formidable on 
 the hustings. Depend on it, iNIi-. Barringtou, the step will 
 be a false one." 
 
 "It has been my fate never to have got the same advice 
 for two weeks together since the day I entered on this weary 
 suit," said Barrington, with a peevishness not natural to 
 him. 
 
 "I may as well tell you the whole truth at once," said 
 Stapylton. "The Board have gone back of all their good 
 intentions towards us; some recent arrivals from India, it 
 is said, have kindled again the old fire of opposition, and 
 we are to be met by a resistance bold and uncompromising. 
 They are prepared to deny everything we assert; in fact, 
 they have resolved to sweep all the pieces off the board and 
 begin the whole game again, and all because you have 
 taken this unfortunate course of appeal to Parliament." 
 
 "Have you told Withering this?" 
 
 "Yes; I have talked the matter over for nearly four hours 
 with him. Like a lawyer, he was most eager to know from 
 what source came the new evidence so damaging to us. 
 I could only guess at this." 
 
 " And your guess was — " 
 
 "I scarcely like to own to you that I take a less favorable 
 view of mankind than you do, who know it better; but in 
 this case my suspicion attaches to a man who was once your 
 son's dearest friend, but grew to be afterwards his dead- 
 liest enemy." 
 
 "I will not have this said, Major Stapylton. I know 
 whom you mean, and I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 Stapylton simply shrugged his shoulders, and continued 
 to pace the room without speaking, while Barrington went 
 on muttering, half aloud: "No, no, impossible; quite im- 
 possible. These things are not in nature. I don't credit 
 them." 
 
STAPYLTON'S VISIT AT "THE HOME." 103 
 
 "You like to thiuk very well of the world, sir!" said 
 the Major, with a faiut scorn, so faint as scarcely to color 
 his words. 
 
 "Think very badly of it, and you'll soon come down to 
 the level you assign it," said Peter, boldly. 
 
 "I 'm afraid I 'm not in the humor just now to give it my 
 best suffrages. You 've seen, I doubt not, something of the 
 treatment I have met with from the Press for the last few 
 weeks ; not very generous usage, — not very just. Well ! 
 what will you say when I tell you that I have been refused 
 an inquiry into my conduct at Manchester; that the Govern- 
 ment is of opinion that such an investigation might at the 
 moment be prejudicial to the public peace, without any 
 counterbalancing advantage on the score of a personal vin- 
 dication; that they do not deem the time favorable for the 
 calm and unbiassed judgment of the country; in one short 
 word, sir, they'd rather ruin a Major of Hussars than risk 
 a Cabinet. I am to exchange into any corps or any service 
 I can ; and they are to tide over these troubles on the assump- 
 tion of having degraded me." 
 
 "I hope you wrong them, — I do hope you wrong them! " 
 cried Barrington, passionately. 
 
 "You shall see if I do," said he, taking several letters 
 from his pocket, and searching for one in particular. "Yes, 
 here it is. This is from Aldridge, the private secretary of 
 the Commander-in-chief. It is very brief, and strictly 
 secret: — 
 
 " 'Deak S., — The " Chief does not like your scrape at all. You 
 did rather too much, or too little, — a fatal mistake dealing with a 
 mob. You must consent — there 's no help for it — to be badly 
 used, and an injured man. If you don't like the half-pay list, — 
 which would, in my mind, be the best step, — there 's the Seven- 
 teenth ordered to Baroda, and iSIaidstone refuses to go. This, or the 
 Second West India, are the only things open. Above all, don't 
 show fight ; don't rally a party round you, for there is not a man in 
 England whose influence is sufficiently great to stand between j'ou 
 and the public. A couple of years' patience and a hot climate will 
 set all right, and reinstate you everywhere. Come over here at 
 once and I '11 do my best for you. 
 
 " ' Yours ever, 
 
 " ' St. George Aldridge.' 
 
104 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "This is a friend's letter," said Stapylton, with a sneer; 
 *' and he has no better counsel to give me thau to plead 
 guilty, and ask for a mitigated punishment." 
 
 Barrington was silenced ; he would not by any expression 
 of indignation add to the great anger of the other, and he 
 said nothing. At last he said, " I wish from my heart — I 
 wish I could be of any service to you." 
 
 " You are the only man living who can," was the prompt 
 answer. 
 
 " How so — in what way? Let me hear." 
 
 "When I addressed a certain letter to you some time 
 back, I was in a position both of fortune and prospect to 
 take at least something from the presumption of my offer. 
 Now, though my fortune remains, my future is more than 
 clouded, and if I ask you to look favorably on my cause 
 now, it is to your generosity I must appeal ; I am, in fact, 
 asking you to stand by a fallen man." 
 
 This speech, uttered in a voice slightly shaken by agita- 
 tion, went to Barrington's heart. There was not a sentiment 
 in his nature so certain to respond to a call upon it as this 
 one of sympathy with the beaten man ; the weaker side was 
 always certain of his adherence. With a nice tact Stapylton 
 said no more, but, pushing open the window, walked out 
 upon the smooth sward, on which a faint moonlight flickered. 
 He had shot his bolt, and saw it as it quivered in his victim's 
 flesh. Barrington was after him in an instant, and, drawing 
 an arm within his. he said in a low voice, " You may count 
 upon me." 
 
 Stapylton wrung his hand warmly, without speaking. 
 After walking for a few moments, side by side, he said : " I 
 must be frank with you, Mr. Barrington. I have little time 
 and no taste for circumlocution ; I cannot conceal from my- 
 self that I am no favorite with your sister. I was not as 
 eager as I ought to have been to cultivate her good opinion ; 
 I was a little piqued at what I thought mere injustices on her 
 part, — small ones, to be sure, but they wounded me, and 
 with a temper that always revolted against a wrong, I 
 resented them, and I fear me, in doing so, I jeopardized her 
 esteem. If she is as generous as her brother, she will not 
 remember these to me in my day of defeat. Women, how- 
 
STAPYLTON'S VISIT AT "THE HOME." 105 
 
 ever, have their own ideas of mercy, as they have of every- 
 thing, and she may not choose to regard me as you have 
 done." 
 
 " I suspect you are wrong about this," said Barrington, 
 breaking in. 
 
 " Well, I wish I may be; at all events, I must put the 
 feeling to the test at once, for I have formed my plan, and 
 mean to begin it immediately." 
 
 " And what is it? " 
 
 "Very few words will tell it. I intend to go on half-pay, 
 or sell out if that be refused me ; set out for India by the 
 next mail, and, with what energy remains to me, vindicate 
 your son's claim. I have qualifications that will make me 
 better than a better man. I am well versed in Hindostanee, 
 and a fair Persian scholar ; I have a wide acquaintance with 
 natives of every rank, and I know how and where to look 
 for information. It is not my disposition to feel over-san- 
 guine, but I would stake all I possess on my success, for I 
 see exactly the flaws in the chain, and I know where to go to 
 repair them. You have witnessed with what ardor I adopted 
 the suit before ; but you cannot estimate the zeal with which 
 I throw myself into it now — now that, like George Barring- 
 ton himself, I am a man wronged, outraged, and insulted." 
 For a few seconds he seemed overcome by passion and 
 unable to continue; then he went on: "If your grand- 
 daughter will accept me, it is my intention to settle on her 
 all 1 possess. Our marriage can be private, and she shall be 
 free to accompany me or to remain here, as she likes." 
 
 " But how can all this be done so hurriedly? You talk of 
 starting at once." 
 
 "I must, if I would save your son's cause. The India 
 Board are sending out their emissaries to Calcutta, and I 
 must anticipate them — if I cannot do more, by gaining 
 them over to us on the voyage out. It is a case for energy 
 and activity, and I want to employ both." 
 
 " The time is very short for all this," said Barrington, 
 again. 
 
 "So it is, sir, and so are the few seconds which may 
 rescue a man from drowning] It is in the crisis of my fate 
 that I ask you to stand by me." 
 
106 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " But have you any reason to believe that my grand- 
 daughter will hear you favorably? You are almost strangers 
 to each other ? " 
 
 " If she will not give me the legal right to make her 
 my heir, I mean to usurp the privilege. I have already 
 been with a lawyer for that purpose. My dear sir," added 
 he, passionately, ' ' I want to break with the past forever ! 
 When the world sets up its howl against a man, the odds 
 are too great! To stand and defy it he must succumb or 
 retreat. Now, I mean to retire, but with the honors of 
 war, mark you." 
 
 " My sister will never consent to it," muttered Barrington. 
 
 " Will you? Have I the assurance of tjoxir support? " 
 
 " I can scarcely venture to say ' yes,' and j'et I can't 
 bear to say ' no ' to you ! " 
 
 " This is less than I looked for from you," said Stapylton, 
 mournfully. 
 
 " I know Dinah so well. I know how hopeless it would 
 be to ask her concurrence to this plan." 
 
 " She may not take the generous view of it; but there 
 is a worldly one worth considering," said Stapylton, bitterly. 
 
 " Then, sir, if you count on tliat^ I would not give a 
 copper half-penny for your chance of success ! " cried Bar- 
 rington, passionately. 
 
 "You have quite misconceived me; you have wronged 
 me altogether," broke in Stapylton, in a tone of apology; 
 for he saw the mistake he had made, and hastened to repair 
 it. " My meaning was this — " 
 
 "So much the better. I'm glad I misunderstood you. 
 But here come the ladies. Let us go and meet them." 
 
 " One word, — only one word. Will you befriend me ? " 
 
 "I will do all that I can, — that is, all that I ought," 
 said Barrington, as he led him away, and re-entered the 
 cottage. 
 
 " I will not meet them to-night," said Stapylton, hurriedly. 
 " I am nervous and agitated. I will say good-night 
 now." 
 
 This was the second time within a few days that Stapylton 
 had shown an unwillingness to confront Miss Barrington, 
 and Peter thought over it long and anxiously. " What can 
 
STAPYLTON'S VISIT AT "THE HOME." 107 
 
 he meau by it?" said he, to himself. " Why should he be 
 so frauk and outspoken with me, and so reserved with her? 
 What can Dinah know of him? What can she suspect, that 
 is not known to me? It is true they never did like each 
 other, — never ' hit it off ' together ; but that is scarcely his 
 fault. My excellent sister throws away little love on 
 strangers, and opens every fresh acquaintance with a very 
 fortifying prejudice against the newly presented. However 
 it happens," muttered he, with a sigh, " sAe is not often 
 wrong, and / am very seldom right ; " and, with this reflec- 
 tion, he tui'ned once again to resume his walk in the 
 garden. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A DOCTOR AND UIS PATIENT. 
 
 Stapyltox did uot make bis appearance at breakfast ; be 
 seut down a message tbat be bad passed a feverisb nigbt, 
 and begged tbat Dr. Dill migbt be sent for. Tbongb Bar- 
 rington made two attempts to see bis guest, tbe quietness of 
 tbe room on eacb occasion implied tbat be was asleep, and, 
 fearing to disturb bim, be went downstairs again on tiptoe. 
 
 " This is wbat tbe persecution bas done, Dinab," said be. 
 " Tbey bave brougbt that stout-hearted fellow so low tbat 
 be may be tbe victim of a fever to-morrow." 
 
 "Nonsense, Peter. Men of courage don't fall sick be- 
 cause tbe newspapers calumniate them. Tbey bave other 
 things on their minds than such puny attacks." 
 
 "So be may, likely enough, too. He is bent heart and 
 soul on wbat I told you last nigbt, and I 'm not surprised if 
 he never closed bis e3'es thinking of it." 
 
 " Neither did I ! " said she, curtly, and left the room. 
 
 The doctor was not long in arriving, and, after a word or 
 two with Barrington, hastened to tbe patient's room. 
 
 "Are we alone?" asked Stapylton. cutting short the 
 bland speech with which Dill was making his approaches. 
 " Draw that curtain a bit, and take a good look at me. 
 Are my eyes bloodshot? Are tbe pupils dilated? I bad a 
 bad sunstroke once ; see if there be any signs of congestion 
 about me." 
 
 "No, I see none. A little flushed; your pulse, too, is 
 accelerated, and tbe heart's action is labored — " 
 
 "Never mind the heart; if the head be well, it will take 
 care of it. Reach me tbat pocket-book ; I want to acquit 
 one debt to you before I incur another. No humbug be- 
 tween us ; " and be pressed some notes into tbe other's palm 
 
A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 
 
 109 
 
 as he spoke. " Let us understand each other fully, and at 
 once. " I 'm not very ill ; but I want you." 
 
 "And I am at your orders." 
 
 "Faithfully, —loyally?" 
 
 " Faithfully, — loyally ! " repeated the other after him. 
 
 •'You've read the papers lately, — you 've seen these 
 attacks on me? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, what do they say and think here — I mean m 
 this house — about them? How do they discuss them? 
 Remember, I want candor and frankness; no humbug. 
 I'll not stand humbug." 
 
 " The women are against you." 
 
110 BAKKLNGTON. 
 
 "Both of them?" 
 
 '' Both." 
 
 " How comes that? — on what grounds? " 
 
 '"The papers accused you of cruelty; they affirmed that 
 there was no cause for the measures of severity you adopted ; 
 and they argued — " 
 
 '' Don't bore me with all that balderdash. I asked you 
 how was it that these women assumed I was in the wrong? " 
 
 " And I was about to tell you, if you had not interrupted 
 me." 
 
 "That is, they believed what they read in the news- 
 l^apers ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And, of course, swallowed that fine story about the 
 Hindoo fellow that I first cut down, and afterwards bribed 
 to make his escape from the hospital ? " 
 
 " I suspect they half believed it." 
 
 "Or rather, believed half of it, the cutting down part! 
 Can you tell me physiologically, — for I think it comes into 
 that category, — why it is that women not otherwise ill- 
 natured, in nine cases out of ten take the worst alternative 
 as the credible one? But never mind that. They condemn 
 me. Is n't it so ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and while old Barrington insists — " 
 
 " Who cares what he insists? Such advocacy as his only 
 provokes attack, and invites persecution. I 'd rather have 
 no such allies ! " 
 
 "I believe you are right." 
 
 "I want fellows like yourself, doctor, — sly, cautious, 
 subtle fellows, — accustomed to stealing strong medicines 
 into the system in small doses ; putting the patient, as you 
 call it in your slang, ' under the influence ' of this, that, and 
 t' other, — eh? " 
 
 Dill smiled blandly at the compliment to his art, and 
 Stapylton went on : — 
 
 "Not that I have time just now for this sort of chronic 
 treatment. I need a heroic remedy, doctor. I 'm in 
 love." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Dill, with an accent nicely balanced be- 
 tween interest and incredulity. 
 
A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. Ill 
 
 "Yes, and I want to marry! 
 
 "Miss Barriugtou?" 
 
 "The granddaughter. There is no need, I hope, to make 
 the distinction, for I don't wish to be thought insane. Now 
 you have the case. "What 's youi- prescription? " 
 
 "Propose for her! " 
 
 "So I have, but they hesitate. The old man is not un- 
 favorable; he is, perhaps, more: he is, in a measure, 
 friendly; but what avails such advocacy? I want another 
 guess sort of aid, — a clever man ; or, what is better still, a 
 clever woman, to befriend me." 
 
 He waited some seconds for a reply, but Dill did not 
 speak; so he went on: "A clever woman, to take a woman's 
 view of the case, balancing this against that, never ignoring 
 an obstacle, but inquiring what there may be to compensate 
 for it. Do you know such a one, doctor ? " 
 
 "Perhaps I may; but I have my doubts about securing 
 her services." 
 
 "Even with a retainer? " 
 
 "Even with a retainer. You see. Major," — here Dill 
 dropped his voice to a most confidential whisper, — "my 
 daughter Polly, — for I know we both have her in mind, — 
 Polly is a strange sort of girl, and very hard to understand ; 
 for while, if the case were her own, she 'd no more think of 
 romance than she would of giving ten guineas for a dress, 
 if she was advising another whose position and prospects 
 were higher than hers, it's the romantic part of it she'd 
 lay all the stress on." 
 
 "From which I gather that my suit will not stand this 
 test!" said Stapylton, with a peculiar smile. "Eh, isn't 
 that your meaning? " 
 
 "You are certainly some years older than the lady," said 
 Dill, blandly. 
 
 "Not old enough to be, as the world would surely say, 
 'her father,' but fully old enough to give license for 
 sarcasm." 
 
 "Then, as she will be a great fortune — " 
 "Not a sixpence, — she'll not have sixpence, doctor. 
 That bubble has burst at last, and can never be blown again. 
 The whole claim has been rejected, refused, thrown out, and 
 
112 BAHKIXGTON. 
 
 there 's an end of it. It aniuses the old man to sit on the 
 wreck and fancy he can repair the shattered timbers and 
 make them seaworthy; and, for the time he is likely to last, 
 it is only kindness to leave him to his delusion ; but he is 
 ruined, — ruined beyond recall, and as I have told you, the 
 girl will have nothing." 
 
 "Do they know this, — has Harrington heard it?" 
 
 "Yes, I broke it to him last night, but I don't think he 
 fully realized the tidings; he has certain reserves — cer- 
 tain little conceits of his own — which are to supply him 
 with a sort of hope; but let us talk of something more prac- 
 tical. How can we secure Miss Dill's services?" 
 
 "A few days ago, the easiest way would have been to 
 offer to befriend her brother, but this morning brings us 
 news that this is not needed, — he is coming home." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "It is a great event in its way; at least, it may be for 
 Tom. It seems there was a collision at sea, somewhere 
 near the Cape, between the ship ' St. Helen's,' that carried 
 out General Hunter and his staff, and the ' Regulus,' with 
 the Forty-ninth on board. It was at night, and a terrible 
 sea on at the time. In the shock the ' St. Helen's ' took 
 fire; and as the two ships were inextricably locked together, 
 the danger was common to each. While the boats were 
 being lowered and manned, — for it was soon seen the 
 vessel could not be saved, — a cry was raised that the fire 
 was gaining on the fore-hold, and would soon reach the 
 magazine. The woful news spread at once, and many 
 jumped overboard in their terror. Just then Tom heard 
 that there was a means of drowning the powder by opening 
 a certain sluice, and, without waiting for more, he clam- 
 bered across into the sinking vessel, made his way through 
 smoke and fire, gained the spot, and succeeded, just as the 
 very ladder itself had caught the flames. How he got back 
 he cannot tell, for the vessel foundered in a few minutes, 
 and he was so burned — face, cheek, and one shoulder — that 
 he was unconscious of everything; and even when the ac- 
 count came, was still in bed, and not able to see." 
 
 " He was a wild sort of lad, was he not, — a scamp, in 
 short?" 
 
A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 113 
 
 *'Xo, not exactly that; idle — careless — kept bad com- 
 pany at times." 
 
 •• These are the fellows who do this kind of thing once in 
 their lives, — mark you, never twice. They never have more 
 than one shot in their locker, but it will suffice in this case." 
 
 Though the worthy doctor was very far from enthusiastic 
 about his son's gallantry, there was a degree of coolness in 
 the Major's estimate of it that almost shocked him; and he 
 sat staring steadily at the stern bronzed face, and the hard 
 lineaments of the man, and wondering of what strange stuff 
 such natures were fashioned. 
 
 "It's quite clear, then, that for Master Tom we can do 
 nothing half so good as chance has done for him," said 
 Stapylton, after a short interval. 
 
 "Chance and himself too," added the doctor. 
 
 Stapylton made no answer, but, covering his eyes with 
 his hand, lay deep in thought. 
 
 '•If you only had the Attorney-General, Mr. Withering, 
 on your side," said Dill. "There is no man has the same 
 influence over this family." 
 
 "It is not what you call influence I want, my good sir. 
 It is a far more subtle and more delicate agent, I require 
 the sort of aid, in fact, which your daughter could supply, 
 if she would. An appointment awaits me in India, but I 
 must occupy it at once. I have no time for a long court- 
 ship. I 'm just as hurried as that boy of yours was when 
 he swamped the powder-magazine. It 's a skirmish where 
 I can't wait for the heavy artillery, but must do my best with 
 the light field-guns, — do you understand me?" 
 
 Dill nodded, and Stapylton resumed: "The thing can be 
 done just by the very road that you have pronounced impos- 
 sible, — that is, by the romantic side of it, — making it a 
 case of violent love at first sight, the passion of a man past 
 the heyda}' of youth, but yet young enough to feel a most 
 ardent affection. I am, besides," said he, laughing with a 
 strange blending of levity and sarcasm, "a sort of Brum- 
 magem hero; have been wounded, led assaults, and that 
 kind of thing, to a degree that puffery can take the benefit 
 of. And, last of all, doctor, I am rich enough to satisfy 
 greater ambitions than ought to live under such a roof as 
 
 VOL. II. — 8 
 
114 BARRINGTON. 
 
 this. Do you see the part your daughter can take in this 
 drama?" 
 
 "Perhaps I do." 
 
 "And could you induce her to accept it?" 
 
 "I'm not very certain, — I'd be slow to pledge myself 
 to it." 
 
 ^'Certainly," said Stapylton, mockinglj^; "the passing 
 glimpses we bachelors obtain of the working of that vaunted 
 institution, The Family, fail to impress us with all its im- 
 puted excellence; you are, it seems to me, just as powerless 
 within your own doors as I am regarding what goes on in 
 a neighbor's house. I take it, however, that it can't be 
 helped. Children, like colonies, are only governable when 
 helpless." 
 
 "I suspect you are wrong, sir; at least, I fancy I have as 
 much of the sort of influence you speak of as others ; but 
 still, I think, here, in this particular case, you would your- 
 self be your best ambassador, if you were strong enough to 
 come down with me in the boat to-day." 
 
 "Of course I am! " cried Stapj'lton, starting up to a sit- 
 ting posture; "and what then?" 
 
 "You would be better in my house than this," said Dill, 
 mysteriously. 
 
 "Speak out, and speak clearly, doctor; I have very little 
 the matter with me, and am in no want of change of air. 
 What I need is the assistance of one dexterous enough to 
 advocate my plans with persons and in places to which I 
 have no access. Your daughter is just such a one, — will 
 she do it?" 
 
 "We can ask her." 
 
 "Well, how will you explain my absence to these people 
 here? What will you say for my not appearing at break- 
 fast, and yet being able to take an airing with you?" 
 
 "I will put it on hygienic grounds," said Dill, smiling 
 acutely. "My profession has a number of sanctuaries the 
 profane vulgar can never enter. I '11 just step down now 
 and ask Barrington to lend me his boat, and I '11 throw out 
 a dark hint that I 'd like to manage a consultation on your 
 case without alarming you, for which purpose I 'd ask Dr. 
 Tobin to be at my house, when we arrive there, by mere 
 
A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 115 
 
 accident, so that a conference would follow as a matter of 
 course." 
 
 "Very wily, — very subtle all this, doctor. Do you know, 
 I 'm half frightened at the thought of trusting myself to such 
 a master of iutrigue and mystification." 
 
 "Have no fears; I reserve all my craft for my clients." 
 And with this he left the room, but only for a few minutes; 
 for he met Barrington on the stairs, and speedily obtained 
 permission to take his boat to Inistioge, having first 
 pledged himself to come back with Stapylton to dinner. 
 
 "We shall see, we shall see," muttered Stapylton to him- 
 self. "Your daughter must decide where I am to dine to- 
 day." 
 
 By the way — that is, as they glided along the bright 
 river — Dill tried to prepare Stapylton for the task before 
 him, by sundry hints as to Polly's temper and disposition, 
 with warnings against this, and cautions about that. 
 "Above all," said he, "don't try to overreach her." 
 
 "Perfect frankness — candor itself — is my device. 
 Won't that do?" 
 
 "You must first see will she believe it," said the doctor, 
 slyly ; and for the remainder of the way there was a silence 
 between them. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CROSS-PURPOSES. 
 
 "Where 's Miss Polly? " said Dill, hastily, as he passed his 
 threshold. 
 
 " She 's making the confusion of roses in the kitchen, sir," 
 said the maid, whose chemistry had been a neglected study. 
 
 "Tell her that I have come back, and that there is a 
 gentleman along with me," said he, imperiously, as he led 
 the way into his study. "I have brought you into this den 
 of mine. Major, because I would just say one word more by 
 way of caution before you see Polly. You may imagine, 
 from the small range of her intercourse with the world, and 
 her village life, that her acuteness will not go very far; 
 don't be too sure of that, — don't reckon too much on her 
 want of experience." 
 
 "I suppose I have encountered as sharp wits as hers be- 
 fore this time o' day," replied he, half peevishly; and then, 
 with an air of better temper, added, "I have no secrets to 
 hide, no mystery to cloak. If I want her alliance, she shall 
 herself dictate the terms that shall requite it." 
 
 The doctor shook his head dubiously, but was silent. 
 
 "I half suspect, my good doctor," said Stapylton, laugh- 
 ing, "that your charming daughter is a little, a very little, 
 of a domestic despot; j'ou are all afraid of her; never 
 very sure of what she will say or do or think on any given 
 circumstances, and nervously alive to the risk of her dis- 
 pleasure." 
 
 "There is something in what you say," remarked Dill, 
 with a sigh; "but it was always my mistake to bring up 
 my children with too much liberty of action. From the 
 time they were so high " — and he held his hand out about 
 a yard above the floor — "they were their own masters." 
 
CROSS-PURPOSES. 117 
 
 Just as the words hacV fallen from him, a little chubbj', 
 shock-headed fellow, about five years old, burst into the 
 room, which he believed unoccupied, and then, suddenly 
 seeing his papa, set up a howl of terror that made the house 
 ring. 
 
 "What is it, Jimmy, — what is it, my poor man?" said 
 Polly, rushing with tucked-up sleeves to the spot; and, 
 catching him up in her arms, she kissed him affectionately. 
 
 "Will you take him away? — will you take him out of 
 that?" hissed out Dill between his teeth. "Don't you see 
 Major Stapylton here?" 
 
 "Oh, Major Stapylton will excuse a toilette that was never 
 intended for his presence." 
 
 "I will certainly say there could not be a more becoming 
 one, nor a more charming tableau to display it in! " 
 
 "There, Jimmy," said she, laughing; "you must have 
 some bread and jam for getting me such a nice compliment." 
 
 And she bore away the still sobbing urchin, who, burying 
 his head in her bosom, could never summon courage to meet 
 his father's eye. 
 
 "What a spacious garden you appear to have here! " said 
 Stapylton, who saw all the importance of a diversion to the 
 conversation. 
 
 "It is a very much neglected one," said Dill, pathetically. 
 "My poor dear boy Tom used to take care of it when he 
 was here; he had a perfect passion for flowers." 
 
 Whether that Tom was associated in the Major's mind 
 with some other very different tastes or not, Stapylton smiled 
 slightly, and after a moment said, "If you permit me, I '11 
 take a stroll through your garden, and think over what we 
 have been talking of." 
 
 "Make yourself at home in every respect," said Dill. "I 
 have a few professional calls to make in the village, but 
 we '11 meet at luncheon." 
 
 "He's in the garden, Polly," said Dill, as he passed his 
 daughter on the stairs; "he came over here this morning to 
 have a talk with you." 
 
 "Indeed, sir! " 
 
 "Yes; he has got it into his head that you can be of 
 service to him." 
 
118 BARRINGTON. 
 
 *'It is not impossible, sir; I think I might." 
 
 "I'm glad to hear it, Polly; I'm delighted to see you 
 take a good sensible view of things. I need not tell you 
 he 's a knowing one." 
 
 "No, sir. But, as I have heard you card-players say, ' he 
 shows his hand.' " 
 
 "So he does, Polly; but I have known fellows do that 
 just to mislead the adversary." 
 
 "Sorry adversaries that could be taken in so easily." 
 And with a saucy toss of her head she passed on, scarcely 
 noticing the warning gesture of her father's finger as she went. 
 
 When she had found her work-basket and supplied herself 
 with the means of occupying her fingers for an hour or so, 
 she repaired to the garden and took her seat under a large 
 elm, around whose massive trunk a mossy bench ran, 
 divided by rustic-work into a series of separate places. 
 
 "What a churlish idea it was to erect these barricades, 
 Miss Dill!" said Stapylton as he seated himself at her 
 ,side; "how unpicturesque and how prudish!" 
 
 "It was a simple notion of my brother Tom's," said she, 
 smiling, "who thought people would not be less agreeal)le 
 by being reminded that they had a place of their own, and 
 ought not to invade that of their neighbor." 
 
 "What an unsocial thought! " 
 
 "Poor Tom! A strange reproach to make against you" 
 said she, laughing out. 
 
 "By the way, has n't he turned out a hero, — saved a ship 
 and all she carried from the flames, — and all at the hazard 
 of his own life? " 
 
 "He has done a very gallant thing; and, what's more, 
 I '11 venture to say there is not a man who saw it thinks so 
 little of it as himself." 
 
 "I suppose that every brave man has more or less of that 
 feeling." 
 
 "I'm glad to learn this fact from such good authority," 
 said she, with a slight bend of the head. 
 
 "A prettily turned compliment. Miss Dill. Are you 
 habitually given to flattery?" 
 
 "No-, I rather think not. I believe the world is pleased 
 to call me more candid than courteous." 
 
CROSS-PURPOSES. 110 
 
 "Will you let me take you at the world's estimate, — that 
 is, will you do me the iuestiuiable favor to bestow a little of 
 this same candor upon me ? " 
 
 "Willingly. What is to be the subject of it?" 
 
 "The subject is a very humble one, — myself! " 
 
 "How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme?" 
 
 "Better than you think for, perhaps ! " And for a moment 
 he appeared awkward and ill at ease. "Miss Dill," said 
 he, after a pause, "fortune has been using me roughly of 
 late ; and, like all men who deem themselves hardly treated, 
 I fly at once to auy quarter where I fancy I have found 
 a more kindly disposition towards me. Am I indulging 
 a self-delusion in believing that such sentiments are 
 yours ? " 
 
 Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was 
 the real object of Stapylton's visit. She had even read in 
 her father's manner how he himself was a shareholder in 
 the scheme, and she had made up her mind for a great 
 frankness on each side; but now, seeing the diplomatic mys- 
 teriousness with which the Major opened his attack, that 
 love of mischievous droUerv' which entered into her nature 
 suggested a very different line. She determined, in fact, to 
 seem to accept the Major's speech as the preliminary to an 
 offer of his hand. She therefore merely turned her head 
 slightly, and in a low voice said, "Continue! " 
 
 "I have not deceived myself, then," said he, with more 
 warmth of manner. "I have secured one kind heart in my 
 interest? " 
 
 "You must own," said she, with a half-coquettish look 
 of pique, "that you scarcely deserve it." 
 
 "How, — in what way?" asked he, in astonishment. 
 
 '• What a very short memory you are blessed with ! Must 
 I, then, remind you of a certain evening at Cobham? Must 
 I recall what I thought at the time very particular, as they 
 certainly were very pleasant, attentions on your part? Must 
 I, also, bring to mind a certain promised visit from you, the 
 day and hour all named by yourself, — a visit which never 
 came off? And after all this, Major, are you not really a 
 bold man to come down and take up 3'our negotiation where 
 you dropped it? Is there not in this a strong conviction of 
 
120 BAKKINGTON. 
 
 the greatness of :Major Stapyltou aud the littleness of the 
 doctor's daughter?" 
 
 Stapylton was struck duinb. When a general sees that 
 what he meant as a feint has been converted into a real 
 attack, the situation is often imminent; but what compari- 
 son in difficulty is there between that mistake and that of 
 him who assails what he never desired to conquer? How he 
 inwardly cursed the stupidity with which he had opened his 
 negotiation! 
 
 "I perceive," said she, triumphing over his confusion, 
 "that your calmer judgment does not reassure you. You 
 feel that there is a certain levity in this conduct not quite 
 excusable! Own it frankly, and at once! " 
 
 "I will own, if you like, that I was never in a situation 
 of greater embarrassment! " 
 
 "Shall I tell you why?" 
 
 "You couldn't; it would be totally impossible." 
 
 "I will try, however, if you permit me. You do! Then 
 here goes. You no more intended anything to come of j-our 
 little flirtation at Cobham than you now do of a more serious 
 blunder. You never came here this morning to make your 
 court to me. You are much pained at the awkwardness of 
 a situation so naturally wounding to me, and for the life of 
 you, you cannot imagine what escape there is out of such a 
 difficulty." 
 
 "You are wonderfulh" clever. Miss Dill," said he; aud 
 there was an honest admiration in his look that gave the 
 words a full significance. 
 
 "No," said she, "but I am wonderfully good-natured. I 
 forgive you what is the hardest thing in the world to for- 
 give!" 
 
 "Oh! if you would but be my friend," cried he, warml}-. 
 
 "What a want of tact there was in that speech. Major 
 Stapylton!" said she, with a laugh; "but perhaps you 
 wanted to reverse the line of our dear little poet, who tells 
 of some one ' that came but for Friendship, and took away 
 Love ' ! " 
 
 " How cruel you are in all this mockery of me ! " 
 
 " Does not the charge of cruelty come rather ill from 
 youf — you, who can afford to sport with the affections of 
 
CROSS-PURPOSES. 121 
 
 poor village maidens. From the time of that ' Major 
 bold of Halifax ' the song tells of, I never heard your 
 equal." 
 
 " Could you prevail upon yourself to be serious for a few 
 minutes?" said he, gravely. 
 
 " I think not, — at least not just now ; but why should I 
 make the attempt?" 
 
 " Because I would wish your aid in a serious contingency, 
 — a matter in which I am deeply interested, and which 
 involves probably my futui-e happiness." 
 
 "Ah, Major! is it possible that you are going to trifle 
 with my feelings once more?" 
 
 " My dear Miss Dill, must I plead once more for a little 
 mercy?" 
 
 " No, don't do any such thing; it would seem ungenerous 
 to refuse, and yet I could not accord it." 
 
 " Fairly beaten," said he, with a sigh; " there is no help 
 for it. You are the victor ! " 
 
 "How did j'ou leave our friends at 'The Home'?" said 
 she, with an easy indifference in her tone. 
 
 ' ' All well, perfectly well ; that is to say, I believe so, for 
 I only saw my host himself." 
 
 "What a pleasant house; how well they understand 
 receiving their friends ! " 
 
 "It is so peaceful and so quiet! " said he, with an effort 
 to seem at ease. 
 
 " And the garden is charming ! " 
 
 "And all this is perfectly intolerable," said he, rising, 
 and speaking in a voice thick with suppressed anger. "I 
 never came here to play a part in a vaudeville ! Your father 
 led me to believe. Miss Dill, that you might not be indis- 
 posed to lend me your favoring aid in a suit whicli I am 
 interested in. He told me I should at least find you 
 frank and outspoken ; that if you felt inclined to assist 
 me, you 'd never enhance the service by a seeming doubt 
 or hesitation — " 
 
 " And if I should not feel so inclined, what did he then 
 give you to expect?" 
 
 " That you 'd say so ! " 
 
 " So I do, then, clearly and distinctly tell you, if my 
 
122 BARRINGTON. 
 
 counsels offer a bar to your wishes, they are all enlisted 
 against you." 
 
 " This is the acme of candor. You can only equal it by 
 saying how I could have incurred your disfavor." 
 
 " There is nothing of disfavor in tiie matter. I think you 
 charming. You are a hero, — very clever, very fascinating, 
 very accomplished ; but I believe it would be a great mistake 
 for Fifine to marry you. Your tempers have that sort of 
 resemblance that leave no reliefs in their mutual play. You 
 are each of you hot and hasty, and a little imperious ; and if 
 she were not very much in love, and consequently disposed 
 to think a great deal of you and very little of herself, these 
 traits that I speak of would work ill. But if every one of 
 them were otherwise, there would still be one obstacle worse 
 than all ! " 
 
 "And that is — " 
 
 " Can you not guess what I mean, Major Stapylton? 
 You do not, surely, want confidences from me that are more 
 than candor ! " 
 
 "Do I understand you aright?" said he, growing red 
 and pale by turns, as passion worked within him; "do I 
 apprehend you correctly? These people here are credu- 
 lous enough to be influenced by the shadowy slanders of the 
 newspapers, and they listen to the half-muttered accusations. 
 of a hireling press?" 
 
 "They do say very awkward things in the daily press, 
 certainly," said she, dryly ; " and your friends marvel at the 
 silence with which you treat them." 
 
 " Then I have divined your meaning," said he. "It is 
 by these cowardly assailants I am supposed to be van- 
 quished. I suspect, however, that Colonel Barriugton him- 
 self was, once on a time, indulged with the same sort of 
 flattery. They said that he had usurped a sovereignty, 
 falsified documents, purloined jewels of immense value. I 
 don't know what they did not charge him with. And what 
 do they say of me? That I exhibited great severity — 
 cruelty, if you will — towards a mob in a state of rebellion ; 
 that I reprimanded a very silly subaltern for a misplaced 
 act of humanity. That I have been cashiered, too, they 
 assert, in face of the 'Gazette,' which announces my 
 
 1 
 
CROSS-PUKPOSES. 123 
 
 appointment to an unattached majority. In a word, the 
 enormity of the falsehood has never stayed their hand, and 
 they write of me whatever their unthinking malevolence can 
 suggest to them. You have, perhaps, seen some of these 
 paragraphs ? " 
 
 "Like every one else, I have read them occasionally; 
 not very attentively, indeed. But, in truth, I'm not a 
 reader of newspapers. Here, for instance, is this morning's 
 as it came from Dublin, still unopened ; " and she handed it 
 as she spoke. 
 
 " Let us see if I be still honored with their notice," 
 said he, unfolding the paper, and running his eyes hastily 
 over it. ' ' Debate on the Sugar Bill — Prison Reforms — 
 China — Reinforcements for Canada — Mail Service to the 
 Colonies — Bankruptcy Court. Oh, here we have it — here 
 it is ! " and he crushed the paper while he folded down 
 one part of it. '• Shall I read it for you? The heading 
 is very tempting : ' Late Military Scandal. — A very curious 
 report is now going through our "West-end Clubs, and 
 especially such as are the resort of military officers. It is 
 to the purport that a certain Field-officer of Cavalry — whose 
 conduct has been the subject of severe strictures from the 
 Press — will speedily be called to answer for a much graver 
 offence than the transgression of regimental discipline. The 
 story which has reached us is a very strange one, and we 
 should call it incredible, if we were not informed, on author- 
 ity, that one of our most distinguished Indian generals has 
 declared himself fully satisfied of its truth in every particu- 
 lar.' Can you fancy anything worse than that. Miss Dill? 
 An unknown somebody is alleged to be convmced of an 
 unknown something that attaches to me ; for, of course, I 
 am designated as the ' Field-officer of Cavalry,' and the 
 public is graciously pleased to hold me in abhorrence till I 
 have found out my calumniator and refuted him ! " 
 
 " It seems very hard. "Who do you suspect is the Indian 
 General alluded to ? " 
 
 " Tell me, first of all, — does he exist? " 
 " And this, too, you will not reply to, nor notice? " 
 " Not, certainly, through such a channel as it reaches 
 me. If the slanderer will stand forth and avow himself, 
 
124 BARRINGTON. 
 
 I may know how to deal with him. But what has led us 
 into this digression ? 1 am sure it is as little to your taste 
 as to mine. I have failed in my mission, and if I were able 
 to justify every act of my life, what would it avail me ? You 
 have pronounced against me ; at least, you will not take my 
 brief." 
 
 " What if I were retained by the other side?" said she, 
 smiling. 
 
 " I never suspected that there was another side," said he, 
 with an air of extreme indifference. "Who is my formi- 
 dable rival ? " 
 
 " I might have told you if 1 saw you were really anxious 
 on the subject." 
 
 " It would be but hypocrisy in me to pretend it. If, for 
 example, Major M'Cormick — " 
 
 " Oh, that is too bad ! " cried Polly, interrupting. " This 
 would mean an impertinence to Miss Barringtou." 
 
 " How pleasant we must have been ! Almost five o'clock, 
 and I scarcely thought it could be three ! " said he, with an 
 affected languor. 
 
 "'Time's foot is not heard when he treads upon 
 flowers,' " said she, smiling. 
 
 "Where shall I find your father, Miss Dill? I want to 
 tell him what a charming creature his daughter is, and how 
 wretched I feel at not being able to win her favor." 
 
 " Pray don't; or he might fall into my own mistake, and 
 imagine that you wanted a lease of it for life." 
 
 " Still cruel, still inexorable ! " said he, with a mockery 
 of affliction in his tone. "Will you say all the proper 
 things — the regrets, and such like — I feel at not meeting 
 him again; and if he has asked me to dinner — which I 
 really forget — will you make the fitting apology?" 
 
 " And what is it, in the present case?" 
 
 "I'm not exactly sure whether I am engaged to dine 
 elsewhere, or too ill to dine at all." 
 
 " Why not say it is the despair at being rejected renders 
 you unequal to the effort? I mean, of course, by myself, 
 Major Stapylton." 
 
 " I have no objection; say so, if you like," said he, with 
 an insulting indifference. " Good-day, Miss Dill. This 
 
CROSS-PURPOSES. 125 
 
 is the way to the road, I believe ; " and, with a low bow, 
 very deferential but very distant, he turned away to leave 
 the garden. He had not, however, gone many paces, when 
 he stopped and seemed to ponder. He looked up at the 
 sky, singularly clear and cloudless as it was, without a 
 breath of wind in the air ; he gazed around him on every 
 side, as if in search of an object he wanted ; and then, tak- 
 ing out his purse, he drew forth a shilling and examined it. 
 "Yes," muttered he, " Chance has been my only counsellor 
 for many a year, and the only one that never takes a bribe ! 
 And yet, is it not taking to the raft before the ship has 
 foundered ? True ; but shall I be sure of the raft if I wait 
 for the shipwreck? She is intensely crafty. She has that 
 sort of head that loves a hard knot to unravel ! Here goes ! 
 Let Destiny take all the consequences ! " and as he flung 
 up the piece of money in the air, he cried, "Head!" It 
 was some minutes ere he could discover where it had fallen, 
 amongst the close leaves of a border of strawberries. He 
 bent down to look, and exclaimed, "Head! she has won! " 
 Just as he arose from his stooping attitude he perceived 
 that Polly was engaged in the adjoining walk, making a 
 bouquet of roses. He sprang across the space, and stood 
 beside her. 
 
 " I thought you had been a mile off by this time, at least," 
 said she, calmly. 
 
 " So I meant, and so I intended; but just as I parted 
 from you, a thought struck me — one of those thoughts 
 which come from no process of reasoning or reflection, but 
 seem impelled by a force out of our own natures — that I 
 would come back and tell you something that was passing in 
 my mind. Can you guess it? " 
 
 "No; except it be that you are sorry for having trifled 
 so unfeelingly with my hopes, and have come back to make 
 the best reparation in your power, asking me to forgive and 
 accept you." 
 
 " You have guessed aright ; it was for that I returned." 
 
 " "What a clever guess I made ! Confess I am very ready- 
 witted ! " 
 
 "You are; and it is to engage those ready wits in my 
 behalf that I am now before you." 
 
126 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 " ' At my feet,* sir, is the appropriate expression. I won- 
 der how a gentleman so suited to be the hero of a story 
 could forget the language of the novel." 
 
 " I want you to be serious," said he, almost sternly. 
 
 " And why should that provoke seriousness from me which 
 only costs you levity?" 
 
 " Levity ! — where is the levity ? " 
 
 "Is it not this instant that you flung a shilling in the air, 
 and cried out, as you looked on it, ' She has won ' ? Is it 
 not that you asked Chance to decide for you what most men 
 are led to by their affections, or at least their interests ; and 
 if so, is levity not the name for this?" 
 
 " True in part, but not in whole ; for I felt it was I who 
 had won when ' head ' came uppermost." 
 
 " And yet you have lost." 
 
 " How so ! You refuse me? " 
 
 "I forgive your astonishment. It is really strange, but 
 I do refuse j'ou." 
 
 "But why? Are you piqued with me for anything that 
 occurred this morning? Have I offended you by an3-thing 
 that dropped from me in that conversation? Tell me frankly, 
 that I may, if in my power, rectify it." 
 
 ' ' No ; I rather felt flattered at the notion of being con- 
 sulted. I thought it a great tribute to my clear-headedness 
 and my tact." 
 
 " Then tell me what it was." 
 
 "You really wish it?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Insist upon it?" 
 
 " I insist upon it." 
 
 "Well, it was this. Seeing that you were intrusting 
 your future fortune to chance, I thought that I would do the 
 same, and so I tossed up whether, opportunity serving, I 
 should accept you or a certain other, and tiie other won ! " 
 
 " May I ask for the name of my fortunate rival?" 
 
 " I don't think it is very fair, perhaps not altogether deli- 
 cate of you ; and the more since he has not proj^osed, nor 
 possibly ever may. But no matter, you shall hear his name. 
 It was Major M'Cormick." 
 
 " ISI'Cormick! You mean this for an insult to me, Miss 
 Dill ? " 
 
CROSS-PURPOSES. 
 
 127 
 
 "Well, it certainly is open to that objection," said she, 
 with a very slight closure of her eyes, and a look of steady, 
 resolute defiance. 
 
 ..>.^[&:^ 
 
 "And in this way," continued he, "to throw ridicule over 
 the offer I have made you ? " 
 
 "Scarcely that; the proposition was in itself too ridicu- 
 lous to require any such aid from me." 
 
 For a moment Stapylton lost his self-possession, and he 
 turned on her with a look of savage malignity. 
 
128 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "An insult, and an intentional insult! " said be; "a bold 
 tbing to avow." 
 
 "1 don't tbink so, Major Stapylton. We bave been play- 
 ing a very rougb game witb eacb otber, and it is not very 
 wonderful if eacb of us sbould bave to complain of bard 
 treatment." 
 
 "•Could not so very clever a person as Miss Dill perceive 
 tbat I was only jesting ? " said be, witb a cutting insolence 
 in bis tone. 
 
 "I assure you tbat I did not," said sbe, calmly; "bad I 
 known or even suspected it was a jest, I never sbould bave 
 been angry. Tbat tbe distinguisbed Major Stapylton sbould 
 mock and quiz — or whatever be tbe name for it — tbe 
 doctor's daugbter, bowever questionable tbe good taste, was, 
 after all, only a passing sligbt. Tbe tbougbt of asking ber 
 to marry bim was different, — tbat was an outrage! " 
 
 "You sball pay for tbis one day, perbaps," said be, biting 
 his lip. 
 
 "No, Major Stapylton," said sbe, laugbing; "tbis is not 
 a debt of bonor; you can afford to ignore it." 
 
 "I tell you again, you sball pay for it." 
 
 "Till tben, sir! " said sbe, witb a courtesy; and witbout 
 giving bim time for auotber word, sbe turned and re-entered 
 tbe bouse. 
 
 Scarcely bad Stapylton gained tbe road wben be was joined 
 by M'Cormick. "Faitb, you didn't get tbe best of tbat 
 brusb, anybow," said be, witb a grin. 
 
 "Wbat do you mean, sir?" replied Stapylton, savagely. 
 
 "I mean tbat I beard every word tbat passed between you, 
 and I would n't bave been standing in your sboes for a fifty- 
 pound note." 
 
 "How is your rbeumatism tbis morning?" asked Stapyl- 
 ton, blandl}^ 
 
 "Pretty mucb as it alwaj's is," croaked out tbe otber. 
 
 "Be tbankful to it, tben; for if you were not a cripple, 
 I 'd tbrow you into tbat river as sure as I stand bere to 
 say it." 
 
 Major M'Cormick did not wait for a less merciful moment, 
 but bobbled away from tbe spot witb all tbe speed be could 
 muster. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 STORMS. 
 
 When Stapylton stepped out of his boat and landed at "The 
 Home," the first person he saw was certainly the last in his 
 wishes. It was Miss Dinah who stood at the jetty, as 
 though awaiting him. Scarcely deigning to notice, beyond 
 a faint smile of acquiescence, the somewhat bungling ex- 
 planation he gave of his absence, she asked if he had met 
 her brother. 
 
 "No," said he. "I left the village a couple of hours ago; 
 rather loitering, as I came along, to enjoy the river scenery." 
 
 "He took the road, and in this way missed you," said 
 she, dryly. 
 
 "How unfortunate! — for rae, I mean, of course. I own 
 to you, Miss Barrington, wide as the difference between our 
 ages, I never yet met any one so thoroughly companionable 
 to me as your brother. To meet a man so consummately 
 acquainted with the world, and yet not soured by his knowl- 
 edge ; to see the ripe wisdom of age blended with the gener- 
 ous warmth of youth ; to find one whose experiences only 
 make him more patient, more forgiving, more trustful — " 
 
 "Too trustful, Major Stapylton, far too trustful." And 
 her bold gray eyes were turned upon him as she spoke, with 
 a significance that could not be mistaken. 
 
 "It is a noble feeling, madam," said he, haughtily. 
 
 "It is a great misfortune to its possessor, sir." 
 
 "Can we deem that misfortune. Miss Barrington, which 
 enlarges the charity of our natures, and teaches us to be 
 slow to think ill?" 
 
 Not paying the slightest attention to his question, she 
 said, — 
 
 VOL. II. — 9 
 
130 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 "^NI}^ brother -went in search of j-ou, sir, to place in your 
 hands some very urgent letters from the Horse Guards, and 
 which a special messenger brought here this morning." 
 
 "Truly kind of him. They relate, I have no doubt, to 
 my Indian appointment. They told me I should have news 
 by to-day or to-morrow." 
 
 "He received a letter also for himself, sir, which he 
 desired to show you." 
 
 "About his lawsuit, of course? It is alike a pleasure and 
 a duty to me to serve him in that affair." 
 
 "It more nearly concerns yourself, sir," said she, in the 
 same cold, stern tone; "though it has certainly its bearing 
 on the case you speak of." 
 
 "More nearly concerns myself!" said he, repeating her 
 words slowly. "I am about the worst guesser of a riddle 
 in the world. Miss Barrington. AVould you kindly i-elieve 
 my curiosity ? Is this letter a continuation of those cowardly 
 attacks which, in the want of a worthier theme, the Press 
 have amused themselves by making upon me? Is it possible 
 that some enemy has had the malice to attack me through 
 my friends? " 
 
 "The writer of the letter in question is a sufficient guar- 
 antee for its honor, Mr. Withering." 
 
 "Mr. Withering! " repeated he, with a start, and then, as 
 suddenly assuming an easy smile, added: "I am perfectly 
 tranquil to find myself in such hands as Mr. Withering's. 
 And what, pray, does lie saj' of me?" 
 
 "AVill you excuse me. Major Stapylton, if I do not enter 
 upon a subject on which I am not merely very imperfectly 
 informed, but on which so humble a judgment as mine 
 would be valueless? My brother showed me the letter very 
 hurriedly; I had but time to see to what it referred, and to 
 be aware that it was his duty to let you see it at once, — if 
 possible, indeed, before you were again under his roof." 
 
 "What a grave significance your words have, Miss Bar- 
 rington! " said he, with a cold smile. "They actually set 
 me to think over all my faults and failings, and wonder for 
 which of them I am now arraigned." 
 
 "We do not profess to judge you, sir." 
 
 By this time they had sauntered up to the little garden in 
 
STORMS. 131 
 
 front of the cottage, within the paling of which Josephine 
 was busily engaged in training a japonica. She arose as 
 she heard the voices, and in her accustomed tone wished 
 Stapylton good-evening. "/S'Ae, at least, has heard nothing 
 of all this," muttered he to himself, as he saluted her. He 
 then opened the little wicket; and Miss Barringtou passed 
 in, acknowledging his attention by a short nod, as she 
 walked hastily forward and entered the cottage. Instead 
 of following her, Stapylton closed the wicket again, re- 
 maining on the outside, and leaning his arm on the upper 
 rail. 
 
 "Why do you perform sentry? Are you not free to enter 
 the fortress ? " said Fifine. 
 
 "I half suspect not," said he, in a low tone, and to hear 
 which she was obliged to draw nigher to where he stood. 
 
 "What do you mean? I don't understand you! " 
 
 "No great wonder, for I don't understand myself. Your 
 aunt has, however, in her own most mysterious way, given 
 me to believe that somebody has written something about 
 me to somebody else, and until I clear up what in all prob- 
 ability I shall never hear, that I had better keep to what the 
 Scotch call the ' back o' the gate. ' " 
 
 "This is quite unintelligible." 
 
 "I hope it is, for it is almost unendurable. I am sorely 
 afraid," added he, after a minute, "that I am not so patient 
 as I ought to be under Miss Barrington's strictures. I am 
 so much more in the habit of command than of obedience, 
 that I may forget myself now and then. To you, however, 
 I am ready to submit all my past life and conduct. By 
 you I am willing to be judged. If these cruel calumnies 
 which are going the round of the papers on me have lowered 
 me in your estimation, my case is a lost one; but if, as I 
 love to think, your woman's heart resents an injustice, — if, 
 taking counsel of your courage and your generosity, you feel 
 it is not the time to withdraw esteem when the dark hour of 
 adversity looms over a man, — then, I care no more for 
 these slanders than for the veriest trifles which cross one's 
 every-day life. In one word, — your verdict is life or 
 death to me." 
 
 "In that case," said she, with an effort to dispel the seri* 
 
132 BARRINGTON. 
 
 ousness of his manner, " I must have time to consider my 
 sentence." 
 
 "But that is exactly what you cannot have, Josephine," 
 said he; and there was a certain earnestness in his voice 
 and look, which made her hear him call her by her name 
 without any sense of being offended. "First relieve the 
 suffering; there will be ample leisure to question the suf- 
 ferer afterwards. The Good Samaritan wasted few words, 
 and asked for no time. The noblest services are those of 
 which the cost is never calculated. Your own heart can 
 tell you : can you befriend me, and will you ? " 
 
 "I do not know what it is you ask of me," said she, with 
 a frank boldness which actually disconcerted him. "Tell 
 me distinctly, what is it?" 
 
 "I will tell you," said he, taking her hand, but so gently, 
 so respectfully withal, that she did not at first withdraw it, 
 — "I will tell you. It is that you will share that fate on 
 which fortune is now frowning; that you will add your 
 own high-couraged heart to that of one who never knew a 
 fear till now; that you will accept my lot in this the day of 
 my reverse, and enable me to turn upon my pursuers and 
 scatter them. To-morrow or next day will be too late. It 
 is now, at this hour, that friends hold back, that one more 
 than friend is needed. Can you be that, Josephine?" 
 
 "No! " said she, firmly. "If I read your meaning aright, 
 I cannot." 
 
 "You cannot love me, Josephine," said he, in a voice of 
 intense emotion ; and though he waited some time for her 
 to speak, she was silent. "It is true, then," said he, pas- 
 sionately, "the slanderers have done their work! " 
 
 "I know nothing of these calumnies. When my grand- 
 father told me that they accused you falsely, and condemned 
 you unfairly, I believed him. I am as ready as ever to say 
 so. I do not understand your cause; but I believe you to 
 be a true and gallant gentleman ! " 
 
 "But yet, not one to love! " whispered he, faintly. 
 
 Again she was silent, and for some time he did not 
 speak. 
 
 "A true and gallant gentleman!" said he, slowly repeat- 
 ing her own words; "and if so, is it an unsafe keeping to 
 
STORMS. 133 
 
 which to intrust your happiness? It is no graceful task to 
 have oneself for a theme ; but I cannot help it. I have no 
 witnesses to call to character; a few brief lines in an army 
 list, and some scars — old reminders of French sabres — are 
 poor certificates, and yet I have no others." 
 
 There was something which touched her in the sadness 
 of his tone as he said these words, and if she knew how, 
 she would have spoken to him in kindliness. He mistook 
 the sti'ugole for a change of purpose, and with greater eager- 
 ness continued: "After all 1 am scarcely more alone in the 
 world than you are! The dear friends who now surround 
 you cannot be long spared, and what isolation will be your 
 fate then! Think of this, and think, too, how, in assuring 
 your own future, you rescue mine." 
 
 Very differently from his former speech did the present 
 affect her; and her cheeks glowed and her eyes flashed as 
 she said, "I have never intrusted my fate to your keeping, 
 sir; and you may spare yourself all anxiety about it." 
 
 "You mistake me. You wrong me, Josephine — " 
 
 "You wrong yourself when you call me by my Christian 
 name; and you arm me with distrust of one who would 
 presume upon an interest he has not created." 
 
 "You refuse me, then?" said he, slowly and calmly. 
 
 "Once, and forever!" 
 
 "It may be that you are mistaken, ^Miss Barrington. It 
 may be that this other affection, which you prefer to mine, 
 is but the sickly sentiment of a foolish boy, whose life up to 
 this has not given one single guarantee, nor shown one 
 single trait of those which make ' true and gallant gentle- 
 men.' But you have made your choice." 
 
 "I have," said she, with a low but firm voice. 
 
 "You acknowledge, then, that I was right." cried he, 
 suddenly; "there is a prior attachment? Your heart is not 
 your own to give? " 
 
 "And by what right do you presume to question me? 
 Who are you, that dares to do this?" 
 
 "Who am I?" cried he, and for once his voice rose to 
 the discordant ring of passion. 
 
 "Yes, that was my question," repeated she, firmly. 
 
 "So, then, you have had your lesson, young lady," said 
 
134 BARRINGTON. 
 
 he; and the words came from him with a hissiug sound, 
 that indicated intense anger, "Who am I? You want my 
 birth, my parentage, my bringing up! Had you no friend 
 who could have asked this in your stead? Or were all tnose 
 around you so bereft of courage that they deputed to a 
 young girl what should have been the oflice of a man?" 
 
 Though the savage earnestness of his manner startled, it 
 did not affright her; and it was with a cold quietness she 
 said, "If you had known my father. Major Stapylton, I 
 suspect you would not have accused his daughter of 
 cowardice! " 
 
 "Was he so very terrible?" said he, with a smile that 
 was half a sneer. 
 
 "He would have been, to a man like you." 
 
 "To a man like me, — a man like me! Do you know, 
 young lady, that either your words are very idle words or 
 very offensive ones? " 
 
 "And yet I have no wish to recall them, sir." 
 
 "It would be better j'ou could find some one to sustain 
 them. Unfortunately, however, you cannot ask that gal- 
 lant gentleman we were just talking of; for it is only the 
 other da}', and after passing over to Calais to meet me, his 
 friends pretend that there is some obstacle to our meeting. 
 I owe my tailor or my bootmaker something; or I have 
 not paid my subscription to a club; or I have left an un- 
 settled bill ai Baden. I really forget the precise pretext; 
 but it was one which to them seemed quite sufficient to 
 balk me of a redress, and at the same time to shelter their 
 friend." 
 
 "I will not believe one word of it, sir! " 
 
 "Well, we have at least arrived at a perfect frankness in 
 our intercourse. Ma}' I ask you, young lad}-, which of 
 your relatives has suggested 3'our present course! Is 
 it to your aunt or to your grandfather I must go for an 
 explanation? " 
 
 "I suspect it is to me^ Major Stapylton," said Barrington, 
 as he came from behind Josephine. "It is to me you must 
 address yourself. Fifine, my dear, your aunt is looking for 
 you; go and tell her, too, that I am quite ready for tea, and 
 you will find me here when it is ready. Major Stapylton 
 
STORMS. 135 
 
 and I will take a stroll along the river-side." Now this last 
 was less an invitation than a sort of significant hint to 
 Stapylton that his host had no intention to ask him to cross 
 his threshold, at least for the present; and, indeed, as Bar- 
 rington passed out and closed the wicket after him, he 
 seemed as though closing the entrance forever. 
 
 With a manner far more assured than his wont. Barring- 
 ton said: "I have been in pursuit of you, Major Stapylton, 
 since four o'clock. I missed you by having taken the road 
 instead of the river; and am much grieved that the com- 
 munication I have to make you should not take place 
 anywhere rather than near my roof or within my own 
 gates." 
 
 "I am to suppose from your words, sir, that what you are 
 about to say can scarcely be said to a friend ; and if so, 
 cannot you hit upon a more convenient mode of making 
 your communication?" 
 
 "I think not. I believe that I shall be dealing more 
 fairly with you by saying what I have to say in person." 
 
 "Go on," said Stapylton, calmly, as the other paused. 
 
 "You are aware," continued Barriugton, "that the chief 
 obstacle to a settlement of the claims I have long preferred 
 against the India Company has been a certain document 
 which they possess, declaring that a large portion of the 
 territory held hj the Rajah of Luckerabad was not amenable 
 to the laws that regulate succession, being what is called 
 ' Lurkar-teea,' — conquered country, — over which, under 
 no circumstances, could the Rajah exercise prospective 
 rights. To this deed, for their better protection, the Com- 
 pany obtained the signature and seal of the Rajah himself, 
 by means which, of course, we could never discover; but 
 they held it, and always declared that no portion of my son's 
 claim could extend to these lands. Now, as they denied 
 that he could succeed to what are called the ' Turban lands,' 
 meaning the right of sovereignty — being a British sub- 
 ject — on the one hand, and rejected his claim to these 
 conquered countries on the other, — they excluded him 
 altogether." 
 
 "My dear sir," said Stapylton. mildly, "I'm shocked to 
 interrupt you, but I am forced to ask, what is the intimate 
 
136 BARRINGTON. 
 
 bearing of all this upon me, or on your position towards 
 me?" 
 
 "Have a little patience, sir, and suffer me to proceed. If 
 it should turn out that this document — I mean that which 
 bears the signature and seal of the Rajah — should be a 
 forgery; if, I say, it could be shown that what the India 
 Board have long relied on to sustain their case and corrob- 
 orate their own view could be proved false, a great point 
 would be gained towards the establishment of our claim." 
 
 "Doubtless," said Stapyltou, with the half-peevish indif- 
 ference of one listening against his will. 
 
 "Well, there is a good prospect of this," said Barring- 
 ton, boldly. "Nay, more, it is a certainty." 
 
 "Mr. Barrington," said Stapylton, drawing himself 
 haughtily up, "a few hours ago this history would have had 
 a very great interest for me. My hopes pointed to a very 
 close relationship wdth your family ; the last hour has sutticed 
 to dispel those hopes. Your granddaughter has rejected me 
 so decidedly that I cannot presume to suppose a change in 
 her opinion possible. Let me not, then, obtain any share 
 in your confidence to which I have no right whatever." 
 
 "What I am about to say will have more interest for you, 
 sir," continued Barrington. "I am about to meution a 
 name that you will recognize, — the Moonshee, Ali Gohur." 
 
 Stapylton started, and dropped the cigar he was smoking. 
 To take out another and light it, however, sufficed to employ 
 him, as he murmured between his teeth, "Go on." 
 
 "This man says — " continued Barrington. 
 
 "Said, perhaps, if you like," broke in Stapylton, "for he 
 died some months ago." 
 
 "No; he is alive at this hour. He was on board the 
 Indiaman that was run down by the transport. He was 
 saved and carried on board the ' Regulus ' by the intrepidity 
 of young Dill. He is now recovering rapidly from the 
 injuries he received, and at the date of the letter which I 
 hold here, was able to be in daily communication with 
 Colonel Hunter, who is the writer of this." 
 
 " I wish the gallant Colonel honester company. Are you 
 aware, Mr. Barrington, that you are speaking of one of the 
 greatest rascals of a country not famed for its integrity?" 
 
STORMS. 137 
 
 "He lays no claim to such for the past; but he would 
 seem desirous to make some reparation for a long course of 
 iniquity." 
 
 •• Charmed for his sake, and that of his well-wishers, if 
 he have any. But, once again, sir, and at all the risk of 
 appearing very impatient, what concern has all this for 
 me ? " 
 
 "A great deal, sir. The Moonshee declares that he has 
 been for years back in close correspondence with a man we 
 long since believed dead, and that this man was known to 
 have communicated constantly with the law advisers of the 
 India Board in a manner adverse to us, he being none other 
 than the son of the notorious Sam Edwardes, whom he 
 always addressed under cover to Captain Horace Stapylton, 
 Prince's Hussars." 
 
 "This is — strange enough, when one thinks of the quar- 
 ter it comes from — perfectly true. I came to know 
 Edwardes when on my voyage home, invalided. He took 
 immense trouble about me, nursed and tended me, and, in 
 return, asked as a favor to have some letters he was expect- 
 ing addressed to my care. I neither knew who he was, nor 
 cared. He got his letters, and I suppose read them ; but of 
 their contents, I, it is needless to say, know nothing. I 
 am speaking of a dozen years ago, or, at least, eight or ten, 
 for since that time I have never heard of either Edwardes or 
 his friend." 
 
 ''He tells a different story. He asserts that to his letters, 
 forwarded to the same address up to the period of last 
 March, he regularly received replies; but at last finding 
 that the writer was disposed to get rid of him, he obtained 
 means to circulate a report of his death, and sailed for 
 Europe to prefer his claims, whatever they be, in person." 
 
 "And if every word of this were true, Mr. Barrington, 
 which I don't suspect it is, how, in the name of common 
 sense, does it concern me? I don't suppose I ever took my 
 own letters at a post-office twice in my life. My servant, 
 who has lived with me fourteen years, may, for aught I 
 know, have been bribed to abstract these letters on their 
 arrival ; they would be easily recognized by the verj- super- 
 scription. This is one way the thing might have been done. 
 
138 BARRINGTON. 
 
 There may have been fifty more, for aught I know or 
 care." 
 
 "But you don't deny that you knew PLdwardes, and had a 
 close intimacy with him? — a circumstance which you never 
 revealed to Withering or myself." 
 
 "It is not at all improbable I may have known half a 
 dozen of that name. It is by no means an uncommon one, 
 not to say that 1 have a singularly infelicitous memory for 
 people's names. But for the last time, sir, I must protest 
 against this conversation going any further. You have 
 taken upon you, I would hope without intending it, the tone 
 of a French Juge d' Instruction in the interrogation of a 
 prisoner. You have questioned and cross-questioned me, 
 asking how I can account for this, or explain that. Now, 
 I am read}' to concede a great deal to your position as my 
 host, and to your years, but really I must entreat of you 
 not to push my deference for these bej'ond the limits of the 
 respect I owe myself. Y"ou very properly warned me at the 
 opening of this conversation that it ought not to have the 
 sanction of your roof-tree. I have only to beg that if it is 
 to go any further, that it be conducted in such a shape as is 
 usual between gentlemen who have an explanation to ask, 
 or a satisfaction to demand." 
 
 There was consummate craft in giving the discussion this 
 turn. Stapylton well knew the nature of the man he was 
 addressing, and that after the passing allusion to his char- 
 acter as a host, he only needed to hint at the possibility of a 
 meeting to recall him to a degree of respect only short of 
 deference for his opponent. 
 
 "I defer to j'ou at once, INIajor Stapylton," said the old 
 man, with a bland courtesy, as he uncovered and bowed. 
 "There was a time when I should scarcely have required the 
 admonition you have given me." 
 
 "I am glad to perceive that you understand me so 
 readily," said Stapylton, who could scarcely repress the 
 joy he felt at the success of his diversion; "and that noth- 
 ing may mar our future understanding, this is my address 
 in London, where 1 shall wait your orders for a week." 
 
 Though the stroke was shrewdly intended, and meant to 
 thi-ow upon Barrington all the onus of the provocation, the 
 
STORMS. 139 
 
 Major little suspected that it was the one solitary subject 
 of which his oppouent was a master. On the "duello" 
 Barriugton was an authority beyond appeal, and no subtlety, 
 however well contrived, could embarrass or involve him. 
 
 "I have no satisfaction to claim at your hands, Major 
 Stapylton," said he, calmly. "My friend, Mr. Withering, 
 when he sent me these letters, knew you were my guest, and 
 he said, ' Read them to Major Stapylton. Let him know 
 what is said of him, and who says it.' " 
 
 "And, perhaps, you ought to add, sir, who gives it the 
 sanction of his belief," broke in Stapylton, angrily. "You 
 never took the trouble to recite these charges till they 
 obtained your credence." 
 
 "You have said nothing to disprove them," said the old 
 man, quickly. 
 
 "That is enough, — quite enough, sir; we understand each 
 other perfectly. You allege certain things against me as 
 injuries done you, and you wait for me to resent the impu- 
 tation. I '11 not balk you, be assured of it. The address I 
 have given you in London will enable you to communicate 
 with me when you arrive there; for I presume this matter 
 had better be settled in France or Holland." 
 
 "I think so," said Barrington, with the air of a man 
 thoroughly at his ease. 
 
 "I need not say, Mr. Barrington, the regret it gives me 
 that it was not one of my detractors himself, and not their 
 dupe, that should occupy this place." 
 
 "The dupe, sir, is very much at your service." 
 
 "Till we meet again," said Stapylton, raising his hat as 
 he turned away. In his haste and the confusion of the 
 moment, he took the path that led towards the cottage; nor 
 did he discover his mistake till he heard Barrington's voice 
 calling out to Darby, — 
 
 "Get the boat ready to take Major Stapylton to 
 Inistioge." 
 
 "You forget none of the precepts of hospitality," said 
 Stapylton, wheeling hastily around, and directing his steps 
 towards the river. 
 
 Barrington looked after him as he went, and probably 
 iu his long and varied life, crossed with many a care and 
 
140 BARRINGTON. 
 
 many troubles, he bad never felt the pain of such severe 
 self-reproucb as in that moment. To see bis guest, the man 
 vrbo bad sat at bis board and eaten bis salt, going out into 
 tbe dreary uigbt witbout one bospitable effort to detain bim, 
 witbout a pledge to bis bealtb, witbout a warm sbake of bis 
 band, or one bearty wisb for bis return. 
 
 ''Dear, dear!" muttered be, to bimself, "wbat is tbe 
 world come to! 1 tbougbt I bad no more experiences to 
 learn of suffering; but bere is a new one. "Wbo would bave 
 tbougbt to see the day that Peter Barriugton would treat 
 bis guest this fashion?" 
 
 ""Are you coming in to tea, grandpapa? " cried Josephine, 
 from the garden. 
 
 "Here I am, my dear! " 
 
 " And your guest, Peter, wbat has become of him ? " said 
 Dinah. 
 
 "He had some very urgent business at Kilkenny; some- 
 thing that could not admit of delay, I opine." 
 
 "But you have not let bim go without bis letters, surely. 
 Here are all these formidable-looking despatches, on his 
 Majesty's service, on the chimney-piece." 
 
 "How forgetful of me! " cried be, as, snatching them up, 
 be hastened down to the river-side. The boat, however, 
 had just gone; and although he shouted and called at the 
 top of his voice, no answer came, and be turned back at 
 last, vexed and disappointed. 
 
 "I shall have to start for Dublin to-morrow, Dinah," said 
 he, as he walked thoughtfully up and down tbe room. "I 
 must have Witbering's advice on these letters. There are 
 very pressing matters to be thought of here, and I can take 
 Major Stapylton's despatches with me. I am certain to 
 bear of him somewhere." 
 
 Miss Barrington turned her eyes full upon bim, and 
 watched him narrowly. She was a keen detector of 
 motives, and she scanned her brother's face with no com- 
 mon keenness, and yet she could see nothing beyond tbe 
 preoccupation she bad often seen. There was no impa- 
 tience, no anxiety. A shade more thoughtful, perhaps, 
 and even that passed off, as he sat down to his tea, and 
 asked Fifine wbat commissions she had for the capital. 
 
STORMS. 141 
 
 "You will leave by the evening mail, I suppose?" said 
 Miss Barrington. 
 
 "No, Dinah, night travelling wearies me. I will take the 
 coach as it passes the gate to-morrow at five; this will bring 
 me in time to catch Withering at his late dinner, and a 
 pleasanter way to finish a day's travel no man need ask 
 for." 
 
 Nothing could be more easily spoken than these words, 
 and Miss Dinah felt reassured by them, and left the room to 
 give some orders about his journey. 
 
 "Fifine, darling," said Barrington, after a pause, "do 
 you like your life here? " 
 
 "Of course I do, grandpapa. How could I wish for one 
 more happy ? " 
 
 "But it is somewhat dull for one so young, — somewhat 
 solitary for a fair, bright creature, who might reasonably 
 enough care for pleasure and the world." 
 
 "To me it is a round of gayety, grandpapa; so that I 
 almost felt inclined yesterday to wish for some quiet davs 
 with aunt and yourself, — some of those dreamy days like 
 what we had in Germany." 
 
 " I fear me much, darling, that I contribute but little to 
 the pleasure. My head is so full of one care or another, I 
 am but sorry company, Fifine." 
 
 " If you only knew how dull we are without you! How 
 heavily the day drags on even with the occupations you take 
 no share in ; how we miss your steps on the stairs and your 
 voice in the garden, and that merry laugh that sets ourselves 
 a-laughing just by its own ring." 
 
 "And you would miss me, then?" said he, as he pushed 
 the hair from her temples, and stared steadfastly at her 
 face, — "you would miss me?" 
 
 "It would only be half life without you," cried she, 
 passionately. 
 
 " So much the worse, — so much the worse ! " muttered 
 he; and he turned away, and drew his hand across his 
 eyes. " This life of ours, Fifine, is a huge battle-field ; and 
 though the comrades fall fast around him, the brave soldier 
 will fight on to the last." • 
 
 " You don't want a dress-coat, brother Peter, to dine 
 
142 BAKRINGTON. 
 
 with Withering, so I have just put up what will serve you 
 for three days, or four, at furthest," said Diuah, euteriug. 
 " What will be the extent of your stay?" 
 
 "Let me have a black coat, Diuah; there's no saying 
 what great man may not ask for my company ; and it might 
 be a week before I get back again. " 
 
 "There's no necessity it should be anything of the kind, 
 Peter; and with your habits an hotel life is scarcely an 
 economy. Come, Fitine, get to bed, child. You '11 have 
 to be up at daybreak. Your grandpapa won't think his 
 coffee drinkable, if it is not made by your hands." 
 
 And with this remark, beautifully balanced between a 
 reproof and a flattery, she proceeded to blow out the candles, 
 which was her accustomed mode of sending her company to 
 their rooms. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE OLD LEAVEN. 
 
 Withering arrived at bis own door just as Barrington 
 drove up to it. "I knew my letter would bring you up to 
 town, Barrington," said be ; " and I was so sure of it tbat 
 I ordered a saddle of mutton for your dinner, and refused 
 an invitation to tbe Cbancellor's." 
 
 "And quite rigbt too. I am far better company, Tom. 
 Are we to be all alone?" 
 
 " All alone." 
 
 "Tbat was exactly wbat I wanted. Now, as I need a 
 long evening with you, the sooner they serve the soup the 
 better ; and be sure you give your orders that nobody be 
 admitted." 
 
 If Mr. TVithering's venerable butler, an official long 
 versed in the mysteries of his office, were to have been 
 questioned on the subject, it is not improbable he would 
 have declared that he never assisted at a pleasanter tete-d 
 tete than that day's dinner. They enjoyed their good dinner 
 and their good wine like men who bring to the enjoyment 
 a ripe experience of such pleasures, and they talked with 
 the rare zest of good talkers and old friends. 
 
 " We are in favor with Nicholas," said Withering, as 
 the butler withdrew, and left them alone, "or he would 
 never have given us that bottle of port. Do you mark, 
 Barrington, it's the green seal that .John Bushe begged so 
 hard for one night, and all unsuccessfully." 
 
 " It is rare stuff ! " said Barrington, looking at it between 
 him and the light. 
 
 "And it was that story of yours of tlie Kerry election 
 that won it. The old fellow had to rush out of the room 
 to have his laugh out." 
 
144 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " Do you know, Tom," said Barrington, as be sipped 
 his wine, " I believe, iu auotber geueratiou, nobody will 
 laugh at all. Since you and 1 were boys, the world has 
 taken a very serious turn. Not that it is much wiser, 
 or better, or more moral, or more cultivated, but it is 
 graver. The old jollity would be now set down simply 
 for vulgarity, aud with many people a joke is only short of 
 an insult." 
 
 " Shall 1 tell you why, Peter? We got our reputation for 
 wit, just as we made our name for manufacture, and there 
 sprung up a mass of impostors in consequence, — fellows 
 who made poor jokes and rotten calicoes, that so disgusted 
 the world that people have gone to France for their fun, aud 
 to Germany for their furniture. That is, to my taking, the 
 reason of all this social reaction." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, Tom. Old Joe Millers are not 
 unlike cloth made out of devil's dust. One can't expect 
 much wear out of either." 
 
 " We must secure another bottle from that bin before 
 Nicholas changes his mind," said Withering, rising to ring 
 the bell. 
 
 "No, Tom, not for me. I want all the calm and all the 
 judgment I can muster, and don't ask me to take more 
 wine. I have much to say to you." 
 
 " Of course you have. I knew well that packet of letters 
 would bring you up to town ; but you have had scarcely 
 time to read them." 
 
 "Very hurriedly, I confess. They reached me yesterday 
 afternoon ; and when I had run my e3'es hastily over them, 
 I said, ' Stap3'lton must see this at once.' The man was my 
 guest, — he was under my roof, — there could not be a ques- 
 tion about how to deal with him. He was out, however, 
 when the packet reached my hands ; and while the pony was 
 being harnessed, I took another look over that letter from 
 Colonel Hunter. It shocked me, Tom, I confess ; because 
 there flashed upon me quite suddenly the recollection of the 
 promptitude with which the India Board at home here were 
 provided with an answer to each demand we made. It was 
 not merely that when we advanced a step they met us ; but 
 ■we could scarcely meditate a move that they were not iu 
 activity to repel it." 
 
THE OLD LEAVEN. 145 
 
 "I saw that, too, and was struck by it," said "Withering. 
 "True enough, Tom. I remember a remark of yours one 
 day. ' These people,' said you, ' have our range so accu- 
 rately, one would suspect they had stepped the ground.' " 
 The lawyer smiled at the compliment to his acuteuess, and 
 the other went on : " As I read further, I thought Stapyltou 
 had been betrayed, — his correspondent in India had shown 
 his letters. ' Our enemies,' said I, ' have seen our de- 
 spatches, and are playing with our cards on the table.' No 
 thought of distrust, — not a suspicion against his loyalty had 
 ever crossed me till I met him. I came unexpectedly upon 
 him, however, before the door, and there was a ring and 
 resonance in his voice as I came up that startled me ! 
 Passion forgets to shut the door sometimes, and one can see 
 in an angry mind what you never suspected in the calm one. 
 I took him up at once, without suffering him to recover his 
 composure, and read him a part of Hunter's letter. He was 
 ready enough with his reply ; he knew the Moonshee by 
 reputation as a man of the worst character, but had suffered 
 him to address certain letters under cover to him, as a con- 
 venience to the person they were meant for, and who was no 
 other than the son of the notorious Sam Edwardes. ' Whom 
 you have known all this while,' said I, ' without ever 
 acknowledging to us?' 
 
 " 'Whom I did know some years back,' replied he, 'but 
 never thought of connecting with the name of Colonel Bar- 
 rington's enemy.' All this was possible enough, Tom; 
 besides, his manner was frank and open in the extreme. It 
 was only at last, as I dwelt, what he deemed too pertina- 
 ciously, on this point, that he suddenly lost control of him- 
 self, and said, ' I will have no more of this ' — or, ' This 
 must go no further' — or some words to that effect." 
 
 "Ha! the probe had touched the sore spot, eh?" cried 
 Withering. " Go on! " 
 
 " ' And if you desire further explanations from me, you 
 must ask for them at the price men pay for inflicting un- 
 merited insult.' " 
 
 " Cleverly turned, cleverly done," said Withering ; "but 
 you were not to be deceived and drawn off by that feint, 
 eh?" 
 
 VOL. II. — 10 
 
14G BARRINGTON. 
 
 " Feint or not, it succeeded, Tom. He made me feel 
 that I bad injured him ; and as he would not accept of my 
 excuses, — as, iu fact, he did not give me time to make 
 them — " 
 
 " He got you into a quarrel, isn't that the truth?" asked 
 Withering, hotly. 
 
 "Come, come, Tom, be reasonable; he had perfect right 
 on his side. There was what he felt as a very grave impu- 
 tation upon him ; that is, I had made a charge, and his 
 explanation had not satisiied me, — or, at all events, I had 
 not said I was satisfied, — and we each of us, 1 take it, were 
 somewhat warmer than we need have been." 
 
 "And you are going to meet him, —going to fight a 
 duel?" 
 
 " Well, if I am, it will not be the first time." 
 
 "And can you tell for what? Will you be able to make 
 any man of common intelligence understand for what you 
 are going out? " 
 
 " I hope so. I have the man in my eye. No, no, don't 
 make a wry face, Tom. It's another old friend I was 
 thinking of to help me through this affair, and I sincerely 
 trust he will not be so hard to instruct as you imagine." 
 
 "How old are you, Barrington?" 
 
 " Dinah saj's eighty-one ; but I suspect she cheats me. I 
 think I am eighty-three." 
 
 "And is it at eight^^-three that men fight duels?" 
 
 *' Not if they can help it, Tom, certainly. I have never 
 been out since I shot Tom Connelly in tlie knee, which 
 was a matter of forty years ago, and I had good hopes it 
 was to be my last exploit of this kind. But what is to be 
 done if a man tells you that your age is j'our protection ; 
 that if it had not been for j'our white hairs and your shaking 
 ankles, that he 'd have resented your conduct or your words 
 to him? Faith, I think it puts a fellow on his mettle to show 
 that his heart is all right, though his hand may tremble." 
 
 "I'll not take any share in such a folly. I tell you, 
 Barrington, the world for whom you are doing this will be 
 the very first to scout its absurdity. .lust remember for a 
 moment we are not living in the old days before the Union, 
 and we have not the right, if we had the power, to throw 
 our age back into the barbarism it has escaped from." 
 
THE OLD LEAVEN. 147 
 
 " Barbarism ! The days of poor Yelvertou, and Pousonb}', 
 and Harry Grattan, and Parsons, and Ned Lysagbt, barbar- 
 ism ! Ah ! my dear Tom, I wish we had a few of such bar- 
 barians here now, and I 'd ask for another bottle or two of 
 that port." 
 
 "I'll not give it a milder word; and what's more, I'll 
 not suffer you to tarnish a time-honored name by a folly 
 which even a boy would be blamed for. My dear old friend, 
 just grant me a little patience." 
 
 "This is cool, certainly," said Barrington, laughing. 
 " You have said all manner of outrageous things to me for 
 half an hour unopposed, and now you cry have patience." 
 
 " Give me 3'our honor now that this shall not go further." 
 
 " I cannot, Tom, — I assure you, I cannot." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' you cannot'? ' cried Withering, 
 angrily. 
 
 " I mean just what I said. If you had accepted a man's 
 brief, Tom Withering, there is a professional etiquette which 
 would prevent your giving it up and abandoning him ; and 
 so there are situations between men of the world which claim 
 exactly as rigid an observance. I told Stapylton I would 
 be at his orders, and I mean to keep my word." 
 
 " Not if you had no right to pledge it; not if I can prove 
 to you that this quarrel was a mere got-up altercation to 
 turn you from an inquiry which this man dare not face." 
 
 "■ This is too subtle for me, Withering, — far too subtle." 
 
 " No such thing, Barrington ; but I will make it plainer. 
 How if the man you are going to meet had no right to the 
 name he bears ? " 
 
 " What do I care for his name? " 
 
 ' ' Don't you care for the falsehood by which he has as- 
 sumed one that is not his own?" 
 
 " I may be sorry that he is not more clean-handed ; but 
 I tell you again, Tom, they never indulged such punc- 
 tilios in our young days, and I 'm too old to go to school 
 again ! " 
 
 " I declare, Barrington, you provoke me," said the 
 lawyer, rising, and pacing the room with hasty strides. 
 " After years and years of .weary toil, almost disheartened 
 by defeat and failure, we at last see the outline of land; 
 
148 BARRINGTON. 
 
 a few more clays — or it may be hours — of perseverance 
 may accomplish our task. Since I arose this morning I 
 have learned more of our case, seen my way more clearly 
 through matters which have long puzzled me, than the cost 
 of years has taught me. I have passed four hours with one 
 who would give his life to serve you, l)ut whose name I was 
 not at liberty to divulge, save in the last necessity, and the 
 reasons for which reserve I heartily concur in ; and now, by 
 a rash and foolish altercation, you would jeopardy every- 
 thing. Do you wonder if I lose temper? " 
 
 "You have got me into such a state of bewilderment, 
 Tom, that I don't know what I am asked to agree to. But 
 who is your friend, — is n't it a woman? " 
 
 " It is not a woman." 
 
 "I'd have bet five pounds it was! When as sharp a 
 fellow as you takes the wrong line of country, it 's generally 
 a woman is leading the way over the fences." 
 
 "This time your clever theory is at fault." 
 
 "Well, who is it? Out with him, Tom. I have not 
 so many stanch friends in the world that I can afford to 
 ignore them." 
 
 " I will tell you his name on one condition." 
 
 " I agree. What is the condition? " 
 
 " It is this: that when you hear it you will dismiss from 
 your mind — though it be only for a brief space — all the 
 prejudices that years may have heaped against him, and 
 suffer me to show you that yoii^ with all your belief in your 
 own fairness, are not just; and with a firm conviction in 
 your own generosity, might be more generous. There 's my 
 condition ! " 
 
 " Well, it must be owned I am going to pay pretty 
 smartly for my information," said Barrington, laughing. 
 " And if you are about to preach to me, it will not be a 
 ' charity ' sermon ; but, as I said before, I agree to every- 
 thing." 
 
 Withering stopped his walk and resumed it again. It 
 was evident he had not satisfied himself how he should 
 proceed, and he looked agitated and undecided. " Bar- 
 rington," said he, at last, "you have had about as many 
 reverses in life as most men, and must have met with fully 
 
THE OLD LEAVEH 149 
 
 your share of ingratitude and its treatment. Do you feel, 
 now, in looking back, that there are certain fellows you 
 cannot forgive?" 
 
 ''One or two, perhaps, push me harder than the rest,-; 
 but if I have no gout flying about me, I don't think I bear 
 them any malice." 
 
 '• Well, you have no goutj^ symptoms now, I take it? " 
 
 " Never felt better for the last twenty years." 
 
 "That is as it should be; for I want to talk to you of 
 a man who, in all our friendship, you have never mentioned 
 to me, but whose name I know will open an old wound, — 
 Ormsby Conj-ers." 
 
 Barrington laid down the glass he was lifting to his lips, 
 and covered his face with both his hands, nor for some 
 moments did he speak a word. " "Withering," said he, and 
 his voice trembled as he spoke, " even your friendship has 
 scarcely the right to go this far. The injury the man you 
 speak of did me meets me every morning as I open m}' eyes, 
 and my first prayer each day is that I may forgive him, for 
 every now and then, as my lone lot iu life comes strongly 
 before me, I have need to pray for this ; but I have succeeded 
 at last, — I have forgiven him from my heart; but, dear 
 friend, let us not talk of what tears open wounds that bleed 
 afresh at a touch. I beseech you, let all that be a bygone." 
 
 " That is more than I can do, Barrington ; for it is not to 
 me 3'ou must acknowledge you have forgiven this man, — 
 you must tell it to himself." 
 
 '• That is not needed, Tom. Thousands of long miles 
 separate us, and will in all likelihood separate us to the 
 last. What does he want with my forgiveness, which is less 
 a question between him and me than between me and 
 my own heart?" 
 
 "And yet it is what he most desires on earth; he told me 
 so within an hour! " 
 
 " Told you so, — and within an hour? " 
 
 "Yes, Barrington, he is here. Xot in the house," added 
 he, hastil}', for the suddenness of the announcement had 
 startled the old man, and agitated him greatly. "Be calm, 
 my dear friend," said Withering, laying a hand on the 
 other's shoulder. "He who is now come to claim your for- 
 
150 BARRINGTON. 
 
 giveness has never injured you to the extent you believe. 
 He asks it as the last tribute to one he loved only less 
 than you loved him. lie has told me everything; never 
 sparing himself, nor seeking by any subtlety to excuse a 
 particle of his conduct. Let me tell you that story as I 
 heard it. It will be some solace to you to know that your 
 noble-hearted son inspired a friendship which, after the 
 long lapse of years, extracts such an atonement as one 
 act of disloyalty to it could demand. This was Ormsby 
 Conyers's one and only treason to the love that bound them. 
 Listen to it! " 
 
 Barrington tried to speak, but could not; so he nodded an 
 assent, and Withering continued. His story was that which 
 the reader has already heard from the lips of Conyers him- 
 self, and the old lawyer told it well. If he did not attempt 
 to extenuate the offence and wrong of Conyers, he showed 
 the power and strength of an affection which could make one 
 of the haughtiest of men come forward to accuse himself, 
 and at every cost of humiliation vindicate the noble nature 
 of his friend. 
 
 "And why not have avowed all this before? — why not 
 have spared himself years of self-accusing, and me years of 
 aggravated misery?" cried Barrington. 
 
 "He did make the attempt. He came to England about 
 eighteen years ago, and his first care was to write to you. 
 He asked to be allowed to see you, and sent j^ou at the same 
 time an admission that he had injured you, and was come 
 to seek your forgiveness." 
 
 "That's true, Tom; all strictly true. I remember all 
 about it. His letter was such a one as an enemy might 
 have used to crush him. My own temper at the time was 
 not to be trusted too far; sorrow was making me cruel, and 
 might make me vindictive; so I sent it back to him, and 
 hinted it was safer in his hands than viine.'" 
 
 "And he has never forgotten your generosity. He said, 
 * It was what well became the father of George Barrington. ' " 
 
 "If he is here in this city, now, let me see him. Remem- 
 ber, Withering, when a man comes to my age his time is 
 short. Cannot we go to him at once? " 
 
 "Not feeling certain of your coming up to town to-day, I 
 
THE OLD LEAVEN. 151 
 
 had arranged with Conyers to start for ' The Home ' to- 
 morrow; we were to await the post hour, and, if no letter 
 came from you, to leave at ten o'clock. I was to take him 
 up at Elvidge's Hotel. What say you if I drive him down 
 to Reynolds's? You stop there, I know." 
 
 ''With all my heart, Tom. I am fully as impatient as he 
 can be to sign and seal our reconciliation. Indeed, I feel 
 myself already less sinned against than sinning; and an 
 act of forgiveness is only an exchange of prisoners between 
 us. If you knew how young I feel again at all this. With- 
 ering," said he, grasping his friend's hand. "What a happi- 
 ness to know that poor George's memory is so revered that 
 one who has failed towards him in fidelity should come to 
 expiate the wrong thus openly! My fine noble-hearted boy 
 deserved this tribute! And he told you how they loved 
 each other; in what a brotherhood they lived; and what a 
 glorious fellow George was? Did he tell you of his gentle- 
 ness? — womanl}' softness it was, Tom. A careless observer 
 might have said there was no stuff in him to make a soldier, 
 and yet where was there his equal? You heard what he 
 did at Xaghapoor and Meerutan, where he held a mountain- 
 pass with three squadrons against a whole army corps, and 
 never owned to being wounded till he fell fainting from his 
 horse on the retreat. Oh, let me not speak of these things, 
 or my heart will burst. I must leave you, old friend ; this 
 agitation will unfit me for much that is before me; let me 
 go, I beseech you, and when you see me to-morrow, you '11 
 find I am all myself again." 
 
 It was in silence they grasped each other's hand, and 
 parted. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A IIAl'l'Y MEETING. 
 
 Barrixgton scarcely closed his ej-es that night after he 
 had parted with Withering, so full was he of thinking over 
 all he had heard. "It was," as he repeated to himself over 
 and over again, " ' such glorious news' to hear that it was 
 no long-laid plot, no dark treachery, had brought poor 
 George to his grave, and that the trusted friend had not 
 turned out a secret enemy. How prone we are," thought 
 he, "to suffer our suspicions to grow into convictions, just 
 by the mere force of time. Conyers was neither better nor 
 worse than scores of young fellows entering on life, undisci- 
 plined in self-restraint, and untutored by converse with the 
 world ; and in his sorrow and repentance he is far and away 
 above most men. It was fine of him to come thus, and 
 become his own accuser, rather than suffer a shade of re- 
 proach to rest upon the fame of his friend. And this repa- 
 ration he would have made years ago, but for my impa- 
 tience. It was I that would not listen, — would not 
 admit it. 
 
 "I believe in my heart, then, this confession has a higher 
 value for me than would the gain of our great suit. It is 
 such a testimony to my brave boy as but one man living 
 could offer. It is a declaration to the world that says, 
 ' Here am I, high in station, covered with dignities and rich 
 in rewards ; yet there was a man whose fate has never inter- 
 ested 3'ou, over whose fall you never sorrowed ; hundreds of 
 times my superior.' What a reward is this for all my life 
 of toil and struggle, — what a glorious victory, when the 
 battle looked so doubtful ! People will see at last it is not 
 an old man's phantasy; it is not the headlong affection of 
 a father for his son has made me pursue this reparation for 
 him here. There is a witness ' come to judgment,' who will 
 
A HAPPY MEETING. 153 
 
 tell them what George Barringtou was ; how noble as a man, 
 how glorious as a soldier." 
 
 While the old man revelled in the happiness of these 
 thoughts, so absorbed was he by them that he utterly forgot 
 the immediate object which had occasioned his journey, — 
 forgot Stapylton and the meeting, and all that had led to it. 
 Thus passed the hours of the night; and as the day broke, 
 he arose, impatient to actual feverishness for the coming 
 interview. He tried by some occupation to fill up the time. 
 He sat down to write to his sister an account of all Wither- 
 ing had told him, leaving the rest to be added after the 
 meeting; but he found, as he read it over, that after the 
 mention of George's name, nothing dropped from his pen 
 but praises of him. It was all about his generosity, his 
 open-heartedness, and his bravery. "This would seem 
 downright extravagant," said he, as he crushed the paper 
 in his hand, "till she hears it from- the lips of Conyers 
 himself." He began another letter, but somehow again he 
 glided into the self-same channel. 
 
 "This will never do," said he; "there 's nothing for it but 
 a brisk walk." So saying he sallied out into the deserted 
 streets, for few were about at that early hour. Barrington 
 turned his steps towards the country, and soon gained one 
 of those shady alleys which lead towards Finglas. It was 
 a neighborhood he had once known well, and a favorite 
 resort of those pleasant fellows who thought they compen- 
 sated for a hard night at Daly's by sipping syllabub of a 
 morning on a dewy meadow. He once had rented a little 
 cottage there; a fancy of poor George's it was, that there 
 were some trout in the stream beside it; and Barrington 
 sti-olled along till he came to a little mound, from which 
 he could see the place, sadly changed and dilapidated since 
 he knew it. Instead of the rustic bridge that crossed the 
 river, a single plank now spanned the stream, and in the 
 disorder and neglect of all around, it was easy to see it had 
 fallen to the lot of a peasant to live in it. As Barrington 
 was about to turn away, he saw an old man — unmistakably 
 a gentleman — ascending the hill, with a short telescope in 
 his hand. As the path was' a narrow one, he waited, there- 
 fore, for the other's arrival, before he began to descend 
 
154 BARRINGTON. 
 
 himself. "With a politeness which in his younger days Irish 
 gentlemen derived from intercourse with France, Barring- 
 ton touched his hat as he passed the stranger, and the other, 
 as if encouraged by the show of courtesy, smiled as he 
 returned the salute, and said, — 
 
 "Might I take the liberty to ask you if you are acquainted 
 with this locality?" 
 
 "Few know it better, or, at least, knew it once," said 
 Barringtou. 
 
 "It was the classic ground of Ireland in days past," said 
 the stranger. "I have heard that Swift lived here." 
 
 "Yes; but you cannot see his house from this. It was 
 nearer to Santry, where you see that wood yonder. There 
 was, however, a celebrity once inhabited that small cottage 
 before us. It was the home of Parnell." 
 
 "Is that Paruell's cottage?" asked the stranger, with 
 eagerness; "that ruined spot, yonder?" 
 
 "Yes. It was there he Avrote some of his best poems. I 
 knew the room well he lived in." 
 
 "How I would like to see it! " cried the other. 
 
 "You are an admirer of Parnell, then?" said Barrington, 
 with a smile of courteous meaning. 
 
 "I will own to you, sir, it was less of Parnell I was think- 
 ing than of a dear friend who once talked to me of that cot- 
 tage. He had lived there, and cherished the memory of that 
 life when far away from it; and so well had he described 
 every walk and path around it, each winding of the river, 
 and every shady nook, that I had hoped to recognize it 
 without a guide." 
 
 "Ah, it is sadly changed of late. Your friend had not 
 probably seen it for some years ? " 
 
 " Let me see. It was in a memorable year he told me he 
 lived there, — when some great demonstration was made by 
 the Irish volunteers, with the Bishop of Down at their head. 
 The Bishop dined there on that day." 
 
 "The Earl of Bristol dined that day with me, there," 
 said Barrington, pointing to the cottage. 
 
 "May I ask with whom I have the honor to speak, sir?" 
 said the stranger, bowing. 
 
 "Was it George Barringtou told you this? " said the old 
 
A HAPPY MEETING. 155 
 
 man, trembling with eagerness: "was it he who lived here? 
 I may ask, sir, for I am his father! " 
 
 "And I am Ormsby Conyers," said the other; and his 
 face became pale, and his knees trembled as he said it. 
 
 "Give me your hand, Conyers," cried Barrington, — "the 
 hand that my dear boy has so often pressed in friendship. I 
 know all that you were to each other, all that you would be 
 to his memor}'." 
 
 " Can you forgive me ? " said Conyers. 
 
 "I have, for many a year. I forgave you when I thought 
 you had been his enemy. T now know you had only been 
 your own to sacrifice such love, such affection as he bore 
 you." 
 
 " I never loved him more than I have hated myself for my 
 conduct towards him." 
 
 "Let us talk of George, — he loved us both," said Bar- 
 rington, who still held Conyers by the hand. "It is a theme 
 none but yourself can rival me in interest for." 
 
 It was not easy for Conyers to attain that calm which 
 could enable him to answer the other's questions; but by 
 degrees he grew to talk freely, assisted a good deal by the 
 likeness of the old man to his son, — a resemblance in man- 
 ner even as much as look, — and thus, before they reached 
 town again, they had become like familiar friends. 
 
 Barrington could never hear enough of George; even of 
 the incidents he had heard of by letter, he liked to listen to 
 the details again, and to mark how all the traits of that 
 dear boy had been appreciated by others. 
 
 "I must keep you m}' prisoner," said Barrington, as 
 they gained the door of his hotel. "The thirst ]*have is 
 not easily slaked; remember that for more than thirty 
 years I have had none to talk to me of my boy ! I know 
 all about your appointment with Withering; he was to have 
 brought you here this morning to see me, and my old friend 
 will rejoice when he comes and finds us here together." 
 
 "He was certain you would come up to town," said Con- 
 yers, "when you got his letters. You would see at once 
 that there were matters which should be promptly dealt 
 with ; and he said, ' Barrington will be my guest at dinner 
 to-morrow. ' " 
 
156 HARRINGTON. 
 
 "Kii? — bow? — what was it all about? George has 
 driven all else out of my liead, and I declare to you that I 
 have not the very vaguest recollection of what Wither- 
 ing' 8 letters contained. "Wait a moment; a light is break- 
 ing on me. I do remember something of it all now. To 
 be sure! What a head I have! It was all about Stapylton. 
 By the way, General, how you would have laughed had you 
 heard the dressing AVithering gave me last night, when I 
 told him I was going to give Stapylton a meeting." 
 
 "A hostile meeting?" 
 
 "Well, if you like to give it that new-fangled name, 
 General, which I assure you was not in vogue when I was a 
 young man. Withering rated me soundly for the notion, 
 reminded me of my white hairs and such other disqualifica- 
 tions, and asked me indignantly, ' What the workl would 
 say when they came to hear of it? ' ' What would the world 
 say if they heard I declined it, Tom?' was my answer. 
 AVould they not exclaim, 'Here is one of that fire-eating 
 school who are always rebuking us for our laxity in matters 
 of honor; look at him and say, are these the principles of 
 his sect? ' " 
 
 Conyers shook his head dissentingly, and smiled. 
 
 "No, no!" said Barrington, replying to the other's look, 
 "you are just of my own mind! A man who believes you 
 to have injured him claims reparation as a matter of right. 
 I could not say to Stapylton, ' I will not meet you! ' " 
 
 "I did say so, and that within a fortnight." 
 
 "You said so, and under what provocation?" 
 
 "He grossly insulted my son, who M^as his subaltern; he 
 outraged him by offensive language, and he dared even to 
 impugn his personal courage. It was in one of those late 
 riots where the military were called out; and my boy, 
 intrusted with the duty of dispersing an assemblage, 
 stopped to remonstrate where he might have charged, and 
 actually relieved the misery he had his orders to have tram- 
 pled under the feet of his squadron. Major Stapylton could 
 have reprimanded, he might have court-martialled him; he 
 had no right to attempt to dishonor him. My son left the 
 service, — I made him leave on the spot, — and we went over 
 to France to meet this man. I sent for Proctor to be my 
 
A HAPPY MEETING. 157 
 
 boy's friend, and my letter found him at Sir Gilbert Stapyl- 
 tou's, at Hollowcliffe. To explain bis hurried departure, 
 Proctor told "what called him away. ' And will you suffer 
 your friend to meet that adventurer,' said Sir Gilbert, ' who 
 stole my nephew's name if he did not steal more? ' To be 
 brief, he told that this fellow had lived with Colonel How- 
 ard Stapylton, British Resident at Ghurtnapore, as a sort 
 of humble private secretary. ' In the cholera that swept the 
 district Howard died, and although his will, deposited at 
 Calcutta, contained several legacies, the effects to redeem 
 them were not to be discovered. Meanwhile this young 
 fellow assumed the name of Stapylton, gave himself out 
 for his heir, and even threatened to litigate some landed 
 property in England with How'ard's brother. An intima- 
 tion that if he dared to put his menace in action a full 
 inquiry into his conduct should be made, stopped him, and 
 we heard no more of him, — at least, for a great many years. 
 When an old Madras friend of Howard's who came down 
 to spend his Christmas, said, "Who do you think I saw in 
 town last week, but that young, scamp Howard used to call 
 his Kitmagar, and who goes by the name of Stapylton?" 
 we were so indignant at first that we resolved on all manner 
 of exposures ; but learning that he had the reputation of a 
 good officer, and had actually distinguished himself at 
 Waterloo, we relented. Since that, other things have come 
 to our knowledge to make us repent our lenity. In fact, he 
 is an adventurer in its very worst sense, and has traded 
 upon a certain amount of personal courage to cover a char- 
 acter of downright ignominy.' Proctor, on hearing all this, 
 recalled me to England; and declared that he had traced 
 enough to this man's charge to show he was one whom no 
 gentleman could meet. It would appear that some recent 
 discoveries had been made about him at the Horse Guards 
 also ; for whea Proctor asked for a certain piece of infor- 
 mation from one of bis friends in office there, he heard, for 
 answer, ' We hope to know that, and more, in a day or 
 two.'" 
 
 "Do you know that I 'm sorry for it, — heartily sorry? " 
 said Barrington. "The fellow had that stamp of manliness 
 about him that would seem the pledge of a bold, straight- 
 forward nature." 
 
158 BARRINGTON. 
 
 "I have a high value for courage, but it won't do every- 
 thing. " 
 
 "More 's the pity, for it renders all that it aids of tenfold 
 more worth." 
 
 "And on the back of all this discovery conies Hunter's 
 letter, which Withering has sent you, to show that this 
 Stapylton has for years back been supplying the Indian 
 Directors with materials to oppose your claims." 
 
 "Nothing ever puzzled us so much as the way every weak 
 point of our case was at once seized upon, and every doubt 
 we ourselves entertained exaggerated into an impassable 
 barrier. Withering long suspected that some secret enemy 
 was at work within our own lines, and repeatedly said that 
 we were sold. The difficulty is, why this man should once 
 have been our enemy, and now should strive so eagerly to 
 be not alone our friend, but one of us. You have heard 
 he proposed for my granddaughter?" 
 
 "Fred suspected his intentions in that quarter, but we 
 were not certain of them." 
 
 "And it is time I should ask after your noble-hearted 
 boy. How is he, and where?" 
 
 "He is here, at my hotel, impatiently waiting your per- 
 mission to go down to ' The Home. ' He has a question to 
 ask there, whose answer will be his destiny." 
 
 "Has Josephine turned another head then? " said Barring- 
 ton, laughing. 
 
 "She has w^on a very honest heart; as true and as honor- 
 able a nature as ever lived," said Conj'ers, with emotion. 
 "Your granddaughter does not know, nor needs ever to 
 know, the wrong I have done her father; and if you have 
 forgiven me, you will not remember it against my boy." 
 
 "But what do you yourself say to all this? You have 
 never seen the girl ? " 
 
 "Fred has." 
 
 "You know nothing about her tastes, her temper, her 
 bringing up." 
 
 "Fred does." 
 
 "Nor are you aware that the claim we have so long relied 
 on is almost certain to be disallowed. I have scarcely a 
 hope now remaining with regard to it." 
 
A mVPPY MEETING. 159 
 
 •*I have more thau I need; and if Fred will let me have a 
 bungalow in his garden, I '11 make it all over to him to- 
 morrow. " 
 
 "It is then with your entire consent he would make this 
 offer?" 
 
 "With my whole heart in it! I shall never feel I have 
 repaired the injury I have done George Barringtou till I 
 have called his daughter my own." 
 
 Old Barringtou arose, and walked up and down with slow 
 and measured steps. At last he halted directl}' in front of 
 General Conyers, and said, — 
 
 " If you will do me one kindness, I will agree to every- 
 thing. What am I saying? I agree alread}'; and I would 
 not make a bargain of my consent; but you will not refuse 
 me a favor ? " 
 
 "Ask me anything, and I promise it on the faith of a 
 gentleman." 
 
 "It is this, then; that you will stand by me in this affair 
 of Stapylton's. I have gone too far for subtleties or nice- 
 ties. It is no question of who was his father, or what was 
 bis own bringing up. I have told him I should be at his 
 orders, and don't let me break my word." 
 
 "If you choose me for your friend, Barringtou, you must 
 not dictate how I am to act for j'ou." 
 
 "That is quite true; you are perfectly correct there," said 
 the other, in some confusion. 
 
 "On that condition, then, that I am free to do for you 
 what I would agree to in my own case, I accept the 
 charge." 
 
 "And there is to be no humbug of consideration for my 
 age and my white hairs ; none of that nonsense about a fellow 
 with one leg in the grave. Mark you, Conyers, I will stand 
 none of these ; I have never taken a writ of ease not to serve 
 on a jury, nor will I hear of one that exempts me from the 
 rights of a gentleman." 
 
 "I have got your full powers to treat, and you must trust 
 me. Where are we to find Stapylton's friend?" 
 
 " He gave me an address which I never looked at. Here 
 it is ! " and he drew a card from his pocket. 
 
 " Captain Duff Brown, late Fifth Fusiliers, Holt's Hotel, 
 Charino; Cross." 
 
160 BARRIXGTON. 
 
 "Do you know him?" asked Barrington, as the other 
 stood silently re-reading the address. 
 
 "Yes, thoroughly," said he, with a dry significance. 
 " The man who selects Duff Brown to act for him in an affair 
 of honor must be in a sore strait. It is a sorry indorsement 
 to character. He had to leave the service from the imputa- 
 tion of foul play in a duel himself ; and I took an active 
 part against him." 
 
 " Will this make your position unpleasant to you, — would 
 you rather not act for me ? " 
 
 " Quite the reverse. It is more than ever necessary' you 
 should have some one who not only knows the men he is to 
 deal with, but is known himself to them. It is a preliminary 
 will save a world of trouble." 
 
 " When can we set out?" 
 
 "To-night by the eight-o'clock packet, we can sail for 
 Liverpool ; but let us first of all despatch Fred to ' The 
 Home.' The poor boy will be half dead with anxiety till he 
 knows I have your permission." 
 
 "I'll accredit him with a letter to m}' sister; not tliat he 
 needs it, for he is one of her prime favorites. And now for 
 another point. Withering must be made believe that we are 
 all off together for the country this evening. He is so op- 
 posed to this affair with Stapylton, that he is in a mood to 
 do anything to prevent it." 
 
 "Well thought of; and here comes the man himself in 
 search of us." 
 
 " I have been half over the town after you this morning, 
 General," said AVithering, as he entered; "and your son, 
 too, could make nothing of your absence. He is in the 
 carriage at the door now, not knowing whether he ought to 
 come up." 
 
 "I'll soon i-eassure him on that score," said Barrington, 
 as he left the room, and hastened downstairs with the step 
 of one that defied the march of time. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MEET COMPANIONSHIP. 
 
 In a very modest chambei* of a house in one of the streets 
 which lead from the Strand to the Thames, two persons sat 
 at supper. It is no time for lengthened introductions, and 
 I must present Captain Duff Brown very hurriedly to my 
 reader, as he confronted his friend Stapylton at table. The 
 Captain was a jovial-looking, full-whiskered, somewhat cor- 
 pulent man, with a ready reply, a ready laugh, and a hand 
 readier than either, whether the weapon wielded was a 
 billiard-cue or a pistol. 
 
 The board before them was covered with oysters and 
 oyster-shells, porter in its pewter, a square-shaped decanter 
 of gin, and a bundle of cigars. The cloth was dirty, the 
 knives unclean, and the candles ill-matched and of tallow ; 
 but the guests did not seem to have bestowed much attention 
 to these demerits, but ate and drank like men who enjoyed 
 their fare. 
 
 " The best country in Europe, — the best in the world, — 
 I call England for a fellow who knows life," cried the Cap- 
 tain. "There is nothing you cannot do; nothing you can- 
 not have in it." 
 
 " "U'ith eight thousand a year, perhaps," said Stapylton, 
 sarcastically. 
 
 "No need of anything like it. Does any man want a 
 better supper than we have had to-night? What better 
 could he have? And the whole cost not over five, or at 
 most six shillings for the pair of us." 
 
 "You may talk till you are hoarse. Duff, but I'll not stay 
 in it. When once I have settled these two or three matters 
 I have told you of, I'll start for — I don't much care 
 whither. I'll go to Persia, or perhaps to the Yankees." 
 
 VOL. II. — 11 
 
162 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " I always keep America for the finish ! " said the other. 
 *' It is to the rest of the world what the copper hell is to 
 Crockford's, — the last refuge when one walks in broken 
 boots and in low company. But tell me, what have yo\x 
 done to-day ; where did you go after we parted ? " 
 
 "I went to the Horse Guards, and saw Blanchard, — 
 pompous old humbug that he is. I told him that I had 
 made up my mind to sell out; that I intended to take ser- 
 vice in a foreign army, — he hates foreigners, — and begged 
 he would expedite my affairs with his Royal Highness, as 
 my arrangements could not admit of dela}'." 
 
 "And he told you that there was an official routine, out 
 of which no officer need presume to expect his business 
 could travel ? " 
 
 "He told me no such thing. He flatly said, ' Your case is 
 already before the Commander-in-Chief, Major Stapylton, 
 and you may rely on it there will be no needless delay in 
 dealing with it." 
 
 "That was a threat, I take it." 
 
 "Of course it was a threat; and I only said, ' It will be the 
 first instance of the kind, then, in the department, ' and left 
 him." 
 
 "Where to, after that?" 
 
 "I next went to Gregory's, the magistrate of police. I 
 wanted to see the informations the black fellow swore to; 
 and as I knew a son of Gregory's in the Carbiniers, I 
 thought I could manage it; but bad luck would have it that 
 the old fellow should have in his hands some unsettled bills 
 with my indorsements on them, — fact; Gregory and 1 used 
 to do a little that way once, — and he almost got a fit when 
 he heard my name." 
 
 "Tried back after that, eh?" 
 
 "Went on to Renshaw's and won fifty pounds at hazard, 
 took Blake's odds on Diadem, and booked myself for a 
 berth in the Boulogne steamer, which leaves at two this 
 morning." 
 
 "You secured a passport for me, didn't you?" 
 
 "No. You '11 have to come as my servant. The Em- 
 bassy fellows were all strangers to me. and said they would 
 not give a separate passport without seeing the bearer." 
 
MEET COMPANIONSHIP. 
 
 163 
 
 "All right. I don't dislike the second cabin, nor the 
 ladies'-maids. What about the pistols? " 
 
 "They are yonder under the great-coat. Renshaw lent 
 them. They are not very good, he says, and one of thena 
 hangs a little in the fire." 
 
 "They '11 be better than the old Irishman's, that 's cer- 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^^^-^ 
 
 
 
 tain. You may swear that his tools were in use early in the 
 last century." 
 
 "And himself, too; that's the worst of it all. I wish it 
 was not a fellow that might be my grandfather." 
 
 "I don't know. I rather suspect, if I was given to com- 
 punctions, I 'd have less 6i them for shaking down the 
 rotten ripe fruit than the blossom." 
 
164 BARKINGTON. 
 
 "And be 's a fine old fellow, too," said Stapylton, half 
 sadly. 
 
 "Why didn't you tell him to drop in this evening and 
 have a little ecarte ? " 
 
 For a while Stapylton leaned his head on his hand mood- 
 ily, and said nothing. 
 
 "Cheer up, man! Taste that Hollands. I never mixed 
 better," said Brown. 
 
 ""I begin to regret now. Duff, that I didn't take your 
 advice." 
 
 "And run away with her?" 
 
 "Yes, it would have been the right course, after all! " 
 
 "I knew it. I always said it. I told you over and over 
 again what would happen if you went to work in orderly 
 fashion. They 'd at once say, ' Who are your people, — 
 where are they, — what have they ? ' Now, let a man be as 
 inventive as Daniel Defoe himself, there will always slip 
 out some flaw or other about a name, or a date, — dates are 
 the very devil ! But when you have once carried her off, 
 what can they do but compromise? " 
 
 "She would never have consented." 
 
 "I 'd not have asked her. I 'd have given her the benefit 
 of the customs of the land she lived in, and made it a 
 regular abduction. Paddy somebody and Terence some- 
 thing else are always ready to risk their necks for a pint of 
 whiskey and a breach of the laws." 
 
 "I don't think I could have brought myself to it." 
 
 "/could, I promise you." 
 
 "And there 's an end of a man after such a thing." 
 
 "Yes, if he fails. If he's overtaken and thrashed, I 
 grant you he not only loses the game, but gets the cards in 
 his face, besides. But why fail? Nobody fails when he 
 wants to win, — when he determines to win. When I shot 
 De Courcy at Asterabad — " 
 
 "Don't bring up that affair, at least, as one of precedent. 
 Duff. I neither desire to be tried for a capital felony, nor 
 to have committed one." 
 
 "Capital fiddlesticks! As if men did not fight duels 
 every day of the week; the difference between guilt and 
 innocence being that one fellow's hand shook, and the 
 
MEET COMPANIONSHIP. 165 
 
 other's was steady. De Courcy would have ' dropped ' me, 
 if I 'd have let him." 
 
 "And so you would have carried her off, Master Duff?" 
 said Stapylton, slowly. 
 
 "Yes; if she had the pot of money you speak of, and no 
 Lord Chancellor for a guardian. I 'd have made the thing 
 sure at once." 
 
 "The money she will and must have; so much fs certain." 
 
 "Then I 'd have made the remainder just as certain." 
 
 "It is a vulgar crime. Duff; it would be very hard to 
 stoop to it." 
 
 "Fifty things are harder, — no cash, no credit are harder. 
 The Fleet is harder. But what is that noise? Don't j'ou 
 hear a knock at the door? Yes, there's some one without 
 who hasn't much patience." So saying, he arose and 
 walked to the door. As he opened it, he started back a 
 little with surprise, for it was a police constable stood be- 
 fore him. 
 
 "Not you, Captain, not yoxi, sir! it's another gentleman 
 I want. I see him at the table there, — Major Stapylton." 
 By this time the man had entered the room and stood in 
 front of the fire. "I have a warrant against you, Major," 
 said he, quietly. "Informations have been sworn before 
 Mr. Colt that you intend to fight a duel, and you must 
 appear at the office to-morrow, to enter into your bond, and 
 to give securities to keep the peace." 
 
 "Who swore the informations?" cried Brown. 
 
 "What have we to do with that?" said Stapylton, impa- 
 tientl}'. "Isn't the world full of meddling old women? 
 Who wants to know the names? " 
 
 "I '11 lay the odds it was old Conyers; the greatest hum- 
 bug in that land of humbugs, — Bengal. It was he that 
 insisted on my leaving the Fifth. Come, Sergeant, out 
 with it. This was General Conyers's doing?" 
 
 "I'm sorry to be obliged to declare you in custody. 
 Major," said the policeman; "but if you like to come over 
 to Mr. Colt's private residence, I 'm sure he 'd settle the 
 matter this evening." 
 
 "He'll do no such thing, by George!" cried Brown. 
 "The sneaking dogs who have taken this shabby course 
 
1G6 BARRINGTON. 
 
 shall be exposed in open court. We '11 have the names in 
 full, and iu every newspaper in England. Don't compro- 
 mise the case, Slapyllon; make them eat the mess they have 
 cooked, to the last mouthful. "We '11 show the world what 
 the fighting Irishman and his gallant friend are made of. 
 Major Stapylton is your prisoner, Sergeant ? " 
 
 The man smiled slightly at the passionate energy of the 
 speaker, and turned to Stapylton. "There 's no objection 
 to your going to your lodgings, Major. You '11 be at the 
 chief ollice by ten to-morrow." 
 
 Stapylton nodded assent, and the other retired and closed 
 the door. 
 
 "What do you say now?" cried Brown, triumphantly. 
 "Did n't I tell you this? Did n't I say that when old Con- 
 yers heard my name, he 'd say, ' Oh, there '11 be no squaring 
 this business ' ? " 
 
 "It 's just as likely that he said, ' I '11 not confer with that 
 man ; he had to leave the service. ' " 
 
 "More fool you, then, not to have had a more respectable 
 friend. Had you there, Stapylton, — eh?" 
 
 "I acknowledge that. All I can say in extenuation is, 
 that I hoped old Harrington, living so long out of the world, 
 would have selected another old mummy like himself, w^ho 
 had never heard of Captain Duff Brown, nor his famous ti-ial 
 at Calcutta." 
 
 "There 's not a man in the kingdom has not heard of me. 
 I 'm as well known as the first Duke in the land." 
 
 "Don't boast of it, Duff; even notoriety is not always a 
 cheap luxury." 
 
 "Who knows but you may divide it with me to-morrow or 
 next day? " 
 
 "What do you mean, sir? — what do you mean?" cried 
 Stapylton, slapping the table with his clenched hand. 
 
 "Only what I said, — that Major Stapjdton may furnish 
 the town with a nine-days wonder, vice Captain Duff Brown, 
 forgotten." 
 
 P^vidently ashamed of his wrath, Stapylton tried to laugh 
 off the occasion of it, and said, "I suppose neither of us 
 would take the matter much to heart." 
 
 "I '11 not go to the office with you to-morrow, Stapylton, 
 
MEET COMPANIONSHIP. 167 
 
 added he, after a pause; "that old Sepoy General would 
 certainly seize the opportunity to open some old scores that 
 I'd as soon leave undisturbed." 
 
 "All right, I think you are prudent there." 
 
 "But I '11 be of use in another way. I '11 lay in wait for 
 that fellow who reports for the ' Chronicle,' the only paper 
 that cares for these things, and I '11 have him deep in the 
 discussion of some devilled kidneys when your case is called 
 on." 
 
 "I fancy it does not matter what publicity it obtains." 
 
 "Ah, I don't know that. Old Braddell, our major, used 
 to say, ' Reputation, after forty, is like an old wall. If you 
 begin to break a hole in it, you never know how much will 
 come away.' " 
 
 "I tell you again. Duff, I 'm past scandalizing; but have 
 your way, if you will ' muzzle the ox,' and let us get away 
 from this as soon as may be. I want a little rest after this 
 excitement." 
 
 "Well, I'm pretty much in the same boot myself, though 
 I don't exactly know where to go. France is dangerous. 
 In Prussia there are two sentences recorded against me. 
 I 'm condemned to eight years' hard labor in Wiirtemberg, 
 and pronounced dead in Austria for my share in that Vene- 
 tian disturbance." 
 
 "Don't tell me of these rascalities. Bad enough when a 
 man is driven to them, but downright infamy to be proud 
 of." 
 
 "Have you never thought of going into the Church? I 've 
 a notion you 'd be a stunning preacher." 
 
 "Give up this bantering, Duff, and tell me how I shall get 
 hold of young Conyers. I 'd rather put a ball in that fellow 
 than be a Lieutenant-General. He has ever been my rock 
 ahead. That silly coxcomb has done more to mar my 
 destiny than scores of real enemies. To shoot him would 
 be to throw a shell in the very midst of them." 
 
 "I 'd rather loot him, if I had the choice; the old General 
 has lots of money. Stapylton, scuttle the ship, if you like, 
 but first let me land the cargo. Of all the vengeances a 
 man can wreak on another the weakest is to kill him. For 
 my part, I'd cherish the fellow that injured me. I'd set 
 
168 BARRINGTON. 
 
 myself to study his tastes and learn his ambitions. I 'd 
 watch over him and follow him, being, as it were, his dear- 
 est of all friends, — read backwards ! " 
 
 ''This is tiresome scoundrelisui. I'll to bed," said 
 Stapylton, taking a candle from the table. 
 
 "Well, if you must shoot this fellow, wait till he 's mar- 
 ried; wait for the honeymoon." 
 
 "There 's some sense in that. I '11 go and sleep over it." 
 
CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 AUNT DOROTHEA. 
 
 "You must come clown with me for one day, Tom, to see an 
 old aunt of mine at Bournemouth," said Hunter to young 
 Dill. "I never omitted going to see her the first thing 
 whenever I landed in England, and she '11 not forgive me if 
 I were to do so now." 
 
 "But why should I go, sir? My presence would only 
 trouble the comfort of a family meeting." 
 
 "Quite the reverse. She'll be delighted to see you. It 
 will be such a triumph to her, amongst all her neighbors, 
 to have had a visit from the hero of the day, — the fellow 
 that all the print-shops are full of. Why, man, you are 
 worth five hundi-ed pounds to me. I 'm not sure 1 might 
 not say double as much." 
 
 "In that case, sir, I 'm perfectly at your orders." 
 
 And down they went, and arrived late on the day after 
 this conversation at an old-fashioned manor-house, where 
 Miss Dorothy Hunter had passed some sixty-odd years of 
 her life. Though to Tom she seemed to bear a great resem- 
 blance to old Miss Barrington, there was really little like- 
 ness between them, beyond an inordinate pride of birth, 
 and an intense estimation for the claims of famil}'. Miss 
 Hunter's essential characteristic was a passion for celebri- 
 ties ; a taste somewhat difficult to cultivate in a very remote 
 and little visited locality. The result was that she consoled 
 herself by portraits, or private letters, or autographs of her 
 heroes, who ranged over every imaginable career in life, and 
 of whom, by mere dint of iteration, she had grown to believe 
 herself the intimate friend or correspondent. 
 
 No sooner had she learned that her nephew was to be 
 accompanied by the gallant young soldier whose name was 
 in every newspaper than she made what she deemed the 
 
170 BARRINGTON. 
 
 most suitable preparations for his reception. Her bedroom 
 was bung round with portraits of naval heroes, or pictures 
 of sea-fights. Grim old admirals, telescope in hand, or with 
 streaming hair, shouting out orders to board the enemy, 
 were on every side; while, in the place of honor, over the 
 fireplace, hung a vacant frame, destined one day to contain 
 the hero of the hour, Tom Dill himself. 
 
 Never was a poor fellow in this world less suited to adula- 
 tion of this sort. He was either overwhelmed with the 
 flattery, or oppressed by a terror of what some sensible 
 spectator — if such there were — would think of the absurd 
 position in which he was forced to stand. And when he 
 found himself obliged to inscribe his name in a long column 
 of illustrious autographs, the sight of his own scarce legible 
 characters filled up the measure of his shame. 
 
 "He writes like the great Turenne," said Miss Dorothy; 
 "he always wrote from above downwards, so that no other 
 name than his own could figure on the page." 
 
 "I got many a thrashing for it at school, ma'am," said 
 Tom, apologizing, "and so I gave up writing altogether." 
 
 "Ah, yes! the men of action soon learn to despise the 
 pen; they prefer to make history rather than record it." 
 
 It was not easy for Hunter to steer his bashful friend 
 through all the shoals and quicksands of such flattery; but, 
 on the plea of his broken health and strength, he hurried 
 him early to his bed, and returned to the fireside, where 
 his aunt awaited him. 
 
 "He's charming, if he were only not so diffident. Why 
 will he not be more confiding, more at his ease with me, 
 — like Mungo Park, or Sir Sidne}^ Smith?" 
 
 "After a while, so he will, aunt. You '11 see what a 
 change there will be in him at our next visit. All these 
 flatteries he meets with are too much for him ; but when we 
 come down again, you '11 see him without these distracting 
 influences. Then bear in mind his anxieties, — he has not 
 yet seen his family; he is eager to be at home again. I 
 carried him off here positively in spite of himself, and on 
 the strict pledge of only for one day." 
 
 "One day! And do you mean that you are to go to* 
 morrow ? " 
 
AUNT DOROTHEA. 171 
 
 "No help for it, aunt. Tom is to be at Windsor on Sat- 
 urday. But for that, he would already have been on his 
 way to Ireland." 
 
 "Then there's no time to be lost. What can we do for 
 him ? He 's not rich ? " 
 
 "Hasn't a shilling; but would reject the very shadow of 
 such assistance." 
 
 "Not if a step were purchased for him; without his 
 knowledge, I mean." 
 
 "It would be impossible that he should not know it." 
 
 "But surely there is some way of doing it. A handsome 
 sum to commemorate his achievement might be subscribed. 
 I would begin it with a thousand pounds." 
 
 "He'd not accept it. I know him thoroughly. There's 
 only one road to him through which he would not deem a 
 favor a burden." 
 
 "And what of that?" 
 
 "A kindness to his sister. I wish you saw her, aunt! " 
 
 "Is she like him?" 
 
 "Like him? Yes; but very much better-looking. She's 
 singularly handsome, and such a girl! so straightforward 
 and so downright. It is a positive luxury to meet her after 
 all the tiresome conventionalities of the every-day young 
 lady." 
 
 "Shall I ask her here?" 
 
 "Oh, if you would, aunt! — if you only would! " 
 
 "That you may fall in love with her, I suppose?" 
 
 "No, aunt, that is done already." 
 
 "I think, sir, I might have been apprised of this attach- 
 ment!" said she, bridling. 
 
 "I didn't know it myself, aunt, till I was close to the 
 Cape. I thought it a mere fancy as we dropped down 
 Channel ; grew more thoughtful over it in the Bay of Bis- 
 cay; began to believe it as we discovered St. Helena; and 
 came back to England resolved to tell you the whole truth, 
 and ask you, at least, to see her and know her." 
 
 "So I will, then. I'll write and invite her here." 
 
 "You 're the best and kindest aunt in Christendom! " said 
 he, rushing over and kissing her. 
 
 "I'm not going to let vou read it, sir," said she, with a 
 
172 BARRINGTON. 
 
 smile. " If she show it to you, she may. Otherwise it is a 
 matter between ourselves." 
 
 "Re it entirely as you wish, aunt." 
 
 "And if all this goes hopefully on," said she, after a 
 pause, "is Aunt Dorothea to be utterly forgotten? No 
 more visits here, — no happy summer evenings, — no more 
 merry Christuuises ? " 
 
 "Nay, aunt, 1 mean to be your neighbor. That cottage 
 3'ou liave often offered me, near the rocks, I '11 not refuse it 
 again, — that is, if you tempt me once more." 
 
 "It is yours, and the farm along with it. Go to bed 
 now, and leave me to write my note, which will require 
 some thought and reflection." 
 
 " I know you '11 do it well. I know none who could equal 
 yon in such a task." 
 
 "I '11 try and acquit myself with credit," said she, as she 
 sat down to the writing-desk. 
 
 "And what is all this about, — a letter from Miss Doro- 
 thea to Polly," said Tom, as they drove along the road back 
 to town. "Surely they never met? " 
 
 "Never; but my aunt intends that they shall. She writes 
 to ask your sister to come on a visit here." 
 
 "But why not have told her the thing was impossible? 
 You know us. You have seen the humble way we live, — 
 how many a care it costs to keep up that little show of 
 respectability that gets us sufferance in the world, and how 
 one little attempt beyond this is quite out of our reach. 
 Why not have told her frankly, sir, ' These people are not in 
 our station ' ? " 
 
 "Just because I acknowledge no such distinction as you 
 want to draw, my good fellow. If my annt has asked your 
 sister to come three hundred miles to see her, she has 
 thought over her request with more foresight than you or I 
 could have given it, take my word for it. When she means 
 kindly, she plans thoughtfully. And now I will tell you 
 what I never meant to have spoken of, that it was only last 
 night she asked me how could she be of use to you? " 
 
 " To me!" said he, blushing, " and why to me " 
 
 "Can you never be brought to see that you are a hero, 
 Tom, — that all the world is talking of you just now, and 
 
AUNT DOROTHEA. 173 
 
 people feel a pride in being even passingly mixed up with 
 your name?" 
 
 "If they only knew how much I have to be ashamed of 
 before I can begin to feel vain, they 'd not be so ready with 
 their praise or their flattery." 
 
 " I '11 talk over all that with your sister Polly," said Hun- 
 ter, gayly ; for he saw the serious spirit that was gaining 
 over the poor fellow. 
 
 "Do so, sir; and you'll soon see, if there's anything 
 good or hopeful about me, where it comes from and who 
 gave it." 
 
CHAFIER XIX. 
 
 FROM GENERAL CONYERS TO HIS SON. 
 
 Beduwys, N. Wales. 
 My dear Fred, — How happy T am that you are enjoying your- 
 self ; short of being with you, nothing could have given me greater 
 pleasure than your letter. I like your portrait of the old lady, whose 
 eccentricities are never inconsistent with some charming traits of 
 disposition, and a nature eminently high-minded and honorable; but 
 why not more about Josephine? She is surely oftener in your 
 thoughts than your one brief paragraph would bespeak, and has her 
 due share in making the cottage the delightful home you describe it 
 to be. I entreat you to be more open and more explicit on this 
 theme, for it may yet be many days before I can explore the matter 
 for myself ; since, instead of the brief absence I calculated on, we 
 may, for aught I know, be detained here for some weeks. 
 
 It is clear to me, from your last, a note of mine from Liverpool to 
 you must have miscarried. You ask me where you are to address 
 me next, and what is the nature of the business which has called me 
 away so suddenly? I gave you in that letter all the information 
 that I was myself possessed of, and which, in three words, amounted 
 to this : Old Barrington, having involved himself in a serious per- 
 sonal quarrel with Stapylton, felt, or believed, that he ought to give 
 him a meeting. Seeing how useless all attempt at dissuasion proved, 
 and greatly fearing what hands he might fall into, I agreed to be his 
 friend on the occasion ; trusting, besides, that by a little exercise of 
 tact and temper, extreme measures might be avoided, and the affair 
 arrancfed. You may well believe, without my insisting further upon 
 it, that I felt very painfully how we should both figure before the 
 world, — a man of eighty-three or four, accompanied to the ground 
 bv another cf sixty-odd ! I know well how, in the changed temper 
 of the age, such acts are criticised, and acquiesce, besides, in the 
 wiser spirit that now prevails. However, as T said before, if Bar- 
 rington must go on, it were better he should do so under the guid- 
 ance of a sincere friend than of one casually elevated to act as such, 
 in a moment of emergency. 
 
 We left Dublin, by the mail-packet, on "Wednesday ; and after a 
 rough passage of twenty-three hours, reached Liverpool too late to 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 175 
 
 catch the evening coach. Thus detained, we only arrived here on 
 Sunday night late. At my club 1 found a note from Stapylton, stat- 
 ing that he had daily called there to learn if we had come, but the 
 boisterous state of the weather sufficiently explained our delay, and 
 givinf an address where he might be found, as well as that of " his 
 friend." Xow, it so chanced that this friend was a very notorious 
 person well known to me in India, where he had been tried for an 
 unfair duel, and narrowly escaped — I should say unjustly escaped 
 — being hanged. Though I had fully made up my mind not to be 
 placed in any relations with such a man, T thought it would be as well 
 that Barrington should know the character of his antagonist's friend 
 from other sources, and so I invited an old Bengal companion of 
 mine to dine with us the day after we arrived. Stamer was a judge 
 of the criminal court, and tried Duff Brown, the man I speak of. 
 As we sat over our wine together, we got upon this case, and Stamer 
 declared that it was the only criminal cause in his whole life wherein 
 he regretted the escape of the guilty party. " The fellow," said he, 
 " defended himself in a three hours' speech, ably and powerfully ; 
 but enunciated at times — as it were unconsciously — sentiments so 
 abominable and so atrocious as to destroy the sympathy a part of his 
 discourse excited. But somehow boldness has its fascination, and he 
 was acquitted." 
 
 Barrington's old-fashioned notions were not, however, to be 
 shocked even by this narrative, and he whispered to me, " Unpleas- 
 ant for you, Conyers. Wish it might have been otherwise, but it 
 can't be helped." We next turned to discuss Duff Brown's friend, 
 and Stamer exclaimed, " Why, that 's the man they have been mak- 
 ino' all this fuss about in India. Pie was, or he said he was, the 
 adopted son of Howard Stapylton ; but the family never believed 
 the adoption, nor consented to receive him, and at this moment a 
 Moonshee, who acted as Persian secretary to old Stapylton, has 
 turned up with some curious disclosures, which, if true, would show 
 that this young fellow held a very humble position in Stapylton's 
 household, and never was in his confidence. This Moonshee was at 
 Malta a few weeks ago, and may be, for aught I know, in England 
 now." 
 
 I asked and obtained Barrington's permission to tell how we were 
 ourselves involved with this ]\Iajor Stapylton, and he quickly de- 
 clared that, while the man stood thus accused, there could be no 
 thought of according him a satisfaction. The opinion was not the 
 less stringent that Stamer was himself an Irishman and of a fight- 
 ing family. 
 
 I am not very sure that we made Barrington a convert to our 
 opinions, but we at least, as we separated for the night, left him 
 doubtful and hesitating. I had not been in bed above an hour, when 
 Mr. Witherino- awoke me. lie had followed us from Dublin as 
 
176 BARRINGTON. 
 
 soon as he learned our departure, and, <ioiiig straight to a magis- 
 trate, swore informations against both Barrington and Stapyhon. 
 " My old friend will never forgive me, 1 know," said he ; '* but if I 
 had not done this, I should never have forgiven myself." It was 
 arranged between us that I was to mention the fact of such informa- 
 tions having been sworn, without stating by whom, to Barrington, 
 and then persuade him to get privately away from town before a 
 warrant could be served. 1 leave you to imagine that my task was 
 not without its difficulties, but, before the day broke, I succeeded in 
 inducing him to leave, and travelling by post without halt, we ar- 
 rived at this quiet spot yesterday evening. Barrington, with all his 
 good temper, is marvellously put out and irritable, saying, " This is 
 not the way such things were done once ; " and peevishly muttered, 
 *' I wonder what poor Harry Beamish or Guy Hutchinson would 
 say to it all? " One thing is quite clear, we had got into a wasps' 
 nest ; Stapylton and his friend were both fellows that no honorable 
 man would like to deal with, and we must wait with a little patience 
 to find some safe road out of this troublesome affair. 
 
 A letter came to B. from the India House the evening before we 
 left town, but he handed it to me before he finished reading it, 
 merely remarking, " The old story, ' Yours of the ninth or nine- 
 teenth has duly been received,' &c." But I found that it contained 
 a distinct admission that his claim was not ill-founded, and that some 
 arrangement ought to be come to. 
 
 I now close my very lengthy epistle, promising, however, that as 
 soon as I hear from town, either from Withering or Stamer, you 
 shall have my news. We are, of course, close prisoners here for the 
 present, for though the warrant would not extend to Ireland, Bar- 
 rington's apprehensions of being " served " with such a writ at all 
 would induce him to hide for six months to come. 
 
 I scai'cely ask you to write to me here, not knowing our probable 
 stay ; but to-morrow may, perhaps, tell us something on this head. 
 Till when, believe me. 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 Ormsby Conyers. 
 
 My most cordial greeting to Miss Barrington, and my love to her 
 niece. 
 
 FROM PETER BARRINGTON TO HIS SISTER MISS DINAH 
 BARRINGTON. 
 
 Long's Hotel, Boxd Street. 
 My dear Dinah, — I hardly know how to tell you what has hap- 
 pened, or what is happening around me. I came over here to meet 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 177 
 
 Major Stapylton, but find that there is no such person, — the man 
 ■who calls himself so being a mere adventurer, who had taken the 
 name, and, I believe, no small share of the goods, of its owner, got 
 into the Bengal army, thence into our own service, and though not 
 undistinguished for gallantry, seems to have led a hfe of ceaseless 
 roguery and intrigue. He knew all about poor George's business, 
 and was in correspondence with those we believe to be our friends 
 in India, but who now turn out to be our inveterate enemies. This 
 we have got at by the confession of one of those Oriental fellows 
 they call Moonshees, who has revealed all their intercourse for years 
 back, and even shown a document setting forth the number of rupees 
 he was to receive when Stapylton had been married to Josephine. 
 The Moonshee is very ill, and his examination can only be conducted 
 at intervals ; but he insists on a point of much importance to us, 
 which is, that Stapylton induced him to tear out of the Rajah's Koran 
 the page on which the adoption of George was written, and signed 
 by the Meer himself. He received a large sum for this service, 
 which, however, he evaded by a fraud, sending over to England not 
 the real document itself, but a copy made by himself, and admirably 
 counterfeited. It was the possession of this by Stapylton which 
 enabled him to exercise a great control over our suit, — now averring 
 that it was lost ; now, under pledge of secrecy, submitting it to the 
 inspection of some of the Indian authorities. Stapylton, in a word, 
 saw himself in a position to establish our claim, whenever the time 
 came that by making Josephine his wife, he could secure the for- 
 tune. This is all that we know up to this, but it is a great deal, and 
 shows in what a maze of duplicity and treachery we have been in- 
 volved for more than twenty years. The chief point, however, is 
 that the real deed, written in the ^Nleer's Koran, and torn out of it 
 by the Moonshee, in his first impulse to forward it to Stapylton, is 
 now extant, and the Koran itself is there to show the jagged margin 
 of the torn-out leaf, and the corresponding page on the opposite side 
 of the volume. Stapylton refuses to utter one word since the accusa- 
 tion against him has been made ; and as the charges stand to falsify- 
 ing documents, abstraction of funds, and other derelictions in India, 
 he is now under a heavy bail to appear when called on. 
 
 The whole business has made me so nervous and excitable that I 
 cannot close my eyes at night, and I feel feverish and restless all 
 day. It is very shocking to think of a man one has never injured, 
 never heard of. animated with a spirit so inimical as to pass years of 
 life in working ill to us. He would appear to have devoted himself 
 to the task of blackening poor George's character and defaming him. 
 It would seem that Mr. Howard Stapylton was one of those who 
 took an active part against George. Whether this young fellow 
 caught the contagion of this antipathy, or helped to feed it, I cannot 
 
 VOL. II. — 12 
 
178 BARRINGTON. 
 
 tell ; but it is certain that all the stories of cruelty and oppression 
 the India Board used to trump up to us came from this one source; 
 and at the end of all he seeks to be one of a family he has striven 
 for vears to ruin and to crush ! 1 am lost in my efforts to under- 
 stand this, though .Stamer and Withering assure me they can read 
 the man like priut. Indeed, they see inferences and motives in fifty 
 things which convey nothing to me ; and whenever 1 feel myself 
 stopped by some impassable barrier, to them it is only a bridge that 
 conducts to a fresh discovery. 
 
 The Stapyltons are all in arms now that another sportsman has 
 •winged the bird for them ; and each day increases the number of 
 accusations against this unfortunate fellow. It is true, dear Dinah, 
 that our own prospects brighten through all this. I am constantly 
 receiving civil messages and hopeful assurances ; and even some of 
 the directors have called to express sympathy and good wishes. But 
 how chilled is the happiness that comes dashed with the misfortune 
 of another! What a terrible deal it detracts from our joy to know 
 that every throb of pleasure to ourselves has cost a pang of misery 
 elsewhere ! I wish this fellow could have gone his way, never mind- 
 ing us ; or, if that could n't be, that he 'd have grown tired of perse- 
 cuting those who had never harmed him. and given us up ! 
 
 They are now assailing him on all sides. One has found that he 
 forged a will ; another that he falsified a signature ; and a miserable 
 creature — a native Indian, who happened to be in that Manchester 
 riot the other day — has now been ferreted out to swear that 
 Stapylton followed him through a suburb, down a lane, and into a 
 brick-field, where he cut him down and left him for dead. There 
 seems a great deal of venom and acrimony in all this ; and though 
 the man is unquestionably not my friend, and I see that this perse- 
 cution continues, I find it very hard not to stand by him. 
 
 As for Withering, it has made the veteran ten years younger. He 
 is up every morning at five, and I hear that he never goes to his 
 room till long past midnight. These are the pastimes that to such 
 men replace the sports of the field and the accidents of the chase. 
 They have their vacillations of hope and fear, their moments of 
 depression and of triumph in them ; and they run a fellow-creature 
 to earth with all the zest of a hard rider after a fox. 
 
 Tell mv darling Fifine that I am longing to be at home again, — 
 longing for the quiet roof, and the roses at the window, and the 
 murmur of the river, and her own sweet voice better than them all. 
 And what a deal of happiness is in our power if we would only con- 
 sent to enjoy it, without running after some imaginary good, some 
 fancied blessing, which is to crown our wishes ! If I could but only 
 have cuessed at the life of an.xiety, doubt, and vacillation the pur- 
 suit of this claim would have cost me, — the twenty years of fever, — 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 179 
 
 I give you my word, Dinah, I 'd rather have earned my daily bread 
 with a spade, or, when too old for that, taken to fishing for a 
 livelihood. 
 
 But why do I complain of anything at this moment ? When have 
 I been so truly happy for many a long year ? Conyers never leaves 
 me, — he talks of George from morning to night. And I now see 
 that with all my affection for that dear boy, I only half knew his 
 noble nature, his fine and generous character. If you only heard of 
 the benevolent things he has done ; the poor fellows he has sent 
 home to their families at his own cost ; the sums he has transmitted 
 to wives and widows of soldiers in England ; the children whose care 
 and support he has provided for ! These were the real drains on 
 that fortune that the world thought wasted and squandered in ex- 
 travagance. And do you know, Dinah, there is a vein of intense 
 egotism in my heart that I never so much as suspected I I found it out 
 by chance, — it was in marking how far less I was touched by the 
 highest and best traits of my poor boy than by the signs of love to 
 myself ! and when Conyers said, •' He was always talking about you ; 
 he never did anything important without the question, ' How would 
 "Dad" like this, I wonder? would "Dad" say "God speed" in 
 this case?' And his first glass of wine every day was to the health 
 of that dear old father over the seas." 
 
 To you who loved him only a little less than myself, I have no 
 shame in the confession of this weakness. I suppose Conyers, how- 
 ever, has hit upon it, for he harps on this theme continually, and, 
 in sheer pride of heart, I feel ten years younger for it. 
 
 Here comes Withering to say, " Some more wonderful news; " but 
 I have begged him to keep it till I have sealed this letter, which if it 
 grows any longer, T '11 never have courage to send to you. A dozen 
 kisses to Fifine I can, however, transmit without any increase to 
 the postage. Give my love to young Conyers; tell him I am 
 charmed with his father, — I never met anyone so companionable 
 to me, and I only long for the day when the same roof shall cover 
 all of us. 
 
 Yours, my dearest sister, ever affectionately, 
 
 Peter Barrixgton. 
 
 FROM T. "VyiXnERIXG, ESQ., TO MISS DIXAH BARRIXGTON, 
 " THE HOME." 
 
 Long's Hotel, Bond Street. 
 'My dear Miss Barrixgton, — If your brother has deputed me 
 to write to you, it is not that he is ill, but simply that the excitement 
 caused by some late events here has so completely mastered him 
 
180 BARRINGTON. 
 
 that he can neither sit quiet a moment, nor address him steadily to 
 any task. Nor am I surprised it should be so. Old, weather-beaten 
 sailor on the ocean of life as 1 am, 1 fet-l an amount of fevurishness 
 and anxiety I am half ashamed of. Truth is, my dear Miss Dinah, we 
 lawyers get so much habituated to certain routine rogueries that we 
 are almost shocked when we hear of a wickedness not designated by 
 a statute. But 1 must not occupy your time with such speculations, 
 the more since 1 have only a brief space to give to that report of 
 proceedings to which 1 want your attention. And, first of all, I will 
 entreat you to forgive me for all want of sequence or connection in 
 what I may say, since events have grown so jumbled together in my 
 mind, that it is perfectly impossible for me to be certain whether 
 what I relate should come before or after some other recorded fact. 
 In a word, I mean to give you an outline of our discoveries, without 
 showing the track of our voyage on the map, or even saying how we 
 came by our knowledge. 
 
 You are aware, Barrington tells me, how Stapylton came by the 
 name he bears. Aware that he was for some of his earlier years 
 domesticated with old Howard Stapylton at Ghurtnapore, in some 
 capacity between confidential valet and secretary, — a position that 
 was at once one of subordination and trust, — it would now appear 
 that a Moonshee, who had long served Colonel Barrington as Persian 
 correspondent, came into Howard Stapylton's service in the same 
 capacity : how introduced, or by whom, we know not. AVith this 
 Moonshee, the young fellow I speak of became an intimate and close 
 friend, and it is supposed obtained from him all that knowledge of 
 your nephew's affairs which enabled him to see to what his claim 
 pretended, and what were its prospects of success. It is now clear 
 enouo-h that he only regarded this knowledge at first as a means of 
 obtaining favor from the Indian Government. It was, in fact, by 
 ceding to them in detail certain documents, that he got his first com- 
 mission in the Madras Fusiliers, and afterwards his promotion in the 
 same re£iment; and when, grown more ambitious, he determined to 
 enter the King's service, the money for purchase came from the 
 same source. Being, however, a fellow of extravagant habits, his 
 demands grew at last to be deemed excessive and importunate; and 
 though his debts had been paid three several times, he was again 
 found involving himself as before, and again requiring assistance. 
 This application was, however, resisted ; and it was apparently on 
 the strength of that refusal that he suddenly changed his tactics, 
 turned his attention towards us, and bethought him that by forward- 
 ing your grandniece's claim. — if he could but win her affections in 
 the mean while, — he would secure as a wife one of the richest heir- 
 esses in Europe. An examination of dates proves this, by showing that 
 his last api)lication to the Indian Board was only a few weeks before 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 181 
 
 he exchanged into the regiment of Hussars he lately served with, and 
 just then ordered to occupy Kilkenny. In one word, when it was no 
 longer profitable to oppose Josephine's claim, he determined to sup- 
 port it and make it his own. The " Company," however, fully 
 assured that by the papers in their possession they could prove their 
 own cause against Colonel Barrington, resisted all his menaces, — 
 when, what does he do ? It was what only a very daring and reck- 
 less fellow would ever have thought of, — one of those insolent feats 
 of boldness that succeed by the very shock they create. He goes to 
 the Secret Committee at the India House and says: "Of the eigh- 
 teen documents I have given you, seven are false. I will not tell 
 you which they are, but if you do not speedily compromise this claim 
 and make a satisfactory settlement on Colonel Barrington's daughter, 
 I '11 denounce you, at all the peril it may be to myself." At first 
 they agree, then they hesitate, then they treat again, and so does the 
 affair proceed, till suddenly — no one can guess why — they assume 
 a tone of open defiance, and flatly declare they will hold no further 
 intercourse with him, and even threaten with exposure any demand 
 on his part. 
 
 This rejection of him came at a critical moment. It was just 
 when the press had begun to comment on the cruelty of his conduct 
 at Peterloo, and when a sort of cry was got up through the country 
 to have him dismissed from the service. ^Ve all saw, but never sus- 
 pected, why he was so terribly cut up at this time. It was hard to 
 believe that he could have taken mere newspaper censure so much 
 to heart. We never guessed the real cause, never saw that he was 
 driven to his last expedient, and obliged to j)rejudice all his hope of 
 success by precipitancy. If he could not make Josephine his wife 
 at once, on the very moment, all was lost. He made a bold effort at 
 this. Who knows if he might not have succeeded but for you, as 
 Josephine was very young, my old friend himself utterly unfit to 
 cope with anything but open hostility ? I say again, I 'd not have 
 answered for the result if you had not been in command of the for- 
 tress. At all events, he failed; and in the failure lost his temper so 
 far as to force a quarrel upon your brother. He failed, however ; 
 and no sooner was he down, than the world was atop of him : credi- 
 tors, Jews, bill-discounters, and, last of all, the Stajn'ltons, who, so 
 long as he bore their family name thousands of miles off, or associ- 
 ated it with deeds of gallantry, said nothing; now, that they saw it 
 held up to attack and insult, came forward to declare that he never 
 belonged to them, and at length appealed formally to the Horse 
 Guards, to learn under what designation he had entered the service, 
 and at what period taken the name he went by. 
 
 Stapylton's application for leave to sell out had just been sent in ; 
 and once more the newspapers set up the cry that this man should 
 
182 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 not be permitted to carry away to Aix and Baden the proceeds of a 
 sale which belonged to his '• creditors." You know the world, and I 
 need not tell you all the pleasant things it told this fellow, for men 
 are pretty ni<rh as pitiless as crows to their wounded. I thought the 
 complication had reached its limit, when I learned yesterday even- 
 ing that Stapylton had been summoned before a police magistrate 
 for a case of assault committed by him when in command of his 
 regiment at Manchester. The case had evidently been got up 
 by a political party, who, seeing the casual unpopularity of the 
 man, determined to profit by it. The celebrated radical barrister, 
 Ilesketh, was engaged for the plaintiff. 
 
 When I arrived at the court, it was so full that it was with diffi- 
 culty 1 got a passage to a seat behind the bench. There were 
 crowds of fashionables present, the well-known men about town, and 
 the idlers of the clubs, and a large sprinkling of military men, for 
 the news of the case had got wind already. 
 
 Staj)ylton, dressed in black, and looking pale and worn, but still 
 dignified and like a gentleman, had not a single friend with him. I 
 own to you, I felt ashamed to be there, and was right glad when he 
 did not recognize me. 
 
 Though the case opened by a declaration that this was no common 
 assault case, wherein in a moment of passion a man had been be- 
 trayed into an excess, I knew the cant of my craft too well to lay 
 any stress on such assertion, and received it as the ordinary exordium. 
 As I listened, however, I was struck by hearing that the injured man 
 was asserted to be one well known to Stapylton, with whom he had 
 been for years in intimacy, and that the assault was in reality a 
 deliberate attempt to kill, and not, as had been represented, a mere 
 passing act of savage severity committed in hot blood. " My 
 client," said he, "will be brought before you ; he is a Hindoo, but so 
 long a resident of this country that he speaks our language fluently. 
 You shall hear his story yourselves, and yourselves decide on its 
 truthfulness. His wounds are, however, of so serious a nature that 
 it will be advisable his statement should be a brief one." As he said 
 this, a dark-complexioned fellow, with a look half-frightened, half 
 defiant, was carrietl forwards in a chair, and deposited, as he sat, on 
 the table. He gave his name as Lai Adeen. his age as forty-eight, 
 his birthplace Majamarha, near Agra. He came to this country 
 twelve years ago, as servant to an officer who had died on the 
 passage, and after many hardships in his endeavor to earn a liveli- 
 hood, obtained employment at Manchester in the mill of Brandling 
 and Bennett, where he was employed to sweep the corridors and the 
 stairs; his wages were nine shillings a week. All this, and much 
 more of the same kind, he told simply and collectedly. I tried to 
 see Stapylton while this was going on, but a pillar of the gallery, 
 against which he leaned, concealed him from mv view. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 183 
 
 I omit a great deal, not without its interest, but reserving it for 
 another time, and come to his account of the night on which he was 
 wounded. He said that as the cavalry marched on that morning 
 into Manchester, he was struck by seeing at the head of the regiment 
 one he had never set his eyes on for years, but whose features he 
 knew too well to be deceived in. 
 
 '• I tried to get near him, that he might recognize me," said he ; 
 " but the crowd kept me back, and I could not. I thought, indeed, 
 at one moment he had seen me, and knew me; but as he turned his 
 head away, I supposed I was mistaken. 
 
 '■ It was on the following evening, when the riot broke out in Mill 
 Street, that I saw him next. I was standing at the door of a 
 chemii-t's shop when the cavalry rode by at a walk. There was a 
 small body of them in front, at about forty or fifty paces, and who, 
 finding a sort of barricade across the street, returned to the main 
 body, where they seemed to be reporting this. A cry arose that the 
 troops had been blocked up at the rear, and at the same instant a 
 shower of stones came from the side-streets and the house-tops. 
 Thinking to do him a service, I made my way towards him I knew, 
 in order to tell him by what way he could make his escape ; and 
 jostled and pushed, and half ridden down, 1 laid my hand on his 
 horse's shoidder to keep myself from falling. ' Stand back, you 
 scoundrel ! ' said he, striking me with the hilt of his sword in the 
 face. ' Don't you know me, master ? ' cried I, in terror. He bent 
 down in his saddle till his face was almost close to mine, and then, 
 reining his horse back to give him room for a blow, he aimed a 
 desperate cut at me. I saw it coming, and threw myself down ; 
 but I rose the next instant and ran. The street was already so 
 clear by this time, I got into Cleever's Alley, down Grange Street, 
 up the lane that leads to the brick-fields, and at last into the fields 
 themselves. I was just thinking I was safe, when I saw a horseman 
 behind me. He saw me, and dashed at me. I fell upon my knees 
 to ask mercy, and he gave me this; " and he pointed to the bandages 
 which covered his forehead, stained as they were with clotted blood. 
 " I fell on my face, and he tried to make his horse trample on me ; 
 but the beast would not, and he only touched me with his hoof as he 
 sprang across me. He at last dismounted to see, j)erhap«, if I were 
 dead : but a shout from some of the rioters warned him to mount 
 again ; and he rode away, and I lay there till morning. It is not 
 true that I was in prison and escaped, — that I was taken to the 
 hospital, and ran away from it. I was sheltered in one of the clay- 
 huts of the brickmakers for several weeks, afraid to come abroad, 
 for I knew that the Sahib was a great man and could take my 
 life. It was only by the persuasions of others that I left my hiding- 
 place and have come here to tell my story." 
 
184 BAKRDsGTON. 
 
 On being questioned why this officer could possibly desire to injure 
 him, what grudge one in such a station could bear him, he owned 
 he could not say ; they had never been enemies, and, indeed, it was 
 in the hope of a friendly recognition and assistance that he ap- 
 proached him in Mill Street. 
 
 Stapylton's defence was very brief, given in an off-hand, frank 
 manner, which disposed many in his favor. He believed the fellow 
 meant to attack him ; he certainh' caught hold of his bridle. It was 
 not his intention to give him mure than a passing blow ; but the 
 utterance of a Hindoo curse — an expression of gross outrage in the 
 P^ast — recalled prejudices long dormant, and he gave the rascal 
 chase, and cut him over the head, — not a severe cut, and totally 
 unaccompanied by the other details narrated. 
 
 " As for our former acquaintance I deny it altogether. I have 
 seen thousands of his countrymen, and may have seen him ; but, I 
 repeat, I never knew him, nor can he presume to say he knew 
 me ! " 
 
 The Hindoo smiled a faint, sickly smile, made a gesture of deep 
 humilitv, and asked if he might put a few questions to the 
 " Sahib." 
 
 " Were you in Naghapoor in the year of the floods?" 
 
 " Yes," said Stapylton, firmly, but evidently with an effort to 
 appear calm. 
 
 "In the service of the great Sahib, Howard Stapylton?" 
 
 *' In his service ? Certainly not. I lived with him as his friend, 
 and became his adopted heir.*' 
 
 " What office did you fill when you first came to the ' Residence ' ? " 
 
 " I assisted my friend in the duties of his government ; I was a 
 good Oriental scholar, and could write and speak a dialect he knew 
 nothing of. But I submit to the court that this examination, 
 prompted and suborned by others, has no other object than to insult 
 me, by leading to disclosures of matters essentially private in their 
 nature." 
 
 "Let me ask but one question," said the barrister. ""\^niat name 
 did you bear before you took that of Stapylton ?" 
 
 " I refuse to submit to this insolence," said Stapylton, rising, 
 angrily. " If the laws of the country only can lend themselves to 
 assist the persecutions of a rascally Press, the sooner a man of honor 
 seeks another land the better. Adjudicate on this case, sirs; I will 
 not stoop to bandy words with these men." 
 
 " I now, sir," said Hesketh, opening his bag and taking out a roll 
 of papers, " am here to demand a committal for forgery against the 
 person before you, passing under the name of Horace Stapylton, but 
 whose real designation is Samuel Scott Edwardes, son of Samuel 
 Edwardes, a name notorious enough once." 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 185 
 
 I cannot go on, my dear friend; the emotions that overpowered 
 me at the time, and compelled me to leave the court, are again 
 threatening me, and my brain reels at the recollection of a scene 
 which, even to my fast-fading senses, was the most trying of my 
 life. 
 
 To General Conyers J must refer you for what ensued after I 
 left. I cannot even say who came home with me to the hotel, though 
 I am aware 1 owed that kindness to some one. The face of that 
 unhappy man is yet before me, and all the calm in which I have 
 written up to this leaves me, as I think over one of the most terrible 
 incidents of my life. 
 
 Your brother, shocked of course, bears up bravely, and hopes to 
 write to you to-morrow. 
 
 One word of good cheer before I close this miserable record. The 
 Indian directors have written to offer excellent terms — sjjlendidly 
 liberal terms, Conyers calls them, and 1 agree with him. We have 
 had a very busy week of it here, but it will be well requited if all 
 that I now anticipate be confirmed to us. Barrington begs you will 
 tell your neighbors, the Dills, that Tom — 1 think that is the name 
 ■ — has just arrived at Southampton with General Hunter, and will 
 be here to-morrow evening. 
 
 I have cut out a short passage from the newspaper to finish my 
 narrative. I will send the full report, as published, to-morrow. 
 Your attached friend, 
 
 T. Withering. 
 
 " The chief police-office in Marlborough Street was yesterday the 
 scene of a very shocking incident. The officer whose conduct at 
 the head of his regiment in ]Manchester has of late called for the 
 almost unanimous reprobation of the Press, was, while answering 
 to a charge of asrgravated assault, directly charged with fortrerv. 
 Scarcely was the allegation made, than he drew a pistol from his 
 pocket, and, placing the muzzle to his mouth, pulled the trigger. 
 The direction of the weapon, however, was accidentally turned, and 
 the ball, instead of proceeding upwards, passed through the lower 
 jaw, fracturing the bone, and created a terrible wound. It is sup- 
 posed that the large vessels are not injured, and that he may yet 
 recover. All who witnessed the scene describe it as one of intense 
 horror. 
 
 " The unhappy man was at once removed to the Middlesex Hospi- 
 tal. He has not uttered a word since the event ; and when asked if 
 there were any relatives or friends whom he wished might be sent 
 for, merely shook his head negatively. It is said that when the 
 result of the consultation held on him was announced to him as 
 favorable, he seemed rather grieved than otherwise at the tidings." 
 
186 BARRLNGTON. 
 
 FROM PETEK BARRINGTON TO DINAH, HIS SISTER. 
 
 My deak Dinah, — How glad am I to tell you that we leave 
 this to-morrow, and a large party of us, too, all for " The Home." 
 Put young Conyers in my dressing-room, so that the large green 
 bedroom can be free for the General, at least for one of the generals 
 — for we have another here, Hunter, wlio will also be our guest. 
 Then there will be ^^'ithering. As for myself, 1 can be stowed away 
 anywhere. What happiness would there be to us all at such a 
 meeting, if it were not for that poor wretch who lies in all liis agony 
 a few streets off, and who is never out of my thoughts. I went 
 twice to the hospital to see him. The first time I lost courage, and 
 came away. The second, I sent up my name, and asked if he would 
 wish to see me. The only answer I got was my visiting-card torn 
 in two 1 How hard it is for an injurer to forgive him he has in- 
 jured I I have arranged with the Stapyltons, however, who instigated 
 the charge of forgery, not to press it ; at least, they are to take bail, 
 and the bail will be forfeited, so I understand it; but AVithering will 
 explain all more clearly. 
 
 Our own affairs are all as bright and prosperous as our best 
 wishes could desire. The Council have had all the evidence before 
 them, and the Moonshee has produced his copy of the Koran, with 
 the torn leaf fitting into the jagged margin, and George is vindicated 
 at last in everything. His loyalty, liis disinterestedness, his honesty, 
 all established. The ceremony of his marriage has been fully recog- 
 nized ; and General Conyers tells me that the lowest estimate of our 
 ,claim is a little short of a (juarter of a miUion sterling. He counsels 
 me npt to be exigent in my terms ; if lie knew me better, perhaps, 
 he would not have deemed the advice so necessary. 
 
 AVhat will Fifine say to all this wealth? Will she want to go 
 back to India, and be a princess, and ride about on an elephant ; or 
 will she reconcile herself to such humble ways as ours ? I am most 
 eager to hear how she will take the tidings. Withering says it will 
 not spoil her ; that knowing nothing of life in its moneyed relations, 
 she runs no risk of being carried away by any vulgar notions of her 
 own importance througli riches. 
 
 Convers has never once hinted at his son's pretensions since Fifine 
 has become an heiress ; and I fancy — it may be only fancy — is a 
 shade or so cool towards me, so that T have not referred to them. 
 But what can I do ? I cannot offer him mv granddaughter, nor — 
 if what you tell me be true, that they are always quarrelling — would 
 the proposal be a great kindness to either. 
 
 Here is Tom Dill, too, and what a change I He is the image of 
 Polly ; and a fine, well-grown, straight-figured fellow, that looks you 
 manfully in the face, — not the slouching, loutish, shamefaced crea- 
 ture you remember him. Hunter has had him gazetted to an En- 
 
CORRESPONDENCE. 187 
 
 sif^iicy in the lOtb Foot, and he will, or T much mistake him, do 
 honest credit to the recommendation. Hunter takes him about svith 
 him wherever he goes, telling all about the shipwreck and Tom's 
 "•allantrv, — enough to turn the lad's head with vanity, but that he is 
 a fine, simple-hearted creature, who thinks very little of himself or 
 his achievement. He seems to have no other thought than what 
 Polly, his sister, will say and think of him. 
 
 He also will be one of our party ; that is if I can persuade him to 
 make " The Home " his headquarters while our friends are with us. 
 What a strong muster we shall be ; and how we '11 astonisli that old 
 bin of ^Madeira, Dinah ! By the way, I have been rather boastful 
 about it to Conyers, and let some bottles have the sun on them for 
 a couple of hours every day. 
 
 I should like to try my chance once more of seeing that poor fellow 
 at the hospital, but Withering will not hear of it ; he got positively 
 ill-tempered at the bare mention of such a wish. Even Conyers 
 says, " Better not," with an air that may mean for the sick man's 
 sake as much as my own. 
 
 A little more of this life of noise, confusion, and excitement would 
 finish me. This city existence, with its incessant events and its never 
 ending anxieties, is like walking in a high wind with the chimney- 
 pots falling and crashing on every side of one, — while I am pitying 
 the fellow whose skull is just cracked, I am forced to remember that 
 my own is in danger. And yet there are people who like it ; who tell 
 you that out of London there is no living ; that the country is a grave, 
 aorcrravated by the consciousness that one is dead and buried there ! 
 
 On Tuesday, — Wednesday, at farthest, — Dinah, look out for us. 
 I do not believe there is that prize in the wheel that would tempt me 
 again away from home ! and till I reach it, believe, my dear Dinah, 
 Your loving brother, 
 
 Peter Barrington. 
 
 I have just seen Conyers. He met Sir Harvey Hethrington, the 
 Home Secretary, this morning, and they got into a talk over our 
 business, and H. said how cruelly I had been treated all this time 
 back, and how unfairly poor George's memory was dealt with. 
 " We want," said he, " to show your friend our respect and our 
 svmpathy, and we have thought of submitting his name to the King 
 for a Baronetcy. How do you think Mr. Barrington himself would 
 take our project? " "I '11 find out," said Conyers, as he told me of 
 the conversation. " If they don't let me off, Conyers," said I, " ask 
 them to commute it to Knighthood, for the heralds' fees will be 
 smaller ; but I '11 try, meanwhile, if I can't escape either." So that 
 now, Dinah, you may expect me on Saturday. I told you what a 
 place this was ; you are never sure what may befall you from one 
 moment to another ! 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Fortune had apparently ceased to persecute Peter Barring- 
 ton. The Minister did not press honors upon him, and he 
 was free to wait for his companions, and in their company 
 he returned to Ireland. 
 
 The news of his success — great as it was, magnified 
 still more — had preceded him to his own country ; and he 
 was met, as all lucky men are met, and will be met to the 
 end of time, by those who know the world and feelingly 
 estimate that the truly profitable are the fortunate ! 
 
 Not that he remarked how many had suddenly grown 
 so cordial ; what troops of passing acquamtances had become 
 in a moment warm friends, well-wishing and affectionate. 
 He never so much as suspected that '*Luck" is a deity 
 worshipped by thousands, who even in the remotest way are 
 not to be benefited by it. He had always regarded the 
 world as a far better thing than many moralists would 
 allow it to be, — unsteady, wilful, capricious, if 3'ou like — 
 but a well-intentioned, kindly minded world, that would at 
 all times, where passion or prejudice stood aloof, infinitely 
 rather do the generous thing than the cruel one. 
 
 Little wonder, then, if he journeyed in a sort of ovation ! 
 At every change of horses in each village they passed, there 
 was sure to be some one who wanted to shake his hand. 
 People hobbled out on crutches and quitted sick-beds to say 
 how " glad they were; " mere acquaintances most of them, 
 who felt a strange mysterious sort of self-consequence in 
 fancying themselves for the moment the friends of Peter 
 Barrington, the millionnaire ! This is all ver}' curious, but it 
 is a fact, — a fact which I make no pretence to explain, 
 however. 
 
THE END. 189 
 
 " And here comes the heartiest well-wisher of them all! " 
 cried Barriugtou, as he saw his sister standing on the road- 
 side, near the gate. AVith thoughtful delicacy, his com- 
 panions lingered behind, while he went to meet and embraced 
 her. "Was I not a true prophet, Dinah dear? Did I not 
 often foretell this day to you? " said he, as he drew her arm, 
 and led her along, forgetting all about his friends and 
 companions. 
 
 " Have they paid the money, Peter?" said she, sharply. 
 
 " Of course they have not ; such things are not settled 
 like the fare of a hackney-coach. But our claim is acknowl- 
 edged, and, fifty thousand times better, George Barring- 
 ton's name absolved from every shadow of an imputation." 
 
 " What is the amount they agree to give? " 
 
 " Upon my life, I don't know, — that is, I don't recollect, 
 there were so many interviews and such discussions ; but 
 Withering can tell you everything. Withering knows it 
 all. Without him and Conyers I don't know how I could 
 have got on. If you had heard how he spoke of George 
 at the Council ! ' You talk of my services,' said he ; ' they 
 are no more fit to be compared with those of Colonel Bar- 
 rington, than are my petty grievances with the gross wrongs 
 that lie on his memory.' Withering was there; he heard 
 the words, and described the effect of them as actually 
 overwhelming." 
 
 " And Withering believes the whole thing to be settled? " 
 
 " To be sure, he does! Why should he oppose his belief 
 to that of the whole world? Why, my dear Dinah, it is 
 not one, nor two, but some hundreds of people have come 
 to wish me joy. They had a ti'iumphal arch at Naas, with 
 ' Welcome to Barrington ' over it. At Carlow, Fishbourne 
 came out with the corporation to offer me congratulations." 
 
 She gave a hasty, impatient shake of the head, but 
 repressed the sharp reply that almost trembled on her 
 lips. 
 
 "By George!" cried he, "it does one's heart good to 
 witness such a burst of generous sentiment. You 'd have 
 thought some great national benefit had befallen, or that 
 some one — his country's idol — had just reaped the recom- 
 pense of his great services. They came flocking out of 
 
190 BARRINGTON. 
 
 the towns as we whirled past, cheering lustily, and shouting, 
 'Barrington forever ! ' " 
 
 " I detest a mob! " said she, pursing up her lips. 
 
 "These were no mobs, Dinah; these were groups of hon- 
 est fellows, with kind hearts and generous wishes." 
 
 Another, but more decisive, toss of the head warned Peter 
 that the discussion had gone far enough ; indeed she almost 
 said so, by asking abrupll}', " AVhat is to be done about the 
 boy Conj'ers? He is madly in love with Josephine." 
 
 " Marry her, I should say ! " 
 
 " As a cure for the complaint, I suppose. But what if 
 she will not have him ? What if she declares that she "d like 
 to go back to the convent again, — that she hates the world, 
 and is sorr}' she ever came out into it, — that she was hap- 
 pier with the sisters — " 
 
 " Has she said all this to you, sister?" 
 
 "Certainly not, Peter," said Dinah, bridling up. " These 
 were confidences imparted to the young man himself. It 
 was he told me of them : he came to me last night in a state 
 bordering on distraction. He was hesitating whether he 
 would not throw himself into the river or go into a marching 
 regiment." 
 
 "This is only a laughing matter, then, Dinah?" said 
 Peter, smiling. 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, brother! He did not put the al- 
 ternatives so much in juxtaposition as I have ; but they lay 
 certainly in that manner on his thoughts. But when do 
 your friends arrive? I thought they were to have come 
 with you?" 
 
 " "What a head I have, Dinah ! They are all here ; two 
 carriages of them. I left them on the road when I rushed 
 on to meet you. Oh, here the}' come ! here they are ! " 
 
 " My brother's good fortune, gentlemen, has made him 
 seem to forget what adversit}' never did ; but I believe you 
 all know how welcome 3-ou are here? Your son, General 
 Conyers, thought to meet you earlier, by taking boat down 
 to the village, and the girls went with him. Your friend, 
 Polly Dill, is one of them. General Hunter." 
 
 Having thus, with one sweep of the scythe, cut down a 
 little of all around her, she led the way towards the cottage, 
 
 I 
 
THE END. 191 
 
 accepting the arm of Geueral Couyers with an antiquated 
 grace that sorely tried Hunter's good manners not to 
 smile at. 
 
 "I know what you are looking at, what you are think- 
 ing of, Barringtou," said Withering, as he saw the other 
 stand a moment gazing at the landscape on the opposite side 
 of the river. 
 
 " I don't think you do, Tom," said he, smiling. 
 
 " You were thinking of buying that mountain yonder. 
 You were saying to yourself, ' I '11 be the owner of that 
 beech wood before I 'm a month older ! ' " 
 
 "•Upon my life, you're right! though I haveu't the re- 
 motest notion of how you guessed it. The old fellow that 
 owns it shall name his own terms to-morrow morning. 
 Here come the girls, and they 've got Tom Dill with them. 
 How the fellow rows ! and Fifine is laughing away at Con- 
 yers's attempt to keep the boat straight. Look at Huuter, 
 too ; he 's off to meet them. Is he ' going in ' for the great 
 heiress prize, eh, Tom? " said he, with a knowing smile. 
 
 Though Hunter assisted the ladies to land with becoming 
 gallantry, he did not offer his arm to Josephine, but dropped 
 behind, where Tom Dill brought up the rear with his sister. 
 
 "We have no confidences that you may not listen to," 
 said Polly, as she saw that he hesitated as to joining them. 
 "Tom, indeed, has been telling of yourself, and you may 
 not care to hear your own praises." 
 
 " If they come from ;iou, I 'm all ears for them." 
 
 "Isn't that pretty, Tom? Did you ever hear any one 
 ask more candidly for — no, not flaitery — what is it to be 
 called?" 
 
 Tom, however, could not answer, for he had stopped to 
 shake hands with Darby, whose " May I never! " had just 
 arrested him. 
 
 " What an honest, fine-hearted fellow it is ! " said Hunter, 
 as they moved on, leaving Tom behind. 
 
 " But if you had n't found it out, who would have known, 
 or who acknowledged it? /know — for he has told me — 
 all 3'ou have been to him." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh! nothing; .less than nothing. He owes all 
 that he is to himself. He is one of those fellows who, once 
 
192 BARRINGTON. 
 
 they get into the right groove in life, are sure to go ahead. 
 Not even ijoii could make a doctor of him. Nature made 
 him a soldier." 
 
 Polly blushed slightly at the coniplitneut to those teach- 
 ings she believed a secret, and he v/ent on, — 
 
 " What has the world been doing here since I left?" 
 
 "Pretty much what it did while you w^ere here. It 
 looked after its turnips and asparagus, took care of its 
 young calves, fattened its chickens, grumbled at the dear- 
 ness of everything, and wondered when Dr. Buck would 
 preach a new sermon." 
 
 '' No deaths, — no marriages? " 
 
 " None. There was only one candidate for both, and he 
 has done neither, — Major M'Cormick." 
 
 " Confound that old fellow ! I had forgotten him. Do 
 you remember the last day I saw you here? We were in 
 the garden, talking, as we believed, without witnesses. 
 Well, he overheard us. He heard every word we said, and 
 a good deal more that we did not say." 
 
 " Yes ; so he informed me, a few days after." 
 
 " You don't mean to say that he had the impertinence — " 
 
 "The frankness. General, — the charming candor, — to 
 tell me that I was a very clever girl, and not to be discour- 
 aged by one failure or two ; that with time and perseverance — 
 I think he said perseverance — some one was sure to take a 
 fancy to me : he might not, perhaps, be handsome, possibly 
 not very young ; his temper, too, might chance to be more 
 tart than was pleasant; in a word, he drew such a picture 
 that I had to stop him short, and ask was he making me a 
 proposal? He has never spoken to me since ! " 
 
 " I feel as if I could break his neck," muttered Hunter, 
 below his breath; then added, "Do yon remember that I 
 asked leave to write to you once, — only once ? " 
 
 "Yes, I remember it." 
 
 " And 3'ou would not answer me. You shook j^our head, 
 as though to say the permission would be of no service to 
 me ; that I might write, but, you understand, that it would 
 only be to indulge in a delusion — " 
 
 " What an expressive shake of the head that meant all 
 that ! " 
 
THE E^•D 193 
 
 " Ah ! there it is again ; never serious, never grave ! And 
 now I want 3'ou to be both. Since I lauded in England, I 
 ran down for a day to Devonshire. I saw an old aunt of 
 mine, who, besides being very rich, has retained no small 
 share of the romance of her life. She always had a dash of 
 hero-worship about her, and so I took down Tom with me to 
 show her the gallant fellow whose name was in all the news- 
 papers, and of whom all the world was talking. She was 
 charmed with him, — with his honest, manly simplicity, his 
 utter want of all affectation. She asked me ten times a day, 
 'Can I not be of service to him? Is there no step he 
 wishes to purchase? Is there nothing we can do for him?' 
 'Nothing,' said 1; ' he is quite equal to his own fortune.' 
 ' He may have brothers,' said she. ' He has a sister,' said 
 I, — 'a sister who has made him all that he is, and it was 
 to repay her love and affection that he has shown himself 
 to be the gallant fellow we have seen him.' ' Tell her to 
 come and see me. — that is,' said she, correcting herself, 
 ' give her a letter I shall write, and persuade her, if you can, 
 to oblige me by doing what I ask.' Here is the letter ; don't 
 say no till you have read it. Nay. don't shake your bead 
 so deploringly ; things may be hard without being impossible. 
 At all events, read her note carefully. It 's a droll old 
 hand, but clear as print." 
 
 "I'll read it," said she, looking at the letter; but the 
 sorrowful tone revealed how hopelessly she regarded the 
 task. 
 
 "Ask Tom about her; and make Tom tell you what she 
 is like. Bj' Jove ! he has such an admiration for the old 
 damsel, I was half afraid he meant to be my uncle." 
 
 They reached the cottage laughing pleasantly over this 
 conceit, and Polly hurried up to her room to read the 
 letter. To her surprise, Josephine was there already, her 
 eyes very red with crying, and her cheeks flushed and 
 feverish-looking. 
 
 " My dearest Fifine, what is all this for, on the happiest 
 day of your life? " said she, drawing her arm around her. 
 
 "It's all your fault, — all your doing," said the other, 
 averting her head, as she tried to disengage herself from 
 the embrace. 
 
 TOL. II. — 13 
 
194 BARRINGTON. 
 
 " My fault, — my doing? What do you mean, dearest, 
 what can I have done to deserve this ? " 
 
 ' ' You know very well what you have done. You knew 
 all the time how it would turn out." 
 
 Polly protested firmly that she could not imagine what 
 was attributed to her, and only after a considerable time 
 obtained the explanation of the charge. Indeed it was not 
 at first easy to comprehend it, given, as it was, in the midst 
 of tears, and broken at every word by sobs. The substance 
 was this : that Fifine, in an attempted imitation of Polly's 
 manner, — an effort to copy the coquetting Avhich she fancied 
 to be so captivating, — had ventured to trifle so far with 
 young Conyers, that, after submitting to every alternative of 
 hope and fear for weeks long, he at last gave way, and deter- 
 mined to leave the house, quit the country, and never meet 
 her more. " It was to be like you I did it," cried she, sob- 
 bing bitterly, "and see what it has led me to." 
 
 "Well, dearest, be really like me for half an hour; that 
 is, be very patient and very quiet. Sit down here, and 
 don't leave this till I come back to you." 
 
 Polly kissed her hot cheek as she spoke -, and the other sat 
 down where she was bade, with the half-obedient sulkiness 
 of a naughty child. 
 
 "Tell young Mr. Conyers to come and speak to me. I 
 shall be in the garden," said she to his servant; and before 
 she had gone many paces he was beside her. 
 
 "Oh, Polly dearest! have you any hope for me?" cried 
 he, in agony. " If you knew the misery I am enduring." 
 
 " Come and take a walk with me," said she, passing her 
 arm within his. " I think you will like to hear what I have 
 to tell you." 
 
 The revelation was not a very long one ; and as they 
 passed beneath the room where Josephine sat, Polly called 
 out, "Come down here, Fifine, we are making a bouquet; 
 try if you can find ' heart's-ease.' " 
 
 What a happy party met that day at dinner ! All were in 
 their best spirits, each contented with the other. " Have 
 you read my aunt's note?" whispered Hunter to Polly, as 
 they passed into the drawing-room. 
 
THE END. 195 
 
 "Yes. I showed it also to Miss Dinah. I asked her 
 advice." 
 
 "And what did she say, — what did she advise? " 
 
 " She said she'd think over it and tell me to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ! Why not now, — why not at once? " cried 
 he, impatiently. " I '11 speak to her myself ; " and he hurried 
 to the little room where Miss Dinah was making tea. 
 
 It was not a very long interview ; and Hunter returned, 
 fond, radiant, and triumphant. " She 's the cleverest old 
 woman I ever met in my life," said he; "and the best, 
 besides, after my Aunt Dorothy. She said that such an 
 invitation as that was too cordial to be coldly declined ; that 
 it meant more — far more — than a politeness ; that you 
 ought to go, yes, by all means ; and if there was any diffi- 
 culty about the journey, or any awkwardness in travelling so 
 far, why, there was an easy remedy for it, as well as for 
 meeting my aunt a perfect stranger." 
 
 " And what was that? " 
 
 "To go as her niece, dearest Polly, — to be the wife of 
 a man who loves you." 
 
 "Is it possible that you have so much to say to each other 
 that you won't take tea?" cried Aunt Dinah; while she 
 whispered to Withering, ' ' I declare we shall never have a 
 sociable moment till they 're all married off, and learn to 
 conduct themselves like reasonable creatures." 
 
 Is it not the best testimony we can give to happiness, that 
 it is a thing to feel and not describe, — to be enjoyed, but 
 not pictured? It is like a debt that I owe to my reader, to 
 show him " The Home" as it was when blissful hearts were 
 gathered under its roof ; and yet, for the life of me, I cannot 
 acquit myself of it. To say that there were old people with 
 their memories of the past, and young ones with their hopes 
 of the future ; that there were bygones to sigh over, and 
 vistas to gaze at, conveys but little of the kindliness by 
 which heart opened to heart, and sorrow grew lighter by 
 mutual endurance, and joys became brighter as they were 
 imparted to another. 
 
 "So I find," said Barrington, as they sat at breakfast 
 together, " that Josephine insists on going back to the con- 
 
196 BARRINGTON. 
 
 vent, and Fred is resolved on an exchange into the Infantry, 
 and is oflf for Canada immediately." 
 
 *' Not a bit of it ! " broke in Hunter, who remarked noth- 
 ing of the roguish drollery qf old Peter's eye, nor even 
 suspected that the speech was made in mockery. " Master 
 Fred is coming with me into Kilkenny this morning, for a 
 visit to the Dean, or whatever he is, who dispenses those 
 social handcuffs they call licenses." 
 
 " AVhy, they were quarrelling all the morning," repeated 
 Barringtou. 
 
 "So we were, sir, and so we mean to do for many a year," 
 said Josephine; "and to keep us in countenance, I hear 
 that General Hunter and Polly have determined to follow 
 our example." 
 
 " What do I hear. Miss Dill?" said Miss Barrington, with 
 an affected severity. 
 
 " I'm afraid, madam, it is true ; there has been what my 
 father calls ' a contagious endemic ' here lately, and we have 
 both caught it ; but ours are mild cases, and we hope soon 
 to recover." 
 
 "AVhat's this I see here?" cried Fred, who, to conceal 
 his shame, had taken up the newspaper. "Listen to this: 
 'The notorious Stapylton, alias Edwardes, whose case up 
 to yesterday was reported all but hopeless, made his escape 
 from the hospital, and has not since been heard of. It 
 would appear that some of the officials had been bribed to 
 assist his evasion, and a strict inquiry will be immediately 
 set on foot into the affair.'" 
 
 "Do you think he has got over to France?" whispered 
 Peter to AYithering. 
 
 " Of course he has ; the way was all open, and everything 
 ready for him ! " 
 
 ■ "Then I am thoroughly happy! " cried Barrington, " and 
 there's not even the shadow of a cloud over our present 
 sunshine." 
 
 THE END. 
 
TALES OF THE TRAINS: 
 
 Some Chapters of Eailroati i^omance. 
 
 BY TILBURY TRAMP, 
 
 QUEEN S MESSENGER. 
 
Bang, bang, bang ! ' 
 Shake, shiver, and throb; 
 
 The sound of our feet 
 
 Is the piston's beat, 
 
 And the opening valve our sob I 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Let no enthusiast of the pastoral or romantic school, no 
 fair reader with eyes " deeply, darkly, beautifully blue," 
 sneer at the title of my paper. I have written it after 
 much and mature meditation. 
 
 It would be absurd to deny that the great and material 
 changes which our progress in civilization and the arts 
 effect, should not impress literature as well as manners ; 
 that the tone of our thoughts, as much as the temper of 
 our actions, should not sympathize with the giant strides 
 of inventive genius. We have but to look abroad, and 
 confess the fact. The facilities of travel which our day 
 confers, have given a new and a different impulse 
 to the human mind; the man is no longer deemed a 
 wonder who has journeyed some hundred miles from 
 home, — the miracle will soon be he who has not been 
 everywhere. 
 
 To persist, therefore, in dwelling on the same fea- 
 tures, the same fortunes, and the same characters of 
 mankind, while all around us is undergoing a great and 
 a formidable revolution, appears to me as insane an effort 
 as though we should try to preserve our equilibrium 
 during the shock of an earthquake. 
 
 The stage lost much of its fascination when, by the 
 diffusion of literature, men could read at home what 
 
200 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 once they were obliged to go abroad to see. Historical 
 novels, in the same way, failed to produce the same 
 excitement, as the readers became more conversant witli 
 the passages of history which suggested them. The 
 battle-and-murder school, the raw-head-and-bloody-bones 
 literature, pales before the commonest coroner's inquest 
 in the " Times ; " and even Boz can scarce stand com- 
 petition with the vie intime of a union workhouse. 
 What, then, is to be done ? Quce regio terrce remains to 
 be explored ? Have we not ransacked every clime and 
 country, — from the Russian to the Red Man, from the 
 domestic habits of Sweden to the wild life of the 
 Prairies ? Have we not had kings and kaisers, popes, 
 cardinals, and ministers, to satiety ? The land service 
 and the sea service have furnished their quota of scenes ; 
 and I am not sure but that the revenue and coast-guard 
 may have been pressed into the service. Personalities 
 have been a stock in trade to some, and coarse satires on 
 well-known characters of fashionable life have made the 
 reputation of others. 
 
 From the palace to the poorhouse, from the forum to 
 the factory, all has been searched and ransacked for a 
 new view of life or a new picture of manners. Some 
 have even gone into the recesses of the earth, and inves- 
 tigated the arcana of a coal-mine, in the hope of eliciting 
 a novelty. Yet, all this time, the great reformer has 
 been left to accomplish his operations without note or 
 comment; and while thundering along the earth or 
 ploughing the sea with giant speed and giant power, 
 men have not endeavored to track his influence upon 
 humanity, nor work out any evidences of those strange 
 changes he is effecting over the whole surface of society. 
 The steam-engine is not merely a power to turn the 
 wheels of mechanism, — it beats and throbs within the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 201 
 
 heart of a nation, and is felt in every fibre and recog- 
 nized in every sinew of civilized man. 
 
 How vain to tell us now of the lover's bark skimming 
 the midnight sea, or speak of a felucca and its pirate 
 crew stealing stealthily across the waters ! A suitor 
 would come to seek his mistress in the Iron Duke, of 
 three hundred horse-power ; and a smuggler would have 
 no chance, if he had not a smoking-galley, with Watt's 
 patent boilers ! 
 
 What absurdity to speak of a runaway couple, in 
 vain pursued by an angry parent, on the road to Gretna 
 Green ! An express engine, with a stoker and a driver, 
 would make the deserted father overtake them in no 
 time ! 
 
 Instead of the characters of a story remaining stupidly 
 in one place, the novelist now can conduct his tale to 
 the tune of thirty miles an hour, and start his company 
 in the first class of the Great Western. No difficulty to 
 preserve the unities ! Here he journeys with bag and 
 baggage, and can bring twenty or more families along 
 with him, if he like. Not limiting the description of 
 scenery to one place or spot, he whisks his reader 
 through a dozen counties in a chapter, and gives him a 
 bird's-eye glance of half England as he goes ; thus, how 
 original the breaks which would arise from an occasional 
 halt, what an afflicting interruption to a love story, 
 the cry of the guard, " Coventry, Coventry, Coventry ; " 
 or, " Any gentleman, Tring, Tring, Tring ; " with the 
 more agreeable interjection of " Tea or coffee, sir ? — 
 one brandy and soda-water — ' Times,' ' Chronicle,' or 
 ' Globe.' " ' 
 
 How would the great realities of life flash upon the 
 reader's mind, and how insensibly would he amalgamate 
 fact with fiction ! And, lastly, think, reflect, what new 
 
202 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 catastrophe would open upon an author's vision; for 
 while, to the gentler novelist, like Mrs. Gore, an eternal 
 separation might ensue from starting with the wrong 
 train, the bloody-minded school would revel in ex- 
 plosions and concussions, rent boilers, insane luggage- 
 trains, flattening the old gentlemen like buft'ers. Here 
 is a vista for imagination, here is scope for at least 
 fifty years to come. I do not wish to allude to the 
 accessory consequences of this new literary school, 
 though I am certain music and the fine arts would both 
 benefit by its introduction ; and one of the popular mel- 
 odies of the day would be " We met ; 't was in a tunnel." 
 I hope my literary brethren will appreciate the candor 
 and generosity with which I point out to them this new 
 and unclaimed spot in Parnassus. No petty jealousies, 
 no miserable self-interests, have weighed with me. I 
 am willing to give them a share in my discovered 
 country, well aware that there is space and settlement 
 for us all, — locations for every fancy, allotments for 
 every quality of genius. For myself I reserve nothing; 
 satisfied with the fame of a Columbus, I can look for- 
 ward to a glorious future, and endure all the neglect 
 and indifference of present ingratitude. Meanwhile, less 
 with the hope of amusing the reader than illustrating 
 my theory, I shall jot down some of my own expe- 
 riences, and give them a short series of the " Romance 
 of a Railroad." 
 
 But, ere I begin, let me make one explanation for the 
 benefit of the reader and myself. 
 
 The class of literature which I am now about to in- 
 troduce to the public, unhappily debars me from the 
 employment of the habitual tone and the ordinary aids 
 to interest prescriptive right has conferred on the 
 novelist. I can neither commence with " It was late 
 
INTRODUCTION. 203 
 
 in the winter of 1754, as three travellers," etc., etc. ; or, 
 " The sun was setting ; " or, " The moon was rising ; " 
 or, " The stars were twinkling ; " or, " On the 15th 
 Feb., 1573, a figure, attired in the costume of northern 
 Italy, was seen to blow his nose ; " or, in fact, is there 
 a single limit to the mode in which I may please to open 
 my tale. ]My way lies in a country where there are no 
 roads, and there is no one to cry out, " Keep your own 
 side of the way." Now, then, for — 
 

 "The English are a lord-loving people, there's no doubt of 
 it," was the reflection I could not help making to myself, on 
 hearing the commentaries pronounced by my fellow-travellers 
 in the North Midland, on a passenger who had just taken his 
 departure from amongst us. He was a middle-aged man, of 
 very prepossessing appearance, with a slow, distiuct, and 
 somewhat emphatic mode of speaking. He had joined freely 
 and affably in the conversation of the party, contributing his 
 share in the observations made upon the several topics dis- 
 cussed, and always expressing himself suitably and to the 
 purpose ; and although these are gifts I am by no means un- 
 grateful enough to hold cheaply, yet neitlier was I prepared 
 to hear such an universal burst of panegyric as followed his 
 exit. 
 
 " The most agreeable man, so affable, so unaffected." 
 " Always listened to with such respect in the Upper 
 House." 
 
 "Splendid place, Treddleton, — eighteen hundred acres, 
 they say, in the demesne, — such a deer-park too." 
 " And what a collection of Vandykes ! " 
 " The Duke has a very high opinion of his — " 
 
206 TALES (JF THE TRAINS. 
 
 " Income, — canuot be much under two hundred thousand, 
 I should say." 
 
 Such and such-like were the fragmentary comments upon 
 one who, divested of so man}' claims upon the respect and 
 gratitude of his country, had merely been pronounced a very 
 well-bred and somewhat agreeable gentleman. To liave re- 
 fused sympath}' with a feeling so general would have been to 
 argue myself a member of the anti-coru law league, the re- 
 peal association, or some similarly minded institution ; so 
 that I joined in the grand chorus around, and manifested 
 the happiness 1 experienced in common with the rest, that 
 a lord had travelled in our compau}-, and neither asked us to 
 sit on the boiler nor on the top of the luggage, but actually 
 spoke to us and interchanged sentiments, as though we were 
 even intended by Providence for such communion. One little 
 round-faced man with a smooth cheek, devoid of beard, a 
 pair of twinkling gray eyes, and a light brown wig, did not, 
 however, contribute his suffrage to the measure thus trium- 
 phantly carried, but sat with a very peculiar kind of simper 
 on his mouth, and with his head turned towards the window, 
 as though to avoid observation. He, I say, said nothing, 
 but there was that in the expression of his features that 
 said, "I differ from you," as palpably as though he had 
 spoken it out in words. 
 
 The theme once started was not soon dismissed ; each 
 seemed to vie with his neighbor in his knowledge of the 
 habits and opinions of the titled orders, and a number of 
 pleasant little pointless stories were told of the nobility, 
 which, if I could only remember and retail here, would 
 show the amiable feeling they entertain for the happiness 
 of all the world, and how glad they are when every one 
 has enough to eat, and there is no " leader " in the " Times" 
 about the distress in the manufacturing districts. The round- 
 faced man eyed the speakers in turn, but never uttered a 
 word ; and it was plain that he was falling very low in the 
 barometer of public opinion, from his incapacity to contrib- 
 ute a single noble anecdote, even though the hero should be 
 only a Lord Mayor, when suddenly he said, — 
 
 " There was rather a queer sort of thing happened to me 
 the last time I went the Nottingham circuit." 
 
THE COUPE OF THE NORTPI MIDLAND. 207 
 
 "Oh, do you belong to that circuit?" said a thiu-faced 
 old uiau in spectacles. '• Do you kuow Fitzroy Kelly ? " 
 
 "Is he in the hardware liue? There was a chap of that 
 name travelled for Tingle and Crash ; but he 's done up, I 
 think. He forged a bill of exchange iu Manchester, and 
 is travelling now in another line of business." 
 
 "I mean the eminent lawyer, sir, — I know nothing of 
 bagmen." 
 
 "They're bagmen too," replied the other, with a little 
 chuckling laugh, "and pretty samples of honesty they 
 hawk about with them, as I hear ; but no offence, gentle- 
 men, — I 'm a C. G. myself." 
 
 " A what? " said three or four together. 
 
 " A commercial gentleman, in the tape, bobbin, and 
 twist line, for Rundle, Trundle, and Winningspin's house, 
 one of the oldest in the trade." 
 
 Here was a tumble down with a vengeance, — from the 
 noble Earl of Heaven knows what and where. Knight of 
 the Garter, Grand Cross of the Bath, Knight of St. 
 Patrick, to a mere C. G., —a commercial gentleman, trav- 
 elling in the tape, bobbin, and twist line for the firm of 
 Rundle, Trundle, and Winniugspin, of Leeds. The opera- 
 tion of steam condensing, by letting in a stream of cold 
 water, was the only simile I can find for the sudden revul- 
 sion ; and as many plethoric sobs, shrugs, and grunts issued 
 from the party as though they represented an engine under 
 like circumstances. All the aristocratic associations were put 
 to flight at once ; it seemed profane to remember the Peer- 
 age in such company; and a general silence ensued, each 
 turning from time to time an angry look towards the little 
 bagman, whose mal-(X-propos speech had routed their illus- 
 trious allusions. 
 
 Somewhat tired of the stiff and uncomfortable calm that 
 succeeded, I ventured in a very meek and insinuating tone 
 to remind the little man of the reminiscence he had already 
 begun, when interrupted by the unlucky question as to his 
 circuit. 
 
 " Oh! it ain't much of a story," said he. " I should n't 
 wonder if the same kind of thing happens often, — mayhap, 
 too, the gentlemen would not like to hear it, though they 
 might, after all, for there 's a Duke in it." 
 
208 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 There was that in the easy simplicity with which he said 
 these words, vouching for his good temper, which propi- 
 tiated at once the feelings of the others; and after a few 
 half-expressed apologies for having already interrupted him, 
 they begged he would kindly relate the incident to which he 
 alluded. 
 
 '•It is about four years since," said he. " I was then in 
 the printed-calico way for a house in Nottingham ; business 
 was not very good, my commission nothing to boast of — 
 cotton looking down — nothing lively but quilted woollens, 
 so that I generally travelled in the third class train. It 
 wasn't pleasant, to be sure; the company, at the best of 
 times, a pretty considerable sprinkling of runaway recruits, 
 prisoners going to the assizes, and wounded people run over 
 by the last train ; but it was cheap, and that suited me. 
 Well, one morning I took my ticket as usual, and was about 
 to take my place, when I found every carriage was full ; 
 there was not room for my little portmanteau in one of them ; 
 and so I wandered up and down while the bell was ringing, 
 shoving my ticket into every one's face, and swearing I 
 would bring the case before Parliament, if they did not put 
 on a special train for my own accommodation, when a smart- 
 looking chap called out to one of the porters, — 
 
 "'Put that noisy little devil in the coupe; there's room 
 for him there.' 
 
 " And so they whipped my legs from under me, and 
 chucked me in, banged the door, and said, ' Go on ; ' and just 
 as if the whole thing was waiting for a commercial traveller 
 to make it all right, away went the train at twenty miles an 
 hour. When I had time to look around, I perceived that I 
 had a fellow-traveller, rather tall and gentlemanly, with a 
 sallow face and dark whiskers ; he wore a brown upper-coat, 
 all covered with velvet, — the collar, the breasts, and even 
 the cuffs, — and I perceived that he had a pair of fur shoes 
 over his boots, — signs of one who liked to make himself 
 comfortable. He was reading the ' Morning Chronicle,' 
 and did not desist as I entered, so that I had abundant time 
 to study every little peculiarity of his personal appearance, 
 unnoticed by him. 
 
 " It was plain, from a number of little circumstances, that 
 
THE COUP:fc OF THE NORTH MIDLAND. 209 
 
 he belonged to that class in life who have, so to say, the 
 sunuy side of existence. The handsome rings which spar- 
 kled on his fingers, the massive gold snuff-box which he 
 coolly dropped into the pocket of the carriage, the splendid 
 repeater by which he checked the speed of the train, as 
 though to intimate you had better not be behind time with 
 me, made me heave an involuntary sigh over that strange but 
 universal law of Providence by which the goods of fortune 
 are so unequally distributed. For about two hours we jour- 
 neyed thus, when at last my companion, who had opened in 
 succession some half-dozen newspapers, and, after skimming 
 them slightly, thrown them at his feet, turned to me, and 
 said, — 
 
 "'Would 3'ou like to see the morning papers, sir?' 
 pointing as he spoke, with a kind of easy indifference, to 
 the pile before him. 'There's the "Chronicle," "Times," 
 " Globe," " Sun," and " Hxaminer ; " take your choice, sir.' 
 
 " And with that he yawned, stretched himself, and, letting 
 down the glass, looked out ; thereby turning his back on me, 
 and not paying the slightest attention to the grateful thanks 
 by which I accepted his offer. 
 
 "'Devilish haughty,' thought I; 'shouldn't wonder if 
 he was one of the great mill-owners here, — great swells they 
 are, I hear.' 
 
 "'Ah! you read the "Times," I perceive,' said he, 
 turning round, and fixing a steadfast and piercing look on 
 me ; ' you read the " Times," — a rascally paper, an infamous 
 paper, sir, a dishonest paper. Their opposition to the new 
 poor law is a mere trick, and their support of the Peel party 
 a contemptible change of principles.' 
 
 " Lord ! how I wished I had taken up the ' Chronicle ' ! I 
 would have paid a week's subscription to have been able to 
 smuggle the ' Examiner ' into my hand at that moment. 
 
 " ' I 'm a Whig, sir,' said he; ' and neither ashamed nor 
 afraid to make the avowal, — a AVhig of the old Charles Fox 
 school, — a Whig who understands how to combine the hap- 
 piness of the people with the pi'ivileges of the aristocracy.' 
 
 " And as he spoke he knitted his brows, and frowned at 
 me, as though I were Jack Cade bent upon pulling down the 
 Church, and annihilating the monarchy of these realms. 
 
 ^OL '1—14 
 
210 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 " ' You may think differently,' continued he, — ' I perceive 
 you do : never mind, have the manliness to avow your 
 opinions. You may speak freely to one who is never in the 
 habit of concealing his own ; indeed, I flatter myself that 
 they are pretty well known by this time.' 
 
 "'Who can he be?' thought I. 'Lord John is a little 
 man, Lord Melbourne is a fat one ; can it be Lord Nor- 
 manby, or is it Lord Howick?' And so I went on to my- 
 self, repeating the whole Whig Peerage, and then, coming 
 down to the Lower House, I went over every name I could 
 think of, down to the lowest round of the ladder, never 
 stopping till I came to the member for Sudbury. 
 
 "'It ain't him,' thought I; 'he has a lisp, and never 
 could have such a fine coat as that.' 
 
 " 'Have you considered, sir,' said he, 'where your Tory- 
 ism will lead you to? Have you reflected that you of the 
 middle class — I presume you belong to that order?' 
 
 " I bowed, and muttered something about printed cottons. 
 
 " ' Have you considered that by unjustly denying the 
 rights of the lower orders under the impression that you are 
 preserving the prerogative of the throne, that you are really 
 undermining our order?' 
 
 " ' God forgive us ! ' ejaculated I. ' I hope we are not.' 
 
 " ' But you are,' said he ; 'it is you, and others like you, 
 who will not see the anomalous social condition of our 
 country. You make no concessions until wrung from you ; 
 you yield nothing except extorted by force ; the finances of 
 the country are in a ruinous condition, — trade stagnated.' 
 
 "'Quite true,' said I; 'Wriggles and Briggs stopped 
 payment on Tuesday ; there won't be one and fourpence in 
 the pound.' 
 
 "'D — n Wriggles and Briggs!' said he; 'don't talk to 
 me of such contemptible cotton-spinner — ' 
 
 " 'They were in the hardware line, — plated dish-covers, 
 japans, and bronze fenders.' 
 
 " ' Confound their fenders ! ' cried he again ; ' it is not of 
 such grubbing fabricators of frying-pans and fire-irons I 
 speak; it is of the trade of this mighty nation, — our ex- 
 ports, our imports, our colonial trade, our foreign trade, our 
 trade with the East, our trade with the West, our trade 
 ■with the Hindoos, our trade with the Esquimaux.' 
 
THE COUP:fc OF THE NORTH MIDLAND. 
 
 211 
 
 "'He's Secretary for the Colonies; he has the whole 
 thing at his finger-ends.' 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' said he, with another frown, ' our trade with 
 the Esquimaux.' 
 
 " ' Bears are pretty brisk, too,' said I ; ' but foxes is fall- 
 
 ing, — there will be no stir in squirrels till near spring. I 
 heard it myself from Snaggs, who is in that line.' 
 
 " 'D — n Snaggs,' said he, scowling at me. 
 
 " ' Well, d — n him,' said I, too ; ' he owes me thirteen and 
 fourpence, balance of a little account between us.' 
 
 " This unlucky speech of mine seemed to have totally dis- 
 
212 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 gusted my aristocratic companion, for he drew his cap down 
 over his eyes, folded his arms upon his breast, stretched out 
 his legs, and soon fell asleep ; not, however, with such due 
 regard to the privileges of the humbler classes as became 
 one of his benevolent Whig principles, for he fell over 
 against me, flattening me into a corner of the vehicle, where 
 he used me as a bolster, and this for thirty-two miles of the 
 journey. 
 
 " ' Where are we ? ' said he, starting up suddenly ; ' what 's 
 the name of this place?' 
 
 *' ' This is Stretton,' said I. ' I must look sharp, fori get 
 out at Chesterfield.' 
 
 " ' Are you known here,' said my companion, ' to any one 
 in these parts?' 
 
 " ' No,' said I, ' it is my first turn on this road.' 
 
 " He seemed to reflect for some moments, and then said, 
 ' You pass the night at Chesterfield, don't you? ' and, without 
 waiting for my answer, added, ' Well, we '11 take a bit of 
 dinner there. You can order it, — six sharp. Take care 
 they have fish, — it would be as well that you tasted the 
 sherry ; and, mark me ! not a word about me ; ' and with 
 that he placed his finger on his lips, as though to impress me 
 with inviolable secrecy. ' Do you mind, not a word.' 
 
 "'I shall be most happy,' said I, 'to have the pleasure 
 of your company ; but there 's no risk of my mentioning 
 your name, as I have not the honor to know it.' 
 
 " 'My name is Cavendish,' said he, with a very peculiar 
 smile and a toss of his head, as though to imply that I was 
 something of an ignoramus not to be aware of it. 
 
 " ' Mine is Baggs,' said I, thinking it only fair to 
 exchange. 
 
 " ' With all my heart, Raggs,' said he, ' we dine together, 
 — that 's agreed. You '11 see that everything 's right, for I 
 don't wish to be recognized down here ; ' and at these words, 
 uttered rather in the tone of a command, my companion 
 opened a pocket-book, and commenced making certain 
 memoranda with his pencil, totally unmindful of me and of 
 my concurrence in his arrangements. 
 
 " ' Chesterfield, Chesterfield, Chesterfield, — any gentle- 
 man for Chesterfield?' shouted the porters, opening and 
 
THE COUPE OF THE NORTH MIDLAND. 213 
 
 shutting doors, as they cried, with a rapidity well suited to 
 their utterance. 
 
 "'"We get out here,' said I; and my companion at the 
 same moment descended from the carriage, and, with an 
 air of very aristocratic indifference, ordered his luggage to 
 be placed in a cab. It was just at this instant that my eye 
 caught the envelope of one of the newspapers which had 
 fallen at m}^ feet, and, delighted at this opportunity of dis- 
 covering something more of my companion, I took it up and 
 read — what do you think I read? — true as I sit here, 
 gentlemen, the words were, ' His Grace the Duke of Devon- 
 shire, Devonshire House.' Lord bless me, if all Nottingham 
 had taken the beneflt of the act I could n't be more of a heap, 
 — a cold shivering came over me at the bare thought of 
 anything I might have said to so illustrious a personage. 
 ' No wonder he should d — n Snaggs,' thought I. ' Snaggs 
 is a low, sneaking scoundrel, not fit to clean his Grace's 
 shoes.' 
 
 " ' Hallo, Raggs, are you ready?' cried the Duke. 
 
 "'Yes, your Grace — my Lord — yes, sir,' said I, not 
 knowing how to conceal my knowledge of his real station. 
 I would have given five shillings to be let sit outside with 
 the driver, rather than crush mj'self into the little cab, and 
 squeeze the Duke up iu the corner. 
 
 "'We must have no politics, friend Raggs,' said he, as 
 we drove along, — ' you and I can't agree, that's plain.' 
 
 " ' Heaven forbid, your Grace; that is, sir,' said J, ' that 
 I should have any opinions displeasing to you. My 
 views — ' 
 
 " ' Are necessarily narrow-minded and miserable. I know 
 it, Raggs. I can conceive how creatures in your kind of 
 life follow the track of opinion, just as they do the track of 
 the road, neither daring to think or reflect for themselves. 
 It is a sad and a humiliating picture of human nature, and I 
 have often grieved at it.' Here his Grace blew his nose, 
 and seemed really affected at the degraded condition of 
 commercial travellers. 
 
 "I must not dwell longer on the conversation between 
 us, — if that, indeed, be called conversation where the Duke 
 spoke and I listened ; for, from the moment the dinner 
 
214 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 appeared, — and a very nice little dinner it was : soup, fish, 
 two roasts, sweets, and a piece of cheese, — his Grace ate as 
 if he had not a French cook at home, and the best cellar in 
 England. 
 
 " ' What do you drink, Raggs? ' said he ; ' Burgundy is my 
 favorite, though Brodie says it won't do for me ; at least 
 when I have much to do in " the House." Strange thing, 
 very strange thing I am going to mention to you, — no 
 Cavendish can drink Chambertiu, — it is something heredi- 
 tary. Chambers mentioned to me one day that very few 
 of the English nobility are without some little idiosyncrasy 
 of that kind. The Churchills never can taste gin ; the St. 
 Maurs faint if they see strawberries and cream.' 
 
 " ' The Baggs,' said I, ' never could eat tripe.' I hope 
 he did n't say ' D — n the Baggs ; ' but I almost fear he 
 did. 
 
 " The Duke ordered up the landlord, and, after getting 
 the whole state of the cellar made known, desired three 
 bottles of claret to be sent up, and despatched a messenger 
 through the town to search for olives. 
 
 "'We are very backward, Raggs,' said he. 'In Eng- 
 land we have no idea of life, nor shall we, as long as these 
 confounded Tories remain in power. With free trade, sir, 
 we should have the productions of France and Italy upon 
 our tables, without the ruinous expenditure they at present 
 cost.' 
 
 " ' You don't much care for that,' said I, venturing a half- 
 hint at his condition. 
 
 " * No,' said he, frankly ; ' I confess I do not. But 
 I am not selfish, and would extend my good wishes to 
 others. How do you like that Lafitte? A little tart, — a 
 very little. It drinks cold, — don't you think so?' 
 
 " ' It is a freezing mixture,' said I. ' If I dare to ask 
 for a warm with — ' 
 
 '"Take what you like, Raggs — only don't ask me to 
 be of the party ; ' and with that he gazed at the wine be- 
 tween himself and the candle with the glance of a true 
 connoisseur. 
 
 "'I'll tell you,' said he, 'a little occurrence which 
 happened me some years since, not far from this ; in fact, 
 
THE COUPE OF THE NORTH MIDLAND. 
 
 215 
 
 I may confess to 3'ou, it was at Chatsworth. George the 
 Fourth came down on a visit to us for a few days in the 
 shooting-season, — not that he cared for sport, but it was an 
 excuse for something to do. "Well, the evening he arrived, 
 he dined in his own apartment, nobody with him but — ' 
 
 '(^1 
 
 "Just at this instant the landlord entered, with a most 
 obsequious face and an air of great secrecy. 
 
 " ' I beg pardon, gentlemen,' said he; ' but there's a car- 
 riage come over from Chatsworth, and the footman won't 
 give the name of the gentleman he wants.' 
 
 " 'Quite right, — quite right,' said the Duke, waving his 
 hand. ' Let the carriage wait. Come, Raggs, you seem to 
 have nothing before you.' 
 
216 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 " ' Bless your Grace,' said I, ' I 'm at the eud of iny third 
 tumbler.' 
 
 " ' Never miud, — mix another ; ' and with that he pushed 
 the decanter of brandy towards me, and filled his own 
 glass to the brim. 
 
 " 'Your health, Raggs, — I rather like you. I confess,' 
 continued he, ' I 've had rather a prejudice against 3^our 
 
 order. There is something d d low in cutting about the 
 
 country with patterns in a bag.' 
 
 '' ' We don't,' said I, rather nettled ; ' we carry a pocket- 
 book like this.' And here I produced my specimen order ; 
 but with one shy of his foot the Duke sent it flying to the 
 ceiling, as he exclaimed, — 
 
 "' Confound your patchwork! — try to be a gentleman 
 for once ! ' 
 
 " ' So I will, then,' said I. ' Hei-e 's your health, Devon- 
 shire.' 
 
 " ' Take care, — take care,' said he, solemnly. ' Don't 
 dare to take any liberties with me, — they won't do ; ' and 
 the words made my blood freeze. 
 
 " I tossed off a glass neat to gain courage; for my head 
 swam round, and I thought I saw his Grace sitting before 
 me, in his dress as Knight of the Garter, with a coronet 
 on his head, his 'George' round his neck, and he was 
 frowning at me most awfully. 
 
 " ' I did n't mean it,' said I, pitifully. ' I am only a bag- 
 man, but very well known on the western road, — could get 
 security for three hundred pounds, any day, in soft goods.' 
 
 " 'I am not angr}', old Raggs,' said the Duke. 'None 
 of my family ever bear malice. Let us have a toast, — 
 "A speedy return to our rightful position on the Treasury 
 benches." ' 
 
 " I pledged his Grace with every enthusiasm ; and when I 
 laid my glass on the table, he wrung my hand warmly and 
 said, — 
 
 " ' Raggs, I must do something for you.' 
 
 " From that moment I felt my fortune was made. The 
 friendship — and was I wrong in giving it that title ? — the 
 friendship of such a man was success assured ; and as I 
 sipped my liquor, I ran over in my mind the various little 
 
THE COUPE OF THE NORTH MIDLAND. 217 
 
 posts and offices I would accept of or decline. They '11 be 
 oflfering mc some chief-justiceship in Gambia, or to be port- 
 surveyor in the Isle of Dogs, or something of that kind ; but 
 I won't take it, nor will 1 go out as bishop, nor commander 
 of the forces, nor collector of customs to any newly dis- 
 covered island in the Pacific Ocean. ' I must have something 
 at home here ; I never could bear a sea-voyage,' said I, 
 aloud, concluding my meditation by this reflection. 
 
 "'Why, you are half-seas-over already, Raggs,' said the 
 Duke, as he sat puffing his cigar in all the luxury of a Pacha. 
 ' I say,' continued he, ' do you ever play a hand at ecarte, 
 or viiKjt-et-xn, or any other game for twor ' 
 
 " ' I can do a little at five-and-ten,' said I, timidly ; for it 
 is rather a vulgar game, and I did n't half fancy confessing 
 it was my favorite. 
 
 "' Five-and-ten !' said the Duke; 'that is a game ex- 
 ploded even from the housekeeper's room. I doubt if 
 they'd play it in the kitchen of a respectable family. 
 Can you do nothing else?' 
 
 " Pope-joan and pitch-and-toss were then the extent of 
 my accomplishments ; but I was actually afraid to own to 
 them ; and so I shook my head in token of dissent. 
 
 " 'Well, be it so,' said he, with a sigh. 'Touch that 
 bell, and let us see if they have a pack of cards in the 
 house.' 
 
 "The cards were soon brought, a little table with a 
 green baize covering — it might have been a hearth-rug 
 for coarseness — placed at the fire, and down we sat. We 
 played till the day was beginning to break, chatting and 
 sipping between time; and although the stakes were only 
 sixpences, the Duke won eight pounds odd shillings, and I 
 bad to give him an order on a house in Leeds for the 
 amount. I cared little for the loss, it is true. The 
 money was well invested, — somewhat more profitably than 
 the ' three-and-a-halfs,' any way. 
 
 " ' Those horses,' said the Duke, — ' those horses will feel 
 a bit cold or so by this time. So I think, Raggs, I must take 
 my leave of you. We shall meet again, I 've no doubt, some 
 of these days. I believe you know where to find me in 
 town?' 
 
218 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 " 'I should think so,' said I, with a look that conveyed 
 more than mere words. ' It is not such a difficult matter.' 
 
 " ' Well, then, good-bye, old fellow,' said he, with as 
 warm a shake of the hand as ever I felt in my life. ' Good- 
 bye. I have told you to make use of me, and, I repeat it, 
 I '11 be as good as my word. We are not in just now ; but 
 thei-e 's no knowing what may turn up. Besides^ whether in 
 office or out, we are never tvithout our influence.' 
 
 " What extent of professions my gratitude led me into, I 
 cannot clearly remember now ; but I have a half-recollection 
 of pledging his Grace in something very strong, and getting 
 a fit of coughing in an attempt to cheer, amid which he drove 
 off as fast as the horses could travel, waving me a last adieu 
 from the carriage window. 
 
 " As I jogged along the road on the following day, one 
 only passage of the preceding night kept continually recur- 
 ring to my mind. Whether it was that his Grace spoke the 
 words with a peculiar emphasis, or that this last blow on the 
 drum had erased all memory of previous sounds ; but so it 
 was, — I continued to repeat as I went, ' Whether in office 
 or out, we have always our influence.' 
 
 " This sentence became my guiding star wherever I went. 
 It supported me in every casualty and under every misfor- 
 tune. Wet through with rain, late for a coach, soaked in a 
 damp bed, half starved by a bad dinner, overcharged in an 
 inn, upset on the road, without hope, without an ' order,' I 
 had only to fall back upon my talisman, and rarely had to 
 mutter it twice, ere visions of official wealth and power 
 floated before me, and imagination conjured up gorgeous 
 dreams of bliss, bright enough to dispel the darkest gloom of 
 evil fortune; and as poets dream of fairy forms skipping 
 from the bells of flowers by moonlight, and light-footed elves 
 disporting in the deep cells of water-lilies or sailing along 
 some glittering stream, the boat a plantain-leaf, so did I 
 revel in imaginary festivals, surrounded by peers and mar- 
 quises, and thought I was hobnobbing with ' the Duke,' or 
 dancing a cotillon with Lord Brougham at Windsor. 
 
 " I began to doubt if a highly imaginative temperament, a 
 richly endowed fancy, a mind glowing with bright and glit- 
 tering conceptions, an organization strongly poetical, be 
 
THE COUPE OF THE NOKTH MIDLAND. 219 
 
 gifts suited to the career and habits of a commercial trav- 
 eller. The base aud grovelling tastes of manufacturing dis- 
 tricts, the low tone of country shopkeepers, the mean aud 
 narrow-minded habits of people in the hardware line, distress 
 and irritate a man with tastes and aspirations above smoke- 
 jacks and saucepans. He may, it is true, sometimes under- 
 value them ; they never, by any chance, can understand 
 him. Thus was it from the hour I made the Duke's acquaint- 
 ance, — business went ill with me ; the very philosophy that 
 supported me under all my trial seemed only to offend 
 them ; and more than once I was insulted, because I said at 
 parting, ' Never mind, — in office or out, we have always our 
 influence.' The end of it was, I lost my situation ; my 
 employers coolly said that my brain did n't seem all right, 
 and they sent me about my business, — a pleasant phrase 
 that, — for when a man is turned adrift upon the world, with- 
 out an object or an occupation, with nowhere to go to, noth- 
 ing to do, and, mayhap, nothing to eat, he is then said to be 
 sent about his business. Can it mean that his only business 
 then is to drown himself? Such were not my thoughts, 
 assuredly. I made my late master a low bow, and, mutter- 
 ing my old refrain ' lu office or out,' etc., took my leave and 
 walked off. For a day or two I hunted the coffee-houses to 
 read all the newspapers, and discover, if I could, what gov- 
 ernment situations were then vacant; for I knew that the 
 great secret in these matters is always to ask for some 
 definite post or employment, because the refusal, if you meet 
 it, suggests the impression of disappointment, and, although 
 they won't make you a Treasury Lord, there 's no saying but 
 they may appoint you a Tide-waiter. I fell upon evil days, 
 — excepting a Consul for Timbuctoo, and a Lord Lieutenant 
 for Ireland, there was nothing wanting, — the latter actually, 
 as the 'Times' said, was going a-begging. In the corner 
 of the paper, however, almost hidden from view, I discovered 
 that a collector of customs — I forget where exactly — had 
 been eaten by a crocodile, and his post was in the gift of the 
 Colonial Office. ' Come, here 's the very thing for me,' 
 thought I. ' " In office or out " — now for it ; ' and with that 
 I hurried to my lodgings to dress for my interview with his 
 Grace of Devonshire. 
 
220 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 " There is a strange flutter of expectauey, doubt, and 
 pleasure in the preparation one makes to visit a person 
 whose exalted sphere and higher rank have made him a 
 patron to you. It is like the sensation felt on enterhig a 
 large shop with your book of patterns, anxious and fearful 
 whether you may leave without an order. Such in great 
 part were my feelings as I drove along towards Devonsliire 
 House ; and although pretty certain of the cordial reception 
 that awaited me, I did not exactly like the notion of descend- 
 ing to ask a favor. 
 
 " Every stroke of the great knocker was answered by a 
 throb at my own side, if not as loud, at least as moving, for 
 my summons was left unanswered for full ten minutes. 
 Then, when I was meditating on the propriety of a second 
 appeal, the door was opened and a very sleepy-looking foot- 
 man asked me, rather gruffly, what I wanted. 
 
 " ' To see his Grace ; he is at home, is n't he? ' 
 
 "'Yes, he is at home, but you cannot see him at this 
 hour; he's at breakfast.' 
 
 " ' No matter,' said I, with the eas}^ confidence our former 
 friendship inspired ; ' just step up and say Mr. Baggs, of the 
 Northern Circuit, — Baggs, do you mind?' 
 
 " ' I should like to see myself give such a message,' re- 
 plied the fellow, with an insolent drawl ; ' leave your name 
 here, and come back for your answer.' 
 
 "'Take this, scullion,' said I, haughtily, drawing forth 
 my card, which I did n't fancy producing at first, because it 
 set forth as how I was commercial traveller in the long hose 
 and flannel way, for a house in Glasgow. ' Say he is the 
 gentleman his Grace dined with at Chesterfield in March 
 fast.' 
 
 " The mention of a dinner struck the fellow with such 
 amazement that without venturing another word, or even a 
 glance at my card, he mounted the stairs to apprise the Duke 
 of my presence. 
 
 "'This way, sir; his Grace will see you,' said he, in a 
 very modified tone, as he returned in a few minutes after. 
 
 " I threw on him a look of scowling contempt at the alter- 
 ation his manner had undergone, and followed him upstairs. 
 After passing through several splendid apartments, he opened 
 
THE COUPE OF THE NORTH MIDLAND. 221 
 
 one side of a folding-door, and calling out ' Mr. Baggs,' shut 
 it behind me, leaving me in the presence of a very distiu- 
 <yuished-looking personage, seated at breakfast beside the 
 
 fire. 
 
 " ' I believe you are the person that has the Blenheim 
 spaniels,' said his Grace, scarce tui-ning his head towards 
 me as he spoke. 
 
 •' ' No, my Lord, no, — never had a dog in my life ; but 
 are you — are you the Duke of Devonshire ? ' cried I, in a 
 very faltering voice. 
 
 " 'I believe so, sir,' said he, standing up and gazing at 
 me with a look of bewildered astonishment I can never 
 forget. 
 
 " ' Dear me,' said I, ' how your Grace is altered ! You 
 were as large again last April, when we travelled down to 
 Nottingham. Them light French wines, they are ruining 
 your constitution ; I knew they would.' 
 
 "The Duke made no answer, but rang the bell violently 
 for some seconds. 
 
 "' Bless my heart,' said I, 'it surely can't be that I'm 
 mistaken. It's not possible it wasn't your Grace.' 
 
 " 'Who is this man?' said the Duke, as the servant ap- 
 peared in answer to the bell. ' TVho let him upstairs? ' 
 
 "'Mr. Baggs, your Grace,' he said. 'He dined with 
 your Grace at — ' 
 
 " ' Take him away, give him in charge to the police; the 
 fellow must be punished for his insolence.' 
 
 " My head was whirling, and my faculties were all astray. 
 I neither knew what I said, nor what happened after, save 
 that I felt myself half led, half pushed, down the stairs I 
 had mounted so confidently five minutes before, while the 
 liveried rascal kept dinning into my ears some threats about 
 two months' imprisonment and hard labor. Just as we were 
 passing through the hall, however, the door of a front-parlor 
 opened, and a gentleman in a very elegant dressing-gown 
 stepped out. I had neither time nor inclination to mark his 
 features, — my own case absorbed me too completely. ' I 
 am an unlucky wretch,' said I, aloud. ' Nothing ever 
 prospers with me.' 
 
 "'Cheer up, old boy,' said he of the dressing-gown: 
 
000 
 
 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 * fortune will take another turn yet ; but I do confess you 
 hold miserable cards.' 
 
 " The voice as he spoke aroused me. I turned about, and 
 there stood my companion at Chesterfield. 
 
 " ' His Grace wants you, Mr. Cavendish,' said the foot- 
 man, as he opened the door for me. 
 
 " ' Let him go, Thomas,' said Mr. Cavendish. ' There's 
 no harm in old Kaggs.' 
 
 "'Isn't he the Duke?' gasped I, as he tripped upstairs 
 without noticing me further. 
 
 "'The Duke, — no, bless your heart, he's his gentle- 
 man ! ' 
 
 ' ' Here was an end of all my cherished hopes and dreams 
 of patronage. The aristocratic leader of fashion, the 
 great owner of palaces, the Whig autocrat, tumbled down 
 into a creature that aired newspapers and scented pocket- 
 handkerchiefs. Never tell me of the manners of the titled 
 classes again. Here was a specimen that will satisfy my 
 craving for a life long ; and if the reflection be so strong, 
 what must be the body which causes it ! " 
 
It is about two years since I was one of that strange and 
 busy mob of some five hundred people who were assembled 
 on the platform in the Eluston-Square station a few minutes 
 previous to the starting of the morning mail-train for Bir- 
 mingham. To the unoccupied observer the scene might 
 have been an amusing one ; the little domestic incidents of 
 leave-taking and embracing, the careful looking after lug- 
 gage and parcels, the watchful anxieties for a lost cloak 
 or a stray carpet-bag, blending with the affectionate fare- 
 wells of parting, are all curious, while the studious prepara- 
 tion for comfort of the old gentleman in the coupe oddly 
 contrast with similar arrangements on a more limited scale 
 by the poor soldier's wife in the third-class carriage. 
 
 Small as the segment of humanity is, it is a type of the 
 great world to which it belongs. 
 
 I sauntered carelessly along the boarded terrace, investi- 
 gating, by the light of the guard's lantern, the inmates of 
 
224 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 the different carriages, and, calling to my assistance my 
 tact as a physiognomist as to what party I should select for 
 my fellow-passengers, — "Not in there, assnredly," said I 
 to myself, as I saw the aquiline noses and dark eyes of two 
 Hamburgh Jews ; " nor here, either, — I cannot stand a day 
 in a nursery ; nor will this party suit me, that old gentleman 
 is snoring already ; " and so I walked on until at last 1 
 bethought me of an empty carriage, as at least possessing 
 negative benefits, since positive ones were denied me. 
 Scarcely had the churlish determination seized me, when the 
 glare of the light fell upon the side of a bonnet of white 
 lace, through whose transparent texture a singularly lovely 
 profile could be seen. Features purely Greek in their 
 ciaaracter, tinged with a most delicate color, were defined 
 by a dark mass of hair, worn in a deep band along the cheek 
 almost to the chin. There was a sweetness, a look of 
 guileless innocence, in the character of the face which, even 
 by the flitting light of the lantern, struck me strongly. I 
 made the guard halt, and peeped into the carriage as if 
 seeking for a friend. By the uncertain flickering, I could 
 detect the figure of a man, apparently a young one, by the 
 lady's side ; the carriage had no other traveller. " This will 
 do," thought I, as I opened the door, and took my place on 
 the opposite side. 
 
 Every traveller knows that locomotion must precede con- 
 versation ; the veriest commonplace cannot be hazarded 
 till the piston is in motion or the paddles are flapping. 
 The w^ord "Go on" is as much for the passengers as the 
 vehicle, and the train and the tongues are set in movement 
 together; as for m^'self, I have been long upon the road, 
 and might travesty the words of our native poet, and 
 say, — 
 
 " My home is on tlie highway." 
 
 I have therefore cultivated, and I trust with some success, 
 the tact of divining the cliaracters, condition, and rank of 
 fellow-ti-avellers, — the speculation on whose peculiarities has 
 often served to wile away the tediousness of many a weari- 
 some road and many an uniiiteresting journey. 
 
 The little lamp which hung aloft gave me but slight 
 
THE WHITE LxiCE BONNET. 225 
 
 Opportunity of prosecuting my favorite study on this 
 occasion. All that I could trace was the outline of a young 
 and delicatelj' formed girl, enveloped iu a cashmere shawl, — 
 a slight and inadequate muffling for the road at such a 
 season. The gentleman at her side was attired in what 
 seemed a dress-coat, noi- was he provided with any other 
 defence against the cold of the morning. 
 
 Scarcely had I ascertained these two facts, when the lamp 
 flared, flickered, and went out, leaving me to speculate on 
 these vague but yet remarkable traits in the couple before 
 me. " What can they be? " " Who are they? " " Where do 
 they come from?" "Where are they going?" were all 
 questions which naturally presented themselves to me in 
 turn; yet every inquiry resolved itself into the one, " Why 
 has she not a cloak, why has not he got a Petersham?" 
 Long and patiently did I discuss these points with myself, 
 and framed numerous hypotheses to account for the cir- 
 cumstances, — but still with comparatively little satisfaction, 
 as objections presented themselves to each conclusion ; and 
 although, in turn, I had made him a runaway clerk from 
 Coutts's, a Liverpool actor, a member of the swell-mob, and 
 a bagman, yet I could not, for the life of me, include 
 her in the category of such an individual's companions. 
 Neither spoke, so that from their voices, that best of all 
 tests, nothing could be learned. 
 
 Wearied by my doubts, and worried by the interruption to 
 my sleep the early rising necessitated, I fell soon into a sound 
 doze, lulled by the soothing " strains" a locomotive so emi- 
 nently is endowed with. The tremulous quavering of the 
 carriage, the dull roll of the heavy wheels, the convulsive 
 beating and heaving of the black monster itself, gave the 
 tone to my sleeping thoughts, and my dreams were of the 
 darkest. I thought that, in a gloomy silence, we were 
 journeying over a wild and trackless plain, with no sight 
 nor sound of man, save such as accompanied our sad pro- 
 cession ; that dead and leafless trees were grouped about, 
 and roofless dwellings and blackened walls marked the 
 dreary earth ; dark sluggish streams stole heavily past, 
 with noisome weeds upon their surface ; while along the 
 sedgy banks sat leprous and glossy reptiles, glaring with 
 
 VOL. II. — 15 
 
226 
 
 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 round eyes upon us. Suddenly it seemed as if our speed 
 Increased; the eartli and sky flew faster past, and objects 
 became dim and in- 
 distinct ; a 
 maze of 
 plain a 
 clouded 
 
 heaven were 
 
 all I could 
 
 discern ; 
 
 while 
 
 straight 
 
 in front, by 
 
 the lurid glar 
 
 whose sp 
 
 flitted round 
 
 and about, 
 
 two dark 
 
 v{ shapes danced 
 
 \ ^ >\ a wild and 
 
 goblin measure, 
 
 tossing their 
 
 black limbs with 
 
 fantio eestuve, .bile they br^ntehed ™ t;-^-. f "^f: 
 of seething iron; one, larger and more d.eadful than 
 
THE WHITE LACE BONNET. 227 
 
 other, sung in a " rauque " voice, that sounded like the 
 clank of machinery, a rude song, beating time to the tune 
 with his iron bar. The monotonous measure of the chant, 
 which seldom varied in its note, sank deep into my chilled 
 heart ; and I think I hear still 
 
 THE SOXG OF THE STOKER. 
 
 Rake, rake, rake, 
 
 Ashes, cinders, aud coal ; 
 The fire we make. 
 Must never slake. 
 
 Like the fire that roasts a soul. 
 
 Hurrah ! my boys, 't is a glorious uoise, 
 
 To list to the stormy main ; 
 But nor wave-lash'd shore 
 Nor liou's roar 
 
 E'er equall'd a luggage train. 
 
 'Neath the panting sun our course we run, 
 
 No water to slake our thirst ; 
 Nor ever a pool 
 Our tongue to cool, 
 
 Except the boiler burst. 
 
 The courser fast, the trumpet's blast, 
 
 Sigh after us in vain ; 
 And even the wind 
 We leave behind 
 
 With the speed of a special train. 
 
 Swift we pass o'er the wild morass. 
 The' the night be starless and black; 
 
 Onward we go, 
 
 Where the snipe flies low, 
 
 Nor man dares follow our track. 
 
 A mile a minute, on we go. 
 
 Hurrah for my courser fast ; 
 His coal-black maue, 
 And his fiery train. 
 
 And his breath — a furnace blast. 
 
228 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 On aiul on, till the day is gone, 
 
 We rush with a goblin scream ; 
 And the cities, at night. 
 They start with affright, 
 
 At the cry of escaping steam. 
 
 Bang, bang, bang ! 
 
 Shake, shiver, and throb; 
 The sound of our feet 
 Is the piston's beat. 
 
 And tlie opening valve our sob ! 
 
 Our union-jack is the smoke-train black, 
 
 That thick from the funnel rolls ; 
 And our bounding bark 
 Is a gloomy ark, 
 
 And our cargo — human souls. 
 
 Rake, rake, rake, 
 
 Ashes, cinders, and coal ; 
 The fire we make, 
 Must never slake, 
 
 Like the fire that roasts a soul. 
 
 " Bang, bang, bang ! " said I, aloud, repeating this infer- 
 nal "refrain," and with an energy that made my two 
 fellow-travellers burst out laughing. This awakened me 
 from my sleep, and enabled me to throw off the fearful 
 incubus which rested on my bosom ; so strongly, however, 
 was the image of my dream, so vivid the picture my 
 mind had conjured up, and, stranger than all, so perfect 
 was the memory of the demoniac song, that I could not 
 help relating the whole vision, and repeating for my com- 
 panions the words, as I have here done for the reader. 
 As I proceeded in my narrative, I had ample time to 
 observe the couple before me. The lady — for it is but 
 suitable to begin with her — was j'oung, she could scarcely 
 have been more than twenty, and looked by the broad 
 daylight even handsomer than by the glare of the guard's 
 lantern ; she was slight, but, as well as I could observe, 
 her figure was very gracefully formed, and with a decided 
 air of elegance detectable even in the ease and repose of 
 her attitude. Her dress was of pale blue silk, around the 
 collar of which she wore a profusion of rich lace, of what 
 
THE WHITE LACE BONNET. 229 
 
 peculiar loom I am, unhappily, uuable to say ; nor would 
 1 allude to the circumstance, save that it formed one of 
 the most embarrassing problems in my efforts at divining 
 her rank and condition. Never was there such a travelling- 
 costume ; and although it suited perfectly the frail and 
 delicate beauty of the wearer, it ill accorded with the 
 dingy " conveniency " in which we journeyed. Even to her 
 shoes and stockings (for I noticed these, — the feet were 
 perfect) and gloves, — all the details of her dress had a 
 freshness and propriety one rarely or ever sees encounter- 
 ing the wear and tear of the road. The young gentleman 
 at her side — for he, too, was scarcely more than five-and- 
 twenty, at most — was also attired in a costume as little like 
 that of a traveller; a dress-coat and evening waistcoat, 
 over which a profusion of chains were festooned in that 
 mode so popular in our day, showed that he certainly, in 
 arranging his costume, had other thoughts than of wasting 
 such attractions on the desert air of a railroad journey. 
 He was a good-looking young fellow, with that mixture of 
 frankness and careless ease the youth of England so 
 eminently possess, in contradistinction to the young men 
 of other countries ; his manner and voice both attested 
 that he belonged to a good class, and the general courtesy 
 of his demeanor showed one who had lived in society. 
 While he evinced an evident desire to enter into conver- 
 sation and amuse his companion, there was still an ap- 
 pearance of agitation and incertitude about him which 
 showed that his mind was wandering very far from the 
 topic before him. More than once he checked himself, 
 in the course of some casual merriment, and became sud- 
 denly grave, — while from time to time he whispered to 
 the young lady, with an appearance of anxiety and eager- 
 ness all his endeavors could not effectually conceal. She, 
 too, seemed agitated, — but, I thought, less so than he; 
 it might be, however, that from the habitual quietude of 
 her manner, the traits of emotion were less detectable by 
 a stranger. We had not journeyed far, when several new 
 travellers entered the carriage, and thus broke up the 
 little intercourse which had' begun to be established between 
 us. The new arrivals were amusing enough in their way, — 
 
230 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 there was a hearty old Quaker from Leeds, who was full of 
 a dinner-party he had been at with Feargus O'Connor, the 
 day before ; there was an interesting young fellow who had 
 obtained a fellowship at Cambridge, and was going down to 
 visit his family ; and lastly, a loud-talking, loud-laughing 
 member of the tail, in the highest possible spirits at the pros- 
 pect of Irish politics, and exulting in the festivities he was 
 about to witness at Derrynane Abbey, whither he was 
 then proceeding with some other Danaides, to visit what 
 Tom Steele calls " his august leader." My young friends, 
 however, partook little in the amusement the newly arrived 
 travellers afforded ; they neither relished the broad, quaint 
 common-sense of the Quaker, the conversational cleverness 
 of the Cambridge man, or the pungent though somewhat 
 coarse drollery of the " Emeralder." They sat either 
 totally silent or conversing in a low, indistinct murmur, with 
 their heads turned towards each other. The Quaker left 
 us at Warwick, the "Fellow" took his leave soon after, 
 and the O'Somebody was left behind at a station ; the last 
 thing I heard of him, being his frantic shouting as the 
 train moved off, while he was endeavoring to swallow a 
 glass of hot brandy and water. We were alone then 
 once more ; but somehow the interval which had occurred 
 had chilled the warm current of our intercourse ; perhaps, 
 too, the effects of a long day's journey were telling on us 
 all, and we felt that indisposition to converse which steals 
 over even the most habitual traveller towards the close 
 of a daj^ on the road. Partly from these causes, and more 
 strongly still from m}' dislike to obtrude conversation upon 
 those whose minds were evidently preoccupied, I too lay 
 back in my seat and indulged my own reflections in silence. 
 I had sat for some time thus, I know not exactly how long, 
 when the voice of the j^oung lady struck on my ear ; it was 
 one of those sweet, tinkling silver sounds which somehow 
 when heard, however slightly, have the effect at once to dis- 
 sipate the dull routine of one's own thoughts, and suggest 
 others more relative to the speaker. 
 
 " Had you not better ask him? " said she ; "I am sure he 
 can tell you." The youth apparent!}- demurred, while she 
 insisted the more, and at length, as if yielding to her entreaty, 
 
THE WHITE LACE BONNET. 231 
 
 he suddenly turned towards me and said, "I am a perfect 
 stranger here, and would feel obliged if you could inform me 
 which is the best hotel in Liverpool." He made a slight 
 pause and added, "I mean a quiet family hotel." 
 
 " I rarely stop in the town myself," replied I ; " but when 
 I do, to breakfast or dine, I take the Adelphi. I 'm sure you 
 will find it very comfortable." 
 
 They again conversed for a few moments together ; and 
 the young man, with an appearance of some hesitation, said, 
 "Do j'ou mean to go there now, sir?" 
 
 "Yes," said I, "my intention is to take a hasty dinner 
 before I start in the steamer for Ireland ; I see by my watch 
 I shall have ample time to do so, as we shall arrive full half 
 an hour before our time." 
 
 Another pause, and another little discussion ensued, the 
 only words of which I could catch from the young lady 
 being, " I'm certain he will have no objection." Conceiving 
 that these referred to myself, and guessing at their probable 
 import, I immediately said, " If you will allow me to be 
 your guide, I shall feel most happy to show you the way ; 
 we can obtain a carriage at the station, and proceed thither 
 at once." 
 
 I was right in my surmise — both parties were profuse in 
 their acknowledgments — the young man avowing that it 
 was the very request he was about to make when I antici- 
 pated him. We arrived in due time at the station, and, hav- 
 ing assisted my new acquaintances to alight, I found little 
 difficulty in placing them in a carriage, for luggage they had 
 none, neither portmanteau nor carpet-bag — not even a dress- 
 ing-case — a circumstance at which, however, I might have 
 endeavored to avoid expressing my wonder, they seemed to 
 feel required an explanation at their hands ; both looked 
 confused and abashed, nor was it until by busying my- 
 self in the details of my own baggage, that I was enabled 
 to relieve them from the embarrassment the circumstance 
 occasioned. 
 
 "Here we are," said I: "this is the Adelphi," as we 
 stopped at that comfortable and hospitable portal, through 
 which the fumes of brown gravy and ox-tail float with a 
 savor}' odor as pleasant to him who enters with dinner inten- 
 tions as it is tantalizing to the listless wanderer without. 
 
232 
 
 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 The lady thanked me with a smile, as I handed her into 
 the house, and a very sweet smile too, and one I could have 
 
 fancied the young man would 
 have felt a little jealous 
 of, if I had not 
 seen the ten times 
 more fascinating 
 one she bestowed 
 on him. 
 
 The 3'oung man 
 acknowledged my 
 slight service with 
 thanks, and made 
 a half gesture 
 to shake hands 
 at parting, 
 which, though 
 a failure, I 
 rather liked, as 
 evidencing, 
 even in its 
 awkward- 
 ness, a kind- 
 ness of dis- 
 position — 
 for so 
 
 it is. Gratitude 
 
 smacks poorly ^ kT^^^j^.i ^ , ^^^ ■ ^ ^.j 
 when expressed ^-^v^ ^j^.-i? ^^ 
 
 in trim and measured phrase ; it seems not the natural 
 coinage of the heart when the impression betrays too clearly 
 the mint of the mind. 
 
I 
 
 UNlVEriSITY } 
 
 THE WHITE LACE BONNET. 233 
 
 " Good-bye," said I, as I watched their retiring figures up 
 the wide staircase. "She is devilish pretty; and what a 
 wood figure ! I did not think any other than a French woman 
 could adjust her shawl in that fashion." And with these very 
 soothing reflections I betook myself to the coffee-room, and 
 soon was deep in discussing the distinctive merits of mulli- 
 gatawny, mock-turtle, or mutton chops, or listening to that 
 everlasting ptean every waiter in England sings in praise of 
 the "joint." 
 
 In all the luxury of my own little table, with my own 
 little salt-cellar, my own cruet-stand, my beer-glass, aud its 
 younger brother for wine, I sat awaiting the arrival of my 
 fare, and puzzling my brain as to the unknown travellers. 
 Now, had they been but clothed in the ordinary fashion of 
 the road, — if the lady had worn a plaid cloak and a beaver 
 bonnet, — if the gentleman had a brown Taglioui and a cloth 
 cap, with a cigar-case peeping out of his breast-pocket, like 
 everybody else in this smoky world, — had they but the 
 ordinary allowance of trunks and boxes, — I should have 
 been coolly conning over the leading article of the " Times," 
 or enjoying the spicy leader in the last "Examiner; " but, 
 no, — they had shrouded themselves in a mystery, though not 
 in garments ; and the result was that T, gifted with that 
 inquiring spirit which Paul Pry informs us is the character- 
 istic of the age, actually tortured myself into a fever as to 
 who and what they might be, — the origin, the course, and 
 the probable termination of their present adventure, — for an 
 adventure I determined it must be. " People do such odd 
 things nowadays," said I, "there's no knowing what the 
 deuce they may be at. I wish I even knew their names, for 
 I am certain I shall read to-morrow or the next day in the 
 second column of the ' Times,' ' Why will not AV. P. and C. P. 
 return to their afflicted friends? TTrite at least, — write to 
 your bereaved parents. No. 12 Russell Square;' or, 'If F. 
 M. S. will not inform her mother whither she has gone, the 
 deaths of more than two of the family will be the conse- 
 quence.'" Now, could I only find out their names, I could 
 relieve so much family apprehension — Here comes the soup, 
 however, — admirable relief to a worried brain ! how every 
 mouthful swamps reflection ! — even the platitude of the 
 
234 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 waiter's face is, as the Methodists say, " a blessed privilege," 
 so agreeably does it divest the mind of a thought the more, 
 and suggest that pleasant vacuity so essential to the hour of 
 dinner. The tureen was gone, and then came one of those 
 strange intervals which all taverns bestow, as if to test the 
 extent of endurance and patience of their guests. 
 
 My thoughts turned at once to their old track. " I 
 have it," said I, as a bloody-minded suggestion shot through 
 my brain. " This is an affair of charcoal and oxalic acid, 
 this is some damnable device of arsenic or sugar-of-lead, 
 — these young wretches have come down here to poison 
 themselves, and be smothered in that mode latterly intro- 
 duced among us. There will be a double-locked door and 
 smell of carbonic gas through the key-hole in the morning. 
 I have it all before me, even to the maudlin letter, with its 
 twenty-one verses of maudlin poetry at the foot of it. I 
 think I hear the coroner's charge, and see the three shillings 
 and eightpence halfpenny produced before the jur}', that 
 were found in the youth's possession, together with a small 
 key and a bill for a luncheon at Birmingham. By Jove, I 
 will prevent it, though ; I will spoil their fun this time ; if they 
 will have physic, let them have something just as nauseous, 
 but not so injurious. My own notion is a basin of this soup 
 and a slice of the ' joint,' and here it comes ; " and thus 
 my meditations were again destined to be cut short, and 
 re very give way to reality. 
 
 I was just helping myself to my second slice of mutton, 
 when the young man entered the coffee-room, and walked 
 towards me. At first his manner evinced liesitation and 
 indecision, and he turned to the fireplace, as if with some 
 change of purpose ; then, as if suddenly summoning his 
 resolution, he came up to the table at which I sat, and 
 said, — 
 
 " Will you favor me with five minutes of your time? " 
 
 "By all means," said I; " sit down here, and I'm your 
 man; you must excuse me, though, if I proceed with my 
 dinner, as I see it is past six o'clock, and the packet sails 
 at seven." 
 
 " Pray, proceed," replied he ; " your doing so will in part 
 excuse the liberty I take in obtruding myself upon you." 
 
THE WHITE LACE BONNET. 235 
 
 He paused, and although I waited for him to resume, 
 he appeared in no humor to do so, but seemed more con- 
 fused than before. 
 
 ''Hang it," said he at length, " I am a very bungling 
 negotiator, and never in my life could manage a matter of 
 any difficulty. " 
 
 •• Take a glass of sherry," said I; " try if that may not 
 assist to recall your faculties." 
 
 " No, no," cried he ; ''I have taken a bottle of it already, 
 and, by Jove, I rather think my head is only the more 
 addled. Do you know that I am in a most confounded 
 scrape. I have run away with that young lady ; we were 
 at an evening-party last night together, and came straight 
 away from the supper-table to the train." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said I, laying down my knife and fork, not a 
 little gratified that I was at length to learn the secret that 
 had so long teased me. " And so you have run away with 
 her ! " 
 
 "Yes; it was no sudden thought, however, — at least, it 
 was an old attachment ; I have known her these two months." 
 
 "Oh! oh!" said I; "then there was prudence in the 
 affair." 
 
 "Perhaps you will say so," said he, quickly, "when I 
 tell you she has £30,000 in the Funds, and something like 
 £1700 a year besides, — not that I care a straw for the 
 money, but, in the eye of the world, that kind of thing has 
 its klat" 
 
 "So it has," said I, "and a very pretty edat it is, and 
 one that, somehow or another, preserves its attractions much 
 longer than most surprises; but I do not see the scrape, 
 after all." 
 
 "I am coming to that," said he, glancing timidly around 
 the room. "The affair occurred this wise: we were at an 
 evening-party, — a kind of dejeune, it was, on the Thames, 
 — Charlotte came with her aunt, — a shrewish old damsel, 
 that has no love for me; in fact, she very soon saw my 
 game, and resolved to thwart it. Well, of course I was 
 obliged to be most circumspect, and did not venture to 
 approach her, not even to ask her to dance, the whole 
 evening. As it grew late, however, I either became more 
 
236 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 courageous or less cautious, aud I did ask her for a waltz. 
 The old lady bristled up at once, aud asked for her shawl. 
 Charlotte accepted my invitation, and said she would 
 certainly not retire so early ; aud I, to tut the matter short, 
 led her to the top of the room. We waltzed together, and 
 then had a ' gallop,' and after that some champagne, and 
 then another waltz ; for Charlotte was resolved to give the 
 old lady a lesson, — she has spirit for anything ! Well, it 
 was growing late by this time, and we went in search of 
 the aunt at last; but, by Jove! she was not to be found. 
 We hunted everywhere for her, looked well in every corner 
 of the supper-room, where it was most likely we should 
 discover her ; and at length, to our mutual horror and dismay, 
 we learned that she had ordered tlie carriage up a full hour 
 before, and gone off, declaring that she would send Char- 
 lotte's father to fetch her home, as she herself possessed 
 no influence over her. Here was a pretty business, — the 
 old gentleman being, as Charlotte often told me, the most 
 choleric man in England. He had killed two brother officers 
 in duels, and narrowly escaped being hanged at Maidstone 
 for shooting a waiter who delayed bringing him the water 
 to shave, — a pleasant old boy to encounter on such an 
 occasion at this ! 
 
 " ' He will certainly shoot me, — he will shoot j^ou, — he 
 will kill us both ! ' were the only words she could utter ; and 
 my blood actually froze at the prospect before us. You 
 may smile if you like ; but let me tell you that an outraged 
 father, with a pair of patent revolving pistols, is no laughing 
 matter. There was nothing for it, then, but to ' bolt.* She 
 saw that as soon as I did ; and although she endeavored to 
 persuade me to suffer her to return home alone, that, yo\x 
 know, I never could think of ; and so, after some little de- 
 murrings, some tears, and some resistance, we got to the 
 Eustou-Square station, just as the train was going. You 
 may easily think that neither of us had much time for prep- 
 aration. As for m3'self, I have come away with a ten- 
 pound note in my purse, — not a shilling more have I in my 
 possession ; and here we are now, half of that sum spent 
 already, and how we are to get on to the North, I cannot for 
 the life of me conceive." 
 
THE WHITE LACE BONNET. 237 
 
 "Oh! that's it," said I, peering at him shrewdly from 
 under my eyelids. 
 
 " Yes, that 's it ; don't you think it is bad enough? " and 
 he spoke the words with a reckless frankness that satisfied 
 all my scruples. "I ought to tell you," said he, "that my 
 name is Blunden ; I am lieutenant in the Buffs, on leave ; 
 and now that you know my secret, will you lend me twenty 
 pounds? which perhaps, may be enough to carry us forward, 
 — at least, it will do, until it will be safe for me to write for 
 money." 
 
 "But what would bring you to the North?" said I; 
 " why not put yourselves on board the mail-packet this 
 evening, and come to Dublin? We will marry you there 
 just as cheaply ; pursuit of you will be just as difficult ; and 
 I 'd venture to say, you might choose a worse land for the 
 honeymoon." 
 
 " But I have no money," said he ; " you forgot that." 
 
 " For the matter of money," said I, " make your mind 
 easy. If the young lady is going away with her own con- 
 sent, — if, indeed, she is as anxious to get married as you 
 are, — make me the banker, and I '11 give her away, be the 
 bridesmaid, or anything else you please." 
 
 " You are a trump," said he, helping himself to another 
 glass of my sherry ; and then filling out a third, which emptied 
 the bottle, he slapped me on the shoulder, and said, " Here 's 
 your health ; now come upstairs." 
 
 " Stop a moment," said I, " I must see her alone, — there 
 must be no tampering with the evidence." 
 
 He hesitated for a second, and sui'veyed me from head to 
 foot ; and whether it was the number of mj' double chins 
 or the rotundity of my waistcoat divested his mind of any 
 jealous scruples, but he smiled coolly, and said, " So you 
 shall, old buck. — we will never quarrel about that." 
 
 Upstairs we went accordingly, and into a handsome draw- 
 ing-room on the first floor, at one end of which, with her 
 head buried in her hands, the young lady was sitting. 
 
 " Charlotte," said he, " this gentleman is kind enough to 
 take an interest in our fortunes, but he desires a few words 
 with you alone." 
 
 I waved my hand to him to prevent his making any further 
 
238 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 explauatiou, and as a signal to withdraw ; be took the hint 
 aud left the room. 
 
 Now, thought I, this is the second act of the drama; 
 what the deuce am I to do here ? In the first place, some 
 might deem it my duty to admonish the young damsel on the 
 impropriety of the step, to draw au afflicting picture of her 
 family, to make her weep bitter tears, and end by persuading 
 her to take a first-class ticket in the up-train. This would 
 be the grand parento-morai line ; and I shame to confess it, 
 it was never my forte. Secondly, I might pursue the inquiry 
 suggested by myself, and ascertain her real sentiments. 
 This might be called the amico-auxiliary line. Or, lastly, 
 I might try a little what might be done on my own score, 
 and not see £30,000 and £1700 a year squandered by a 
 cigar-smoking lieutenant in the Buffs. As there may be 
 different opinions about this line, I shall not give it a name. 
 Suffice it to say, that, notwithstanding a sly peep at as pretty 
 a throat and as well rounded an instep as ever tempted a 
 " government Mercury," I was true to my trust, and opened 
 the negotiation on the honest footing. 
 
 " Do you love him, my little darling? " said I; for some- 
 how consolation always struck me as own-brother to love- 
 making. It is like indorsing a bill for a friend, which, 
 though he tells you he '11 meet, you always feel responsible 
 for the money. 
 
 She turned upon me an arch look. Bj' St. Patrick, I half 
 regretted I had not tried number three, as in the sweetest 
 imaginable voice she said, — 
 
 "Do you doubt it?" 
 
 "I wish I could," thought I to myself. No matter, it 
 was too late for regrets ; and so I ascertained, in a very few 
 minutes, that she corroborated every portion of the statement, 
 and was as deeply interested in the success of the adventure 
 as himself. 
 
 " That will do," said I. " He is a lucky fellow, — I always 
 heard the Buffs were ; " and with that I descended to the 
 coffee-room, where the young man awaited me with the 
 greatest anxiety. 
 
 " Are you satisfied? " cried he, as I entered the room. 
 
 "Perfectly," was my answer. "Aud now let us lose no 
 
THE WHITE LACE BONNET. 239 
 
 more time ; it wants but a quarter to seven, and we must be 
 on board in ten minutes." 
 
 As I have already remarked, my fellow-travellers were 
 not burdened with luggage, so there was little difficulty in 
 expediting their departure ; and in half an hour from that 
 time we were gliding down the Mersey, and gazing on the 
 spangled lamps which glittered over that great city of soap, 
 sugar, and sassafras, train-oil, timber, and tallow. The 
 young lady soon went below, as the night was chilly ; but 
 Blunden and myself walked the deck until near twelve 
 o'clock, chatting over whatever came uppermost, and giving 
 me an opportunity to perceive that, without possessing any 
 remarkable ability or cleverness, he was one of those off- 
 hand, candid, clear-headed young fellows, who, when trained 
 in the admirable discipline of the mess, become the excellent 
 specimens of well-conducted, well-mannered gentlemen our 
 army abounds with. 
 
 We arrived in due course in Dublin. I took my friends 
 up to Morrison's, drove with them after breakfast to a fash- 
 ionable milliner's, where the young lad}', with an admirable 
 taste, selected such articles of dress as she cared for, and I 
 then saw them duly married. I do not mean to say that the 
 ceremony was performed by a bishop, or that a royal duke 
 gave her away ; neither can I state that the train of carriages 
 comprised the equipages of the leading nobility. I only 
 vouch for the fact that a little man, with a black eye and a 
 sinister countenance, read a ceremony of his own compos- 
 ing, and made them write their names in a great book, and 
 pay thirty shillings for his services; after which I put a 
 fifty-pound note into Blunden's hand, saluted the bride, 
 and, wishing them every health and happiness, took my 
 leave. 
 
 They started at once with four posters for the North, in- 
 tending to cross over to Scotland. My engagements induced 
 me to leave town for Cork, and in less than a fortnight I 
 found at my club a letter from Blunden, enclosing the fifty 
 pounds, with a thousand thanks for my prompt kindness, 
 and innumerable affectionate reminiscences from Madame. 
 They were as happy as — confound it, every one is happy 
 for a week or a fortnight ; so I crushed the letter, pitched 
 
240 T^VLES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 it into the fire, was rather pleased with myself for what I 
 had done, and thought no more of the whole transaction. 
 
 Here then my tale should have an end, and the moral is 
 obvious. Indeed, I am not certain but some may prefer it 
 to that which the succeeding portion conveys, thinking that 
 the codicil revokes the body of the testament. However 
 that may be, here goes for it. 
 
 It was about a year after this adventure that I made one 
 of a party of six travelling up to London by the "Grand 
 Junction." The company were chatty, pleasant folk, and 
 the conversation, as often happens among utter strangers, 
 became anecdotic ; many good stories were told in turn, and 
 many pleasant comments made on them, when at lengtii it 
 occurred to me to mention the somewhat singular rencontre 
 I have already narrated as having happened to myself. 
 
 "Strange enough," said I, "the last time I journeyed 
 along this line, nearly this time last year, a very remark- 
 able occurrence took place. I happened to fall in with a 
 young officer of the Ruffs, eloping with an exceedingly pretty 
 girl ; she had a large fortune, and was in every respect a 
 great ' catch ; ' he ran away with her from an evening party, 
 and never remembered, until he arrived at Liverpool, that he 
 had no money for the journey. In this dilemma, the young 
 fellow, rather spooney about the whole thing, I think would 
 have gone quietly back by the next train, but, by Jove, I 
 could n't satisfy my conscience that so lovely a girl should 
 be treated in such a manner. I rallied his courage ; took 
 him over to Ireland in the packet, and got them married the 
 next morning." 
 
 " Have I caught you at last, you old, meddling scoun- 
 drel ! " cried a voice, hoarse and discordant with passion, 
 from the opposite side ; and at the same instant a short, 
 thickset old man, with shoulders like a Hercules, sprung at 
 me. With one hand he clutched me by the throat, and with 
 the other he pummelled my head against the panel of the 
 conveyance, and with such violence that man}' people in the 
 next carriage averred that they thought we had run into 
 the down train. So sudden was the old wretch's attack, 
 and so infuriate withal, it took the united force of the other 
 passengers to detach him from my neck; and even then, as 
 
THE WHITE LACE BONNET. 241 
 
 they drew him off, he kicked at me like a demon. Never 
 has it been my lot to witness such an outbreak of wrath ; 
 and, indeed, were I to judge from the symptoms it occasioned, 
 the old fellow had better not repeat it, or assuredly apoplexy 
 would follow. 
 
 " That villain, — that old ruffian," said he, glaring at me 
 with flashing eyeballs, while he menaced me with his closed 
 fist, — "that cursed, meddling scoundrel is the cause of the 
 greatest calamity of my life." 
 
 "Are you her father, then?" articulated I, faintly, for a 
 misgiving came over me that my boasted benevolence might 
 prove a mistake. "Are you her father?" The words were 
 not out, when he dashed at me once more, and were it not 
 for the watchfulness of the others, inevitably had finished 
 me. 
 
 "I've heard of you, my old buck," said I, affecting a 
 degree of ease and security my heart sadly belied. "I've 
 heard of your dreadful temper already, — I know you can't 
 control yourself. I know all about the waiter at Maidstone. 
 By Jove, they did not wrong you ; and I am not surprised at 
 your poor daughter leaving you — " But he would not suffer 
 me to conclude ; and once more his wrath boiled over, and 
 all the efforts of the others were barely sufficient to calm him 
 into a semblance of reason. 
 
 There would be an end to my narrative if I endeavored 
 to convey to my reader the scene which followed, or recount 
 the various outbreaks of passion which ever and anon in- 
 terrupted the old man, and induced him to diverge into 
 sundry little by-ways of lamentation over his misfortune, 
 and curses upon my meddling interference. Indeed his 
 whole narrative was conducted more in the staccato style of 
 an Italian opera father than in the homely wrath of an 
 English parent; the wind-up of these dissertations being 
 always to the one purpose, as with a look of scowling pas- 
 sion directed towards me, he said, " Only wait till we reach 
 the station, and see if I won't do for you." 
 
 His tale, in few words, amounted to this. He was the 
 Squire Blunden, — the father of the lieutenant in the "Buffs." 
 The youth had formed an attachment to a lady whom he 
 had accidentally met in a ]Margate steamer. The circum- 
 
 VOL. 11 — 16 
 
242 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 stances of her family and fortune were communicated to him 
 in confidence by herself ; and although she expressed her 
 conviction of the utter impossibility of obtaining her father's 
 consent to an untitled match, she as resolutely refused to 
 elope with him. The result, however, was as we have seen ; 
 she did elope, — was married, — they made a wedding tour in 
 the Highlands, and returned to Blunden Hall two mouths 
 after, where the old gentleman welcomed them with affection 
 and forgiveness. About a fortnight after their return, it was 
 deemed necessary to make inquiry as to the circumstances 
 of her estate and funded property, when the young lady fell 
 upon her knees, wept bitterly, said she had not a six- 
 pence, — that the whole thing was a " ruse; " that she had 
 paid five pounds for a choleric father, three ten for an 
 aunt warranted to wear "satin;" in fact, that she had 
 been twice married before, and had heavy misgivings that 
 the husbands were still living. 
 
 There was nothing left for it but compromise. " I gave 
 her," said he, " five hundred pounds to go to the devil, and 
 I registered, the same day, a solemn oath that if ever I met 
 this same Tramp, he should carry the impress of my knuckles 
 on his face to the day of his death." 
 
 The train reached Harrow as the old gentleman spoke. I 
 waited until it was again in motion, and, flinging wide the 
 door, I sprang out, and from that day to this have strictly 
 avoided forming acquaintance with a white lace bonnet, 
 even at a distance, or ever befriending a lieutenant in the 
 Buffs. 
 
I GOT into the Dover " down train " at the station, and after 
 seeking for a place in two or three of the leading carriages, 
 at last succeeded in obtaining one where there were only two 
 other passengers. These were a lady and a gentleman, — the 
 former, a young, pleasing-looking girl, dressed in quiet 
 mourning ; the latter was a tall, gaunt, bilious-looking man, 
 with grisly gray hair, and an extravagantly aquiline nose. 
 I guessed, from the positions they occupied in the carriage, 
 that they were not acquaintances, and my conjecture proved 
 subsequently true. The young lady was pale, like one in 
 delicate health, and seemed very weary and tired, for she 
 was fast asleep as I entered the carriage, and did not awake, 
 notwithstanding all the riot and disturbance incident to the 
 station. I took my place directly in front of my fellow- 
 travellers ; and whether from mere accident, or from the pass- 
 ing interest a pretty face inspires, cast my eyes towards the 
 lady ; the gaunt man opposite fixed on me a look of inex- 
 pressible shrewdness, and with a very solemn shake of his 
 head, whispered in a low undertone, — 
 
244 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 "No! no! not a bit of it; she ain't asleep, — they never 
 do sleep, — never ! " 
 
 " Oh I " thought I to myself, '• there 's another class of people 
 not remarkable for over-drowsiness ; " for, to say truth, the 
 expression of the speaker's face and the oddit}' of his words 
 made me suspect that he was not a miracle of sanity. The 
 reflection had scarcely passed through my mind, when he 
 arose softl}' from his seat, and assumed a place beside me. 
 
 " You thought she was fast," said he, as he laid his hand 
 familiarly on my arm; "I know you did, — I saw it the 
 moment you came into the carriage." 
 
 "Why, I did think — " 
 
 " Ah I that's deceived many a one. Lord bless you, sir, 
 they are not understood, no one knows them ; " and at these 
 words he heaved a profound sigh, and dropped his head 
 upon his bosom, as though the sentiment had overwhelmed 
 him with affliction. 
 
 " Riddles, sir," said he to me, with a glare of his eyes that 
 really looked formidable. — " sphinxes ; that 's what they are. 
 Are you married ? " whispered he. 
 
 " No, sir," said I, politely ; for as I began to entertain 
 more serious doubts of my companion's intellect, I resolved 
 to treat him with every civility. 
 
 " I don't believe it matters a fig," said he ; " the Pope of 
 Rome knows as much about them as Bluebeard." 
 
 " Indeed," said I, " are these your sentiments? " 
 
 " They are," replied he, in a still lower whisper ; " and if 
 we were to talk modern Greek this moment, I would not say 
 but she " — and here he made a gesture towards the young 
 lady opposite — " but sJie would know every word of it. It 
 is not supernatural, sir, because the law is universal ; but it 
 is a most — .what shall I say, sir? — a most extraordinary 
 provision of nature, — wonderful ! most wonderful ! " 
 
 "In Heaven's name, why did they let him out?" ex- 
 claimed I to myself. 
 
 " Now she is pretending to awake," said he, as he nudged 
 me with his elbow ; ' ' watch her, see how well she will do 
 it." Then turning to the lady, he added in a louder voice, — 
 
 " You have had a refreshing sleep, I trust, ma'am?" 
 
 "A very heavy one," answered she, "for I was greatly 
 fatisued." 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 245 
 
 '' Did not I tell you so? " whispered he again in my ear. 
 " Oh ! " and here he gave a deep groan, " when they 're in 
 delicate health, and they're greatly fatigued, there's no 
 being up to them ! " 
 
 The remainder of our journey was not long in getting 
 over ; but brief as it was, I could not help feeling auuo\'ed at 
 the pertinacity with which the bilious gentleman purposely 
 misunderstood every word the 3'ouug lady spoke. The most 
 plain, matter-of-fact observations from her were received by 
 him as though she was a monster of duplicity ; and a casual 
 mistake as to the name of a station he pounced upon, as 
 though it were a wilful and intentional untruth. This con- 
 duct, on his part, was made ten times worse to me by his 
 continued nudgings of the elbow, sly winks, and muttered 
 sentences of '-You hear that" — " There 's more of it" — 
 " You would not credit it now," etc. ; until at length he suc- 
 ceeded in silencing the poor girl, who, in all likelihood, set us 
 both down for the two greatest savages in England. 
 
 On arriving at Dover, although I was the bearer of de- 
 spatches requiring the utmost haste, a dreadful hurricane 
 from the eastward, accompanied by a tremendous swell, pre- 
 vented any packet venturing out to sea. The commander of 
 " The Hornet," however, told me, should the weather, as 
 was not improbable, moderate towards daybreak, he would 
 do his best to run me over to Calais ; " onl}^ be ready," said 
 he, " at a moment's notice, for I will get the steam up, and 
 be off in a jiffy, whenever the tide begins to ebb." In com- 
 pliance with this injunction, I determined not to go to bed, 
 and, ordering my supper in a private room, I prepared myself 
 to pass the intervening time as well as might be. 
 
 "Mr. Yellowley's compliments," said the waiter, as I 
 broke the crust of a veal-pie, and obtained a bird's-eye 
 view of that delicious interior, where hard eggs and jelly, 
 mushrooms, and kidney, were blended together in a delicious 
 harmony of coloring. " Mr. Yellowley's compliments, sir, 
 and will take it as a great favor if he might join you at 
 supper." 
 
 " Have not the pleasure of knowing him," said I, shortly, 
 — " bring me a pint of sherry, — don't know Mr. Y'ellow- 
 ley." 
 
246 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 *' Yes, but you do, though," said the gaunt man of the 
 railroad, as he entered the room, with four cloaks on one 
 arm, and two umbrellas under the other. 
 
 " Oh ! it's you," said I, half rising from my chair ; for in 
 spite of my annoj^ance at the intrusion, a certain degree of 
 fear of my companion overpowered me. 
 
 "Yes," said he, solemnly. "Can you untie this cap? 
 The string has got into a black-knot, I fear ; " and so he 
 bent down his huge face while I endeavored to relieve him 
 of his head-piece, woudering within myself whether they 
 had shaved him at the asylum. 
 
 "Ah, that's comfortable! " said he at last; and he drew 
 his chair to the table, and helped himself to a considerable 
 portion of the pie, which he covered profusely with red 
 pepper. 
 
 Little conversation passed during the meal. My com- 
 panion ate voraciously, filling up every little pause that 
 occurred by a groan or a sigh, whose vehemence and depth 
 were strangely in contrast with his enjoyment of the good 
 cheer. "When the supper was over, and the waiter had 
 placed fresh glasses, and with that gentle significance of 
 his craft had deposited the decanter, in which a spoonful 
 of sherry remained, directly in front of me, Mr. Yellowley 
 looked at me for a moment, threw up his eyebrows, and 
 with an air of more bonhomie than I thought he could muster, 
 said, — 
 
 "You will have no objection, I hope, to a little warm 
 brandy and water." 
 
 "None whatever; and the less, if I may add a cigar." 
 
 " Agreed," said he. 
 
 These ingredients of our comfort being produced, and the 
 waiter having left the room, Mr. Yellowley stirred the fire 
 into a cheerful blaze, and, nodding amicably towards me, 
 said, — 
 
 " Your health, sir; I should like to have added your 
 name." 
 
 "Tramp, — Tilbury Tramp," said I, "at your service." 
 I would have added Q. C, as the couriers took that lately; 
 but it leads to mistakes, so I said nothing about it. 
 
 " Mr. Tramp," said my companion, while he placed 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 247 
 
 one hand in his waistcoat, in that attitude so favored by 
 John Kemble and Napoleon. " You are a young man?" 
 
 " Forty-two," said I, " if I live till June." 
 
 " You might be a hundred and forty-two, sir." 
 
 " Lord bless you ! " said I, " I don't look so old." 
 
 "I repeat it," said he, "you might be a hundred and 
 forty-two, and not know a whit more about them." 
 
 " Here we are," thought I, " back on the monomania." 
 
 "You may smile," said he, "it was an ungenerous in- 
 sinuation. Nothing was farther from my thoughts ; but it 's 
 true, — they require the stud}' of a lifetime. Talk of Law 
 or Physic or Divinity ; it 's child's play, sir. Now, you 
 thought that young girl was asleep." 
 
 " Wh}', she certainl}' looked so." 
 
 "Looked so," said he, with a sneer; "what do I look 
 like? Do I look like a man of sense or intelligence?" 
 
 " I protest," said T, cautiousl}^ "I won't suffer myself to 
 be led away by appearances ; I would not wish to be unjust 
 to you." 
 
 " Well, sir, that artful young woman's deception of you 
 has preyed upon me ever since ; I Avas going on to Walmer 
 to-night, but I could n't leave this without seeing you once 
 more, and giving you a caution." 
 
 "Dear me. I thought nothing about it. Y^ou took the 
 matter too much to heart." 
 
 "Too much to heart," said he, with a bitter sneer; 
 "that's the cant that deceives half tlie world. If men, 
 sir, instead of undervaluing these small and apparently 
 trivial circumstances, would but recall their experiences, 
 chronicle their facts, as Bacon recommended so wisely, we 
 should possess some safe data to go upon, in our estimate 
 of that deceitful sex." 
 
 " I fear," said I, half timidly, "you have been ill-treated 
 by the ladies? " 
 
 A deep groan was the only response. 
 
 " Come, come, bear up," said I; " you are young, and a 
 fine-looking man still " (he was sixty, if he was an hour, 
 and had a face like the figure-head of a war-steamer). 
 
 " I will tell you a story, Mr. Tramp," said he, solemnly, — 
 " a story to which, probably, no historian, from Polybius 
 
248 TALES OF THE TRADJS. 
 
 to Hoffman, has ever recorded a parallel. I am not aware, 
 sir, that any man has sounded the oceanic depths of that 
 perfidious gulf, — a woman's heart ; but I, sir, I have at 
 least lidded some facts to the narrow stock of our knowledge 
 regaidiiig it. Listen to this : " — 
 
 I replenished my tumbler of brandy and water, looked at 
 my watch, and, finding I still had two hours to spare, lent 
 a not unwilling ear to my companion's story. 
 
 " For the purpose of my tale," said Mr. Yellowlej', "it is 
 unnecessary that I should mention any incident of my life 
 more remote than a couple of years back. About that time 
 it was, that, using all the influence of very powerful friends, 
 I succeeded in obtaining the consul-generalship at Stralsund. 
 My arrangements for departure were made with considerable 
 despatch ; but on the very week of my leaving England, an 
 old friend of mine was appointed to a situation of consider- 
 able trust in the East, whither he was ordered to repair, I 
 may say, at a moment's notice. Never was there such a 
 contretemps. He longed for the North of Europe, — I, with 
 equal ardor, wished for a tropical climate ; and here were 
 we both going in the very direction antagonist to our wishes ! 
 My friend's appointment was a much more lucrative one 
 than mine ; but so anxious was he for a residence more con- 
 genial to his taste, that he would have exchanged without a 
 moment's hesitation. . 
 
 " By a mere accident, I mentioned this circumstance to 
 the friend who had procured my promotion. Well, with the 
 greatest alacrity, he volunteered his services to efifect the ex- 
 change ; and with such energy did he fulfil his pledge, that 
 on the following evening I received an express, informing 
 me of my altered destination, but directing me to proceed to 
 Southampton on the next day, and sail by the Oriental 
 steamer. This was speedy work, sir; but as my prepara- 
 tions for a journey had long been made, I had very little to 
 do, but exchange some bear-skins with my friend for cotton 
 shirts and jackets, and w-e both were accommodated. Never 
 were two men in higher spirits, — he, with his young wife, 
 delighted at escaping what he called banishment ; I equally 
 happy in my anticipation of the glorious East. 
 
 "Among the many papers forwarded to me from the 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 249 
 
 Foreign Office was a special order for free trausit the whole 
 way to Calcutta. This document set forth the urgent 
 necessity there existed to pay me every possible attention 
 en route ; in fact, it was a sort of Downing-Street firman, 
 ordering all whom it might concern to take care of Simon 
 Yellowley, nor permit liim to suffer any let, impediment, or 
 inconvenience on the road. But a strange thing, Mr. 
 Tramp, — a very strange thing, — was in this paper. In the 
 exchange of my friend's appointment for my own, the clerk 
 had merely' inserted my name in lieu of his in all the papers ; 
 and then, sir, what should I discover but that this free 
 transit extended to ' Mr. Yellowle}' and lady,' while, doubt- 
 less, my poor friend was obliged to travel en gar^on ? This 
 extraordinary blunder I only discovered when leaving Lon- 
 don in the train. 
 
 "We were a party of three, sir." Here he groaned 
 deeply. "Three, — just as it might be this very day. I 
 occupied the place that j'ou did this morning, while opposite 
 to me were a lady and a gentleman. The gentleman was 
 an old round-faced little man, chatty and merry after his 
 fashion. The lady^ — the lady, sir — if I had never seen 
 her but that day, I should now call her an angel. Yes, Mr. 
 Tramp, I flatter m3'self that few men understand female 
 beauty better. I admire the cold regularity and impassive 
 loveliness of the North, I glory in the voluptuous magnifi- 
 cence of Italian beauty ; I can relish the sparkling coquetry 
 of France, the plaintive quietness and sleepy tenderness of 
 Germany ; nor do I undervalue the brown pellucid skin and 
 flashing eye of the Malabar ; but she, sir, she was something 
 higher than all these ; and it so chanced that I had ample 
 time to observe her, for when I entered the carriage she was 
 asleep — asleep," said he, with a bitter mockery Macready 
 might have envied. " Why do I say asleep? No, sir ! — she 
 was in that factitious trance, that wiliest device of Satan's 
 own creation, a woman's sleep, — the thing invented, sir, 
 merely to throw the shadow of dark lashes on a marble 
 cheek, and leave beauty to sink into man's heart without 
 molestation. Sleep, sir ! — the whole mischief the world 
 does in its waking moments is nothing to tlie doings of such 
 slumber! If she did not sleep, how could that braid of 
 
250 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 dark-brown hair fall loosely down upon her blue-veined 
 hand ; if she did not sleep, how could the color tinge with 
 such evanescent loveliness the cheek it scarcely colored ; if 
 she did not sleep, how could her lips smile with the sweet- 
 ness of some passing thought, thus half recorded? No, sir; 
 she had been obliged to have sat bolt upright, with her gloves 
 on and her veil down. She neither could have shown the 
 delicious roundness of her throat nor the statue-like perfection 
 of her instep. But sleep, — sleep is responsible for nothing. 
 Oh, why did not Macbeth murder it, as he said he had ! 
 
 ''If I were a legislator, sir, I'd prohibit any woman 
 under forty-three from sleeping in a public conveyance. 
 It is downright dangerous, — I would n't say it ain't im- 
 moral. The immovable aspect of placid beauty, Mr. 
 Tramp, etherealizes a woman. The shrewd housewife be- 
 comes a houri ; and a milliner — ay, sir, a milliner — might 
 be a Maid of Judah under such circumstances ! " 
 
 Mr. Yellowley seemed to have run himself out of breath 
 with this burst of enthusiasm ; for he was unable to resume his 
 narrative until several minutes after, when he proceeded thus : 
 "The fat gentleman and myself were soon engaged in 
 conversation. He was hastening down to bid some friends 
 good-bye, ere they sailed for India. I was about to leave 
 my native country, too, — perhaps forever. 
 
 " ' Yes, sir,' said I, addressing him, ' Heaven knows 
 when I shall behold these green valleys again, if ever. I 
 have just been appointed Secretary and Chief Counsellor to 
 the Political Resident at the court of the Rajah of Santan- 
 cantantarabad ! — a most important post — three thousand 
 eight hundred and forty-seven miles beyond the Himalaya.' 
 
 " And here — with, I trust, a pardonable pride — I showed 
 him the government order for my free transit, with the 
 various directions and injunctions concerning my personal 
 comfort and safety. 
 
 " 'Ah,' said the old gentleman, putting on his spectacles 
 to read, — 'ah, I never beheld one of these before. Very 
 curious, — very curious, indeed. I have seen a sheriff's 
 writ, and an execution ; but this is far more remarkable, — 
 "Simon Yellowley, Esq., and lady." Eh ? — so your lady 
 accompanies you, sir?' 
 
 I 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 251 
 
 " ' "Would she did, — would to Heaven she did ! ' exclaimed 
 I, in a transport. 
 
 " ' Oh, then, she 's afraid, is she? She dreads the blacks, 
 I suppose.' 
 
 "'No, sir; I am not married. The insertion of these 
 words was a mistake of the official who made out my 
 papers ; for, alas ! I am alone in the world.' 
 
 "'But why don't you marry, sir?' said the little man, 
 briskly, and with an eye glistening with paternity. ' Young 
 ladies ain't scarce — ' 
 
 " 'True, most true; but even supposing I were fortunate 
 enough to meet the object of my wishes, I have no time. I 
 received this appointment last evening ; to-day I am here, 
 to-morrow I shall be on the billows ! ' 
 
 " 'Ah, that's unfortunate, indeed, — very unfortunate.' 
 
 " ' Had I but one week, — a day, — ay, an hour, sir.' said 
 I, ' I 'd make an offer of my brilliant position to some lovely 
 creature who, tired of the dreary North and its gloomy skies, 
 would prefer the unclouded heaven of the Himalaya and the 
 perfumed breezes of the valley of Santancantantarabad ! ' 
 
 "A lightly breathed sigh fell from the sleeping beauty, 
 and at the same time a smile of inexpressible sweetness 
 played upon her lips ; but, like the ripple upon a glassy 
 stream, that disappearing left all placid and motionless 
 again, the fair features were in a moment calm as before. 
 
 " ' She looks delicate,' whispered my companion. 
 
 "'Our detestable climate!' said I, bitterly; for she 
 coughed twice at the instant. ' Oh, why are the loveliest 
 flowers the offspring of the deadliest soil ! ' 
 
 " She awoke, not suddenly or abruptly, but as Venus 
 might have risen from the sparkling sea and thrown the 
 dew-drops from her hair, and then she opened her eyes. 
 Mr. Tramp, do you under.stand eyes?" 
 
 " I can't say I have any skill that way, to speak of." 
 
 " I 'm sorry for it, — deeply, sincerely sorry ; for to the 
 uninitiated these things seem naught. It would be as un- 
 profitable to put a Rembrandt before a blind man as dis- 
 cuss the aesthetics of eyelashes with the unbeliever. But 
 you will understand me when I say that her eyes were blue, 
 — blue as the Adriatic! — not the glassy doll's-eye blue. 
 
262 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 that shines and glistens with a metallic lustre ; nor that false 
 depth, more gray than blue, that resembles a piece of tea- 
 lead ; but the color of the sea, as you behold it Ave fathoms 
 down, beside the steep rocks of Genoa ! And what an ocean 
 is a woman's eye, with bright thoughts floating through it, and 
 love lurking at the bottom ! Am I tedious, Mr. Tramp? " 
 
 " No ; far from it, — only very poetical." 
 
 "Ah, I was once," said Mr. Yellowley, with a deep sigh. 
 " I used to write sweet things for ' The New Monthly ; ' but 
 Campbell was very jealous of me, — couldn't abide me. 
 Poor Campbell ! he had his failings, like the rest of us. 
 
 " Well, sir, to resume. We arrived at Southampton, but 
 only in time to hasten down to the pier, and take boat for 
 the ship. The blue-peter was flying at the mast-head, and 
 people hurrying away to say ' good-bye ' for the last time. 
 I, sir, I alone had no farewells to take. Simon Yellowley 
 was leaving his native soil, unwept and unregretted ! Sad 
 thoughts these, Mr. Tramp, — very sad thoughts. Well, 
 sir, we were aboard at last, above a hundred of us, standing 
 amid the lumber of our carpet-bags, dressing-cases, and hat- 
 boxes, half blinded by the heavy spray of the condensed 
 steam, and all deafened by the din. 
 
 ' ' The world of a great packet-ship, Mr. Tramp, is a very 
 selfish world, and not a bad epitome of its relative on shore. 
 Human weaknesses are so hemmed in by circumstances, the 
 frailties that would have been dissipated in a wider space 
 are so concentrated by compression, that middling people 
 grow bad, and the bad become regular demons. There is, 
 therefore, no such miserable den of selfish and egotistical 
 caballing, slander, gossip, and all malevolence, as one of 
 these. Envy of the man with a large berth, — sneers for 
 the lady that whispered to the captain, — guesses as to the 
 rank and station of every passenger, indulged in with a spirit 
 of impertinence absolutely intolerable, — and petty exclu- 
 siveness practised by every four or five on board, against 
 some others who have fewer servants or less luggage than 
 their neighbors. Into this human bee-hive was I now plunged, 
 to be bored by the drones, stung by the wasps, and mad- 
 dened by all. ' No matter,' thought I, ' Simon Yellowley has 
 a great mission to fulfil.' Yes, Mr. Tramp, I remembered the 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 253 
 
 precarious position of our Eastern possessions, — I bethought 
 me of the incalculable services the ability of even a Yellow- 
 ley might render his country in the far-off valley of the 
 Himalaya, and I sat down on my portmanteau, a happier — 
 nay, I will say. a better man. 
 
 "The accidents — we call them such ever}' day — the 
 accidents which fashion our lives, are always of our own 
 devising, if we only were to take trouble enough to trace 
 them. I have a theory on this head, but 1 'm keeping it 
 over for a kind of a Bridgewater Treatise. It is enough 
 now to remark that though my number at the dinner-table 
 was 84, I exchanged with another gentleman, who couldn't 
 bear a draught, for a place near the door, No. 122. Ah, 
 me ! little knew I then what that simple act was to bring 
 with it. Bear in mind, Mr. Tramp, 122; for, as you may 
 remember, Saucho Panza's story of the goatherd stopped 
 short, when his master forgot the number of the goats ; 
 and that great French novelist, M. de Balzac, always 
 hangs the interest of his tale on some sum in arithmetic, 
 in which his hero's fortune is concerned : so my story 
 bears upon this number. Yes, sir, the adjoining seat, No. 
 123. was vacant. There was a cover and a napkin, and 
 there was a chair placed leaning against the table, to 
 mark it out as the property of some one absent ; and day by 
 day was that vacant place the object of my conjectures. 
 It was natural this should be the case. My left-hand 
 neighbor was the first mate, one of those sea animals 
 most detestable to a landsman. He had a sea appe- 
 tite, a sea voice, sea jokes, and, worst of all, a sea 
 laugh. I shall never forget that fellow. I never spoke 
 to him that he did not reply in some slang of his abomi- 
 nable profession ; and all the disagreeables of a floating 
 existence were increased ten-fold by the everlasting refer- 
 ence to the hated theme, — a ship. What he on the 
 right hand might prove, was therefore of some moment 
 to me. Another Coup de Mer like this would be un- 
 endurable. The crossest old maid, the testiest old bach- 
 elor, the most peppery nabob, the flattest ensign, the 
 most boring of tourists, the most careful of mothers, 
 would be a boon from heaven in comparison with a blue- 
 
254 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 jacket. Alas ! Mr. Tramp, I was left very long to specu- 
 late on this subject. We were buffeted clown the Channel, 
 •we were tossed along the coast of France, and blown 
 about the Ba}' of Biscay before 123 ever turned up; when 
 one day — it was a deliciously calm day (I shall not forget 
 it soon) — we even could see the coast of Portugal, with its 
 great mountains above Cintra. Over a long reach of sea, 
 glassy as a mirror, the great ship clove her way, — the long 
 foam-track in her wake, the only stain on that blue surface. 
 Every one was on deck : the old asthmatic gentleman, whose 
 cough was the curse of the after-cabin, sat with a boa round 
 his neck, and thought he enjoyed himself. Ladies in twos 
 and threes walked up and down together, chatting as pleas- 
 antly as though in Kensington Gardens. The tourist sent 
 out by Mr. Colburn was taking notes of the whole party, 
 and the four officers in the Bengal Light Horse had adjourned 
 their daily brandy and water to a little awning beside the 
 wheel. There were sketch-books and embroider3^-frames 
 and journals on all sides ; there was even a guitar, with a 
 blue ribbon round it ; and amid all these reraindiugs of shore 
 life, a fat poodle waddled about, and snarled at every one. 
 The calm, sir, was a kind of doomsda}', which evoked the 
 dead from their tombs ; and up they came from indescrib- 
 able corners and nooks, opening their eyes with amazement 
 upon the strange world before them, and some almost 
 feeling that even the ordeal of sea-sickness was not too 
 heavy a penalty for an hour so bright, though so fleeting, 
 
 " ' "Which is 123?' thought I, as I elbowed my way along 
 the crowded quarter-deck, now asking mj'self could it be 
 the thin gentleman with the two capes, or the fat lady 
 with the three chins ? But there is a prescience which never 
 fails in the greater moments of our destiny, and this told 
 me it was none of these. "We went down to dinner, and 
 for the first time the chair was not placed against the 
 table, but so as to permit a person to be seated on it. 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon, sir,' said the steward to me, ' could 
 you move a little this way? 123 is coming in to dinner, and 
 she would like to have the air of the doorway.' 
 
 " 'She would.' thought I; 'oh, so this is a she, at all 
 events ; ' and scarce was the reflection made, when the 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 255 
 
 rustle of a silk dress was heard brushing my chair. I 
 turned, and what do you think, Mr. Tramp? — shall I en- 
 deavor to describe my emotions to you ? " 
 
 This was said in a tone so completely questioning that I 
 saw Mr. Yellowley waited for my answer. 
 
 "I am afraid, sir," said I, looking at my watch, "if the 
 emotions you speak of will occupy much time, we had better 
 skip them, for it only wants a quarter to twelve." 
 
 "We will omit them, then, Mr. Tramp; for, as you 
 justly observe, they would require both time and space. 
 Well, sir, to be brief, 123 was the angel of the railroad." 
 
 " The lady you met at — " 
 
 " Yes, sir, if you prefer to call her the lady ; for I shall 
 persist in my previous designation. Oh, Mr. Tramp, that 
 was the great moment of my life. You may have remarked 
 that we pass from era to era of our existence, as though it 
 were from one chamber to another. The gay, the sparkling, 
 and the brilliant succeed to the dark and gloomy apartment, 
 scarce illumined by a ray of hope, and we move on in our 
 life's journey, with new objects suggesting new actions, and 
 the actions engendering new frames of thought, and we think 
 ourselves wiser as our vicissitudes grow thicker ; but I must 
 not continue this theme. . To me, this moment was the 
 greatest transition of my life. Here was the ideal before 
 me, which neither art had pictured, nor genius described, — 
 the loveliest creature I ever beheld. She turned round on 
 taking her place, and with a slight gesture of surprise recog- 
 nized me at once as her former fellow-traveller. I have had 
 proud moments in my life, Mr. Tramp. I shall never forget 
 how the Commander of the Forces at Boulahcush said to 
 me in full audience, in the presence of all the officials, — 
 
 ' ' ' Yellowley, this is devilish hot, — hotter dian we have it 
 in Europe.' 
 
 " But here was a prouder moment still: that little grace- 
 ful movement of recognition, that smile so transient as to be 
 scarce detected, sent a thrill of happiness all through me. 
 In former days, by doughty deeds and hazardous exploits 
 men won their way to women's hearts ; our services in the 
 present time have the advantage of being less hazardous ; 
 little attentions of the table, passing the salt, calling for the 
 
256 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 pepper, lifting a napkin, and inviting to wine, are the sub- 
 stitutes for mutilating giants and spitting dragons. I can't 
 say but I think the exchange is with the difference. 
 
 '* The first day passed over with scarce the interchange of 
 a word between us. She arose almost immediately after 
 dinner, and did not make her appearance during the remain- 
 der of the evening. The following morning she took her 
 place at the breakfast-table, and to my inexpressible delight, 
 as the weather still remained calm, ascended to the quarter- 
 deck when the meal was over. The smile with which she 
 met me now had assumed the token of acquaintance, and a 
 very little address was necessary, on my part, to enable me 
 to join her as she walked, and engage her in conversation. 
 The fact of being so young and so perfectlj^ alone — for 
 except her French maid, she did not appear to know a single 
 person on board — perhaps appeared to demand some expla- 
 nation on her part, even to a perfect stranger like myself; 
 for, after some passing observations on the scenery of the 
 coast and the beauty of the weather, she told me that she 
 looked forward with much hope to the benefit her health 
 might derive from a warmer air and less trying climate than 
 that of England. 
 
 " ' I already feel benefited by the sweet South,' said she; 
 and there was a smile of gratitude on her lip, as she spoke 
 the words. Some little farther explanation she may have 
 deemed necessary ; for she took the occasion soon after to 
 remark that her only brother would have been delighted 
 with the voyage, if he could have obtained leave of absence 
 from his regiment ; but, unfortunately, he was in ' the 
 Blues,' quartered at Windsor, and could not be spared. 
 
 ' ' ' Poor dear creature ! ' said I ; ' and so she has been 
 obliged to travel thus alone, reared doubtless within the pre- 
 cincts of some happy home, from which the world, with its 
 petty snares and selfishness, wei-e excluded, surrounded by 
 all the appliances of luxury, and the elegances that embellish 
 existence — and now, to venture thus upon a journey without 
 a friend, or even a companion.' 
 
 ' ' There could scarcely be a more touching incident than to 
 see one like her, so beautiful and so young, in the midst of 
 that busy little world of soldiers and sailors and merchants. 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 257 
 
 travellers to the uttermost bounds of the earth, and wearied 
 spirits seeking for change wherever it might be found. Had 
 I not myself been alone, a very ' waif ' upon the shores of 
 life, I should have felt attracted by the interest of her 
 isolation ; now there was a sympathy to attach us, — there 
 was that similarity of position — that idem nolle, et idem 
 velle — which, we are told, constitutes true friendship. She 
 seemed to arrive at this conclusion exactly as I did myself, 
 and received with the most captivating frankness all the little 
 attentions it was in my power to bestow ; and in fact to 
 regard me, in some sort, as her companion. Thus, we walked 
 the deck each morning it was fine, or, if stormy, played at 
 chess or piquet in the cabin. Sometimes she worked while I 
 read aloud for her ; and such a treat as it was to hear her 
 criticisms on the volume before us, — how just and true her 
 appreciation of sound and correct principles, — how skilful 
 the distinctions she would make between the false glitter of 
 tinsel sentiment and the dull gold of real and sterling moral- 
 ity ! Her mind, naturally a gifted one, had received every 
 aid education could bestow. French and Italian literature 
 were as familiar to her as was English, while in mere accom- 
 plishments she far excelled those who habitually make such 
 acquirements the grand business of early life. 
 
 "You are, I presume, a man of the world, Mr. Tramp. 
 You may, perhaps, deem it strange that several days rolled 
 over before I ever even thought of inquiring her name ; but 
 such was the case. It no more entered into my conception 
 to ask after it, than I should have dreamed of what might be 
 the botanical designation of some lovely flower by whose 
 beauty and fragrance I was captivated. Enough for me 
 that the bright petals were tipped with azure and gold, and 
 the fair stem was graceful in its slender elegance. I cared 
 not where .Jussieu might have arranged or Linna?us classed 
 it. But a chance revealed the matter even before it had 
 occurred to me to think of it. A volume of Shelley's poems 
 contained on the titlepage, written in a hand of singular 
 delicacy, the words, ' Lady Blanche D'Esmonde.' Whether 
 the noble family she belonged to were English, Irish, or 
 Scotch, I could not even guess. It were as well, Mv. 
 Tramp, that I could not do so. I should only have felt a 
 
 VOL. II. — 17 
 
258 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 more unwarrantable attachment for that portion of the 
 empire she came from. Yes, sir, I loved her. I loved her 
 with au ardor that the Yellowleys have been remarkable for, 
 during three hundred and eighty years. It was my ancestor, 
 Mr. Tramp, — Paul Yellowley, — who was put in the stocks 
 at Charing Cross, for persecuting a maid of honor at Eliza- 
 beth's court. That haughty Queen and cold-hearted woman 
 had the base inscription written above his head, ' The 
 penaltie of a low scullion who lifteth his eyes too loftilie.' 
 
 " To proceed. When we reached Gibraltar, Lady Blanche 
 and I visited the rocks, and went over the bomb-proofs and 
 the casemates together, — far more dangerous places those 
 little cells and dark passages to a man like me, than ever 
 they could become in the hottest fury of a siege. She took 
 Buch an interest in everything. There was not a mortar 
 nor a piece of ordnance she could afford to miss ; and she 
 would peep out from the embrasures, and look down upon 
 the harbor and the bay, with a fearlessness that left me 
 puzzled to think whether I were more terrified by her 
 intrepidity or charmed by the beauty of her instep. Again 
 we went to sea ; but how I trembled at each sight of land, 
 lest she should leave the ship forever ! At last, Malta came 
 in view ; and the same evening the boats were lowered, for 
 all had a desire to go ashore. Of course Lady Blanche was 
 most anxious ; her health had latterly improved greatly, and 
 she was able to incur considerable fatigue, without feeling 
 the worse afterwards. 
 
 "It was a calm, mellow evening, with an already risen 
 moon, as we landed to wander about the narrow streets and 
 bastioned dwellings of old Valletta. She took my arm, 
 and, followed by Mademoiselle Virginie, we went on explor- 
 ing every strange and curious spot before us, and calling up 
 before our mind's eye the ancient glories of the place. I 
 was rather strong in all these sort of things, Mr. Tramp ; for 
 in expectation of this little visit, I made myself up about 
 the Knights of St. John and the Moslems, Fort St. Elmo, 
 Civita Vecchia, rocks, catacombs, prickly pears, and all. 
 In fact, I was primed with the whole catalogue, which, 
 written down in short memoranda, forms Chap. I. in a 
 modern tour-book of the Mediterranean. The season was 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 259 
 
 SO genial, and the moon so bright, that we lingered till past 
 midnight, and then returned to the ship the last of all the 
 visitors. That was indeed a night, as, flickered by the 
 column of silver light, we swept over the calm sea. Lady 
 Blanche, wrapped in my large boat-cloak, her pale features 
 statue-like in their unmoved beauty, sat in the stern ; I sat 
 at her side. Neither spoke a word. What lier thoughts 
 might have been I cannot guess ; but the little French maid 
 looked at me from time to time with an expression of 
 diabolical intelligence I cannot forget ; and as I handed her 
 mistress up the gangway, Virginie said in a whisper, — 
 
 "'Ah, Monsieur Yellowley, vous etes un liumme dan- 
 gereux I ' 
 
 "Would you believe it, Mr. Tramp, that little phrase 
 filled every chamber of my heart with hope ; there could 
 be but one interpretation of it, and what a meaning 
 had that, — dangerous to the peace of mind, to the heart's 
 happiness of her I actually adored ! I lay down in my 
 berth and tried to sleep ; but the nearest approach of slumber 
 was a dreamy condition, in which the words vous etes ten 
 hojnme dawjereux kept ever ringing. I thought I saw 
 Lady Blanche dressed in white, with a veil covering her, a 
 chaplet of orange flowers on her brow, and weeping as 
 though inconsolably ; and there was a grim, mischievous 
 little face that nodded at me with a menacing expression, 
 as though to say, ' This is your work, Simon Yellowley ; ' 
 and then I saw her lay aside the veil and encircle herself 
 with a sad-colored garment, while her tears fell even faster 
 than before ; and then the little vixen from the window 
 exclaimed, ' Here 's more of it, Simon Yellowley.' Lord, 
 how I reproached myself, — I saw I was bringing her to the 
 grave ; yes, sir, there is no concealing it. I felt she loved 
 me. I arose and put on my dressing-gown ; my mind was 
 made up. I slipped noiselessly up the cabin-stairs, and with 
 much difficulty made my way to that part of the ship in- 
 habited by the servants. I will not recount here the insolent 
 allusions I encountered, nor the rude jests and jibes of the 
 sailors when I asked for Mademoiselle Virginie ; nor was it 
 without trouble and considerable delay that I succeeded in 
 obtainincr an interview with her. 
 
260 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 *'' Mademoiselle,' said I, 'I kuow the levity of your 
 nation ; uo man is more conscious than I of — of the frailty 
 of your moral principles. Don't be angry, but hear me out. 
 You said a few minutes ago that I was a " dangerous man ; " 
 tell me now, sincerely, truthfully, and candidly,' — here I 
 put rather a heavy purse into her hands, — ' the exact mean- 
 ing you attached to these words. ' 
 
 " ' Ah, Monsieur,' said she, with a stage shudder, '■je suis 
 une panrre fille^ ne me perdez pas' 
 
 " I looked at the little wizened devil, and never felt 
 stronger in my virtue. 
 
 " 'Don't be afraid, Virginie, I'm an archbishop in prin- 
 ciples ; but I thought that when you said these words they 
 bore an allusion to another — ' 
 
 " ''Ah ! cest f(?,' said she, with perfect naivete, — ' so you 
 are, a dangerous man, a very dangerous man ; so much so, 
 indeed, that I shall use all my influence to persuade one, of 
 whom you are aware, to escape as quickly as may be from 
 the hazard of your fascinating society.' 
 
 " I repeat these words, Mr. Tramp, which may appear to 
 you now too flattering ; but the French language, in wliich 
 Virginie spoke, permits expressions even stronger than these, 
 as mere conventionalities. 
 
 " ' Don't do it,' said I, 'don't do it, Virginie.' 
 
 "'I must, and I will,' reiterated she; 'there's such a 
 change in my poor dear Lady Blanche since she met you ; I 
 never knew her give way to fits of laughing before, — she 's 
 so capricious and whimsical, — she was an angel formerly.' 
 
 " ' She is an angel still,' said I, with a frown, for I would 
 not suffer so much of aspersion against her. 
 
 " ' Sans donte,' chimed in Virginie, with a shrug of her 
 shoulders, ' we are all angels, after a fashion ; ' and I en- 
 deavored to smile a concurrence with this sentiment, in 
 which I only half assented. 
 
 "By wonderful skill and cross-questioning, I at last ob- 
 tained the following information : Lady Blanche was on a 
 voyage of health, intending to visit the remarkable places 
 in the Mediterranean, and then winter at some chosen spot 
 upon its shores. Why she journeyed thus unprotected, was 
 a secret there was no fathoming by indirect inquiry, and 
 any other would have been an act of indelicacy. 
 
 i 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 261 
 
 " ' We will pass the winter at Naples, or Palermo, or Jeru- 
 salem, or some other watering-place,' said Virginie, for her 
 geography was, after all, only a lady's-maid's accomplishment. 
 
 " 'You must persuade her to visit Egypt, Virginia,' said 
 I, — ' Egypt, Virginie, — the land of the Pyramids. Induce 
 her to do this, and to behold the wonders of the strangest 
 country in the universe. Even now,' said I, ' Arab life — ' 
 
 " 'Ah, oui. I have seen the Arabs at the Vaudeville; 
 they have magnificent beards.' 
 
 " ' The handsomest men in the world.' 
 
 " '■Pas mal^' said she, with a sententious nod there's no 
 converting into words. 
 
 " ' Well, Virginie, think of Cairo, think of Bagdad. You 
 have read the Arabian Nights — have n't you? ' 
 
 " ' Yes,' said she, with a yawn, ' they are passees ; now, 
 what would you have us do in this droll old place ? ' 
 
 "'I would have you to visit Mehemet Ali, and be re 
 ceived at his court ! ' — for I saw at once the class of 
 fascination she would yield to. ' Drink sherbet, eat sweet- 
 meats, receive presents, magnificent presents, cashmeres, 
 diamond bracelets. Ah ! think of that.' 
 
 "'Ah! there is something in what you say,' said she, 
 after a pause ; ' but we have not come prepared for such an 
 expensive journey. I am purse-bearer, for Lady Blanche 
 knows nothing about expense, and we shall not receive re- 
 mittances until we settle somewhere for the winter.' 
 
 "These words made my heart leap; in five minutes more 
 I explained to Virginie that I was provided with a free 
 transit through the East, in whicli, by her aid, her mistress 
 might participate, without ever knowing it. ' You have only 
 to pretend, Virginie, that Egypt is so cheap ; tell her a camel 
 only costs a penny a league, and that one is actually paid for 
 crossing the Great Desert ; you can hint that old Mehemet 
 wants to bring the thing into fashion, and that he would give 
 his beard to see English ladies travelling that route.' 
 
 " ' I knew it well,' said Virginie, with a malicious smile, — 
 * I knew it well ; you are " a dangerous man." ' 
 
 " All the obstacles and impediments she could suggest, 
 I answered with much skill and address, not unaided, I own, 
 by certain potent persuasives, in the shape of bank paper, — 
 
262 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 she was a most mercenary little devil ; and as day was 
 breaking, Virginia had fully agreed in all my plans, and 
 determined that her mistress should go beyond ' the second 
 cataract,' if I wished it. I need not say that she fully 
 understood my motives ; she was a Frenchwoman, Mr. 
 Tramp ; the Russian loves train oil, the Yankee prefers 
 whittling, but a Frenchwoman, without an intrigue of her 
 own, or some one's else, on hand, is the most miserable 
 object in existence. 
 
 " 'I see where it all will end,' cried she, as I turned to 
 leave her ; ' I see it already. Before six weeks are over, 
 you will not ask my aid to influence my misti-ess.' 
 
 "'Do you think so, Virginie?' said I, grasping at the 
 suggestion. 
 
 " ' Of course I do,' said she, with a look of undisguised 
 truth ; ' a/i, que voiis etes un homme dangereux ! ' 
 
 "It is a strange thing, Mr. Tramp, but I felt that title 
 a prouder one than if I had been called the Governor of 
 Bombay. Varied and numerous as the incidents of my life 
 had been, I never knew till then that I was a dangerous 
 man ; nor, indeed, do I believe that, in the previous consti- 
 tution of my mind, I should have relished the epithet ; but 
 I hugged it now as the symbol of my happiness. The whole 
 of the following day was spent by me in company with 
 Lady Blanche. I expatiated on the glories of the East, and 
 discussed everybody who had been there, from Abraham 
 down to Abercromby. What a multiplicity of learning, 
 sacred and profane, did I not pour forth, — I perfectly 
 astounded her with the extent of my information, for, as I 
 told you before, I was strong on Egypt, filling up every 
 interstice with a quotation from Byron, or a bit of Lalla 
 Rookh, or a stray verse from the Palm Leaves, which I 
 invariably introduced as a little thing of my own ; then I 
 quoted Herodotus, Denon, and Lamartine, without end — 
 till before the dinner was served, I had given her such a 
 journey in mere description, that she said with a sigh, — 
 
 " ' Reall}', Mr. Yellowley, you have been so eloquent that 
 I actually feel as much fatigued as if I had spent a day on 
 a camel.' 
 
 " I gave her a grateful look, Mr. Tramp, and she smiled 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 263 
 
 in return ; from that hour, sir, we understood each other. I 
 pursued my Egyptian studies nearly the entire of that night, 
 and the next day came on deck, with four chapters of Irby 
 and Mangles off by heart. My head swam round with ideas 
 of things Oriental, — patriarchs and pyramids, Turks, drago- 
 mans, catacombs, and crocodiles, danced an infernal quad- 
 rille in my excited brain, and I convulsed the whole cabin at 
 breakfast, by replying to the captain's offer of some tea, 
 with a profound salaam, and an exclamation of ' Bish 
 'millah, allah il allah.'' 
 
 " ' You have infatuated me with your love of the East, 
 Mr. Yellowley,' said Lady Blanche, one morning, as she met 
 me. ' I have been thinking over poor Princess Shezarade 
 and Noureddin, and the little tailor of Bagdad, and the 
 wicked Cadi, and all the rest of them.' 
 
 " ' Have I,' cried I, joyfully ; ' have I indeed ! ' 
 
 ** ' I feel I must see the Pyramids,' said she. ' I cannot 
 resist an impulse on which my thoughts are concentrated, 
 and yours be all the blame of this wilful exploit.' 
 
 "'Yes,' said I. 
 
 " ' 'T is hard at some appointed place 
 
 To check your course and turn your prow, 
 And objects for themselves retrace 
 You past with added hope just now.' 
 
 ** ' Yours,' said she, smilingly. 
 
 *' ' A poor thing,' said I, ' I did for one of the Keepsakes.' 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Tramp, it is very hard to distinguish one's own 
 little verse from the minor poets. All my life I have been 
 under the delusion that I wrote ' O'Connor's Child,' and the 
 ' Battle of the Baltic ; ' and, now I think of it, those lines 
 are Monckton Milnes's. 
 
 " We reached Alexandria a few days after, and at once 
 joined the great concourse of passengers bound for the East. 
 
 " I perceive you are looking at your watch, Mr. Tramp." 
 
 " I must indeed ask your pardon. I sail for Calais at the 
 next ebb." 
 
 " I shall not be tedious now, sir. We began ' the over- 
 land,' — the angel travelling as Lady Blanche Yellowley, to 
 avoid any possible inquiry or impertinence from the official 
 
264 TALES OF TUE TRAINS. 
 
 people. This was arrauged between Virginie and myself, 
 without her knowledge. Then, indeed, began my Arabian 
 nights. Ah, Mr. Tramp, you never can know the happiness 
 enjoyed by him who, travelling for fourteen long hours 
 over the hot sand, and beneath the scorching sun of the 
 desert, comes at last to stretch his wearied limbs upon his 
 carpet at evening, and gazes on celestial beauty as he sips 
 his mocha. Mahomet had a strong case, depend upon it, 
 when he furnished his paradise with a houri and a hubble- 
 bubble ; and such nights were these, as we sat and chatted 
 over the once glories of that great land, while in the lone 
 klian of the desert would be heard the silvery sounds of a 
 fair woman's voice, as she sung some little barcarole, or 
 light Venetian canzonette. Ah, Mr. Tramp, do you wonder 
 if I loved — do you wonder if I confessed my love ? I did 
 both, sir, — ay, sir, both. 
 
 " I told her my heart's secret in an impassioned moment, 
 and, with the enthusiasm of ti'ue affection, explained my 
 position and my passion. 
 
 " ' I am your slave,' said I, with trembling adoration, — 
 '•your slave, and the Secretary at Santancantantarabad. 
 You own my heart. / possess nothing but a Government 
 situation and three thousand per annum. I shall never 
 cease to love you, and my widow must have a pension from 
 the Company.' 
 
 " She covered her face with her handkerchief as I spoke, 
 and her sobs — they must have been sobs — actually pene- 
 trated my bosom. 
 
 " ' You must speak of this no more, dear Mr. Yellowley,* 
 said she, wiping her eyes ; ' you really must not, at least 
 until I arrive at Calcutta.' 
 
 " ' So you consent to go that far,' cried I, in ecstasy. 
 
 " She seemed somewhat confused at her own confession, 
 for she blushed and turned away ; then said, in a voice of 
 some hesitation, — 
 
 " ' Will you compel me to relinquish the charm of your too 
 agreeable society, or will you make me the promise I ask ? ' 
 
 "' Anything — everything,' exclaimed I; and from that 
 hour, Mr. Tramp, I only looked my love, at least, save when 
 sighs and interjections contributed their insignificant aid» 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 
 
 265 
 
 I gave no expression to my cousuming flame. Not the less 
 progress, perhaps, did I make for that. You can educate a 
 feature, sir, to do the work of four, — I 
 could after a week or ten days look 
 fifty different things, and she knew 
 them, — ay, that she did, as though 
 it were a book open before her. 
 
 " I could have strained my eyes 
 to see through the canvas of a tent, 
 Mr. Tramp, if she were inside of it. 
 And she, had you but seen her looks ! 
 what archness and what softness, — 
 how piquant, yet bow play- 
 ful, — what witchcraft and 
 what simplicity ! I must 
 hasten on. We 
 arrived 
 within a 
 
 --3-^^^^^^^^ 
 
 day of our journey's end.' The next morning showed us 
 the tall outline of Fort William against the sky. The hour 
 
266 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 was approaching in which I might declare my love, and de- 
 clare it with some hope of a return ! " 
 
 <'Mr. Tramp," said a waiter, hurriedly, interrupting Mr. 
 Yellowley at this crisis of his tale, " Captain Smithet, of 
 the ' Hornet,' says he has the steam up and will start in ten 
 minutes." 
 
 "Bless my heart," cried I; " this is a hasty summons;" 
 while snatching up my light travelling portmanteau, I threw 
 my cloak over my shoulders at once. 
 
 " You'll not go before I conclude my story," cried Mr. 
 Yellowley, with a voice of indignant displeasure. 
 
 "I regret it deeply, sir," said I, "from my very heart; 
 but I am the bearer of government despatches for Vienna ; 
 they are of the greatest consequence, — delay would be a 
 ruinous matter." 
 
 "I'll go down with you to the quay," cried Yellowley, 
 seizing my arm ; and we turned into the street together. It 
 was still blowing a gale of wind, and a heavy sleet was 
 drifting in our faces, so that he was compelled to raise his 
 voice to a shout, to become audible. 
 
 " ' We are near Calcutta, dearest Lady Blanche,' said I ; 
 ' in a moment more we shall be no longer bound by your 
 pledge' — do you hear me, Mr. Tramp?" 
 
 " Perfectly; but let us push along faster." 
 
 " She was in tears, sir, — weeping. She is mine, thought 
 I. What a night, to be sure! We drove into the grand 
 Cassawaddy ; and the door of our conveyance was wi'enched 
 open by a handsome-looking fellow, all gold and mous- 
 taches. 
 
 " ' Blanche — my dearest Blanche ! ' said he. 
 
 " ' My own Charles ! ' exclaimed she." 
 
 " Her brother, I suppose, Mr. Yellowley?" 
 
 " No, sir," screamed he, " her husband ! ! ! " 
 
 " The artful, deceitful, designing woman had a hus- 
 band ! " screamed Yellowley, above the storm and the 
 hurricane. "They had been married privately, Mr. Tramp, 
 the day b« sailed for India, and she only waited for the 
 next ' overland ' to follow him out ; and I, sir, the miserable 
 dupe, stood there, the witness of their joys. 
 
 " ' Don't forget this dear old creature, Charles,' said 
 
FAST ASLEEP AND WIDE AWAKE. 
 
 267 
 
 she : ' he was iuvaluaV)le to me on the journey ! ' But I 
 rushed from the spot, anguish-torn and almost desperate." 
 
 "Come quickly, sir; we must catch the ebb-tide," 
 cried a sailor, pushing me along towards the jetty as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " My misfortunes were rife," screamed Yellowley, in my 
 ear. "The Rajah to whose court I was appointed had 
 offended Lord EUenborough, and it was only the week be- 
 fore I arrived that his territory had been added to ' British 
 India,' as they call it, and the late ruler accommodated with 
 private apartments in Calcutta, and three hundred a year 
 for life ; so that I had nothing to do but come home again. 
 Good-bye, — good-bye, sir." 
 
 " Go on," cried the captain from the paddle-box ; and 
 away we splashed, in a manner far more picturesque to 
 those on land than pleasant to us on board, while high 
 above the howling wind and rattling cordage came Yellow- 
 ley's voice, — "Don't forget it, Mr. Tramp, don't forget it! 
 Asleep or awake, never trust them ! " 
 
Although the steam- 
 engine itself is more natu- 
 ralized amongst us than 
 with any other nation of 
 Europe, railroad travel- 
 , L- ling has unquestionably 
 «|4«7 outraged more of the 
 l/rT, ^ associations we once 
 cherished and were 
 proud of, than it 
 could possibly effect 
 in countries of less rural and picturesque beauty than 
 England. "La Belle France" is but a great cornfield, — 
 in winter a dreary waste of yellow soil, in autumn a 
 desert of dried stubble; Belgium is only a huge cabbage- 
 
THE ROAD VERSUS THE RAIL. 269 
 
 garden, — flat and fetid; Prussia, a sandy plain, dotted 
 with sentry-boxes. To traverse these, speed is the grand 
 requisite ; there is little to remark, less to admire. The 
 sole object is to push forward ; and when one remembers 
 the lumbering diligence and its eight buffaloes, the rail is 
 a glorious alternative. 
 
 In England, however, rural scenery is eminently character- 
 ized. The cottage of the peasant enshrined in honeysuckle, 
 the green glade, the rich and swelling champaign, the quaint 
 old avenues leading to some ancient hall, the dark glen, 
 the shining river, follow each other in endless succession, 
 suggesting so many memories of our people, and teeming 
 with such information of their habits, tastes, and feelings. 
 There was something distinctive, too, in that well-appointed 
 coach, with its four blood bays, tossing their heads with im- 
 patience, as they stood before the village inn, waiting for 
 the passengers to breakfast. I loved every jingle of the 
 brass housings ; the flap of the traces, and the bang of the 
 swingle-bar, were music to m}^ ears ; and what a character 
 was he who wrapped his great drab coat around his legs, 
 and gathered up the reins with that careless indolence that 
 seemed to say, "The beasts have no need of guidance, — 
 they know what they are about ! " The very leer of his 
 merry eye to the buxom figure within the bar was a novel 
 in three volumes ; and mark how lazily he takes the whip 
 from the fellow that stands on the wheel, proud of such a 
 service; and hear him, as he cries, " All right, Bill, let 'em 
 go ! " — and then mark the graceful curls of the long lash, 
 as it plays around the leaders' flanks, and makes the skittish 
 devils bound ere they are touched. And now we go career- 
 ing along the mountain-side, where the breeze is fresh and 
 the air bracing, with a wide-spread country all beneath us, 
 across which the shadows are moving like waves. Again, 
 we move along some narrow road, overhung with trees, rich 
 in perfumed blossoms, which fall in showers over us as we 
 pass ; the wheels are crushing the ripe apples as they lie 
 uncared for; and now we are in a deep glen, dark and 
 shady, where only a straggling sunbeam comes ; and see, 
 where the road opens, how the rabbits play, nor are scared 
 at our approach ! Ila, merry England ! there are sights and 
 
270 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 sounds about you to warm a man's heart, and make him 
 think of home. 
 
 It was but a few days since I was seated in one of the 
 cheap carriages of a southern line, when this theme was 
 brought forcibly to my mind by overhearing a dialogue be- 
 tween a wagoner and his wife. The man, in all the pride 
 and worldliness of his nature, would see but the advantages 
 of rapid transit, where the poor woman saw many a change 
 for the worse, — all the little incidents and adventures of a 
 pleasant journey being now superseded by the clock-work 
 precision of the rail, the hissing engine, and the lumbering 
 train. 
 
 Long after they had left the carriage, I continued to dwell 
 upon the words they had spoken ; and as I fell asleep, they 
 fashioned themselves into rude measure, which I remembered 
 on awaking, and have called it — 
 
 THE SOXG OF THE THIRD-CLASS TRAIN. 
 
 WAGONER. 
 
 Time was when with the dreary load 
 
 We slowly journeyed on, 
 And measured every mile of road 
 
 Until the day was gone ; 
 Along the worn and rutted way, 
 
 When morn was but a gleam, 
 And with the last faint glimpse of day 
 
 Still went the dreary team. 
 But no more now to earth we bow ! 
 
 Our insect life is past ; 
 With furnace gleam, and hissing steam. 
 
 Our speed is like the blast. 
 
 I mind it well, — I loved it too, 
 
 Full many a happy hour, 
 When o'er our heads the blossoms grew 
 
 That made the road a bower. 
 With song of birds, and pleasant sound 
 
 Of voices o'er the lea, 
 And perfume rising from the ground 
 
 Fresh turned bv labor free. 
 
THE ROAD VERSUS THE RAIL. 271 
 
 And wheu the night, star-lit and bright, 
 
 Closed in on all around, 
 Nestling to rest, ujjon my breast 
 
 My boy was sleeping sound. 
 His mouth was moved, as tho' it proved 
 
 That even in his dream 
 He grasped the whip — his tiny lip 
 
 Would try to guide the team. 
 
 Oh, were not these the days to please 1 
 
 Were we not happy so 1 
 The woman said. He hung his head, 
 
 And still he muttered low . 
 " But no more now to earth we bow, 
 
 Our iusect life is past ; 
 With furnace gleam, and hissing steam. 
 
 Our speed is like the blast." 
 
 " I wish I had a hundred pounds to argue the question 
 on either side," as Lord Plunkett said of a Chancery case ; 
 for if we have lost much of the romance of the road, as it 
 once existed, we have certainly gained something in the 
 strange and curious views of life presented by railroad trav- 
 elling ; and although there was more of poetry in the pas- 
 toral, the broad comedy of a journey is always amusing. 
 The caliph who once sat on the bridge of Bagdad, to observe 
 mankind, and choose his dinner-party from the passers-by, 
 would unquestionably have enjoyed a far wider scope for his 
 investigation, had he lived in our day, and taken out a sub- 
 scription ticket for the Great Western or the Grand Junction. 
 A peep into the several carriages of a train is like obtaining 
 a section of society ; for, like the view of a house, when 
 the front wall is removed, we can see the whole economy 
 of the dwelling, from the kitchen to the garret ; and while 
 the grand leveller, steam, is tugging all the same road, at 
 the same pace, subjecting the peer to every shock it gives 
 the peasant, individual peculiarities and class observances 
 relieve the uniformity of the scene, and aflford ample oppor- 
 tunity for him who would read while he runs. Short of 
 royalty, there is no one nowadays may not be met with 
 "' on the rail ; " and from the Duke to Daniel O'Connell — a 
 pretty long interval — your vis-a-vis may be any illustrious 
 character in politics, literature, or art. I intend, in some of 
 
272 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 these tales, to make mention of some of the most interesting 
 characters it has been my fortune to encounter ; meanwhile 
 let me make a note of the most singular railroad traveller of 
 whom I have ever heard, and to the knowledge of whom 
 I accidentally came when travelling abroad. The sketch I 
 shall call — 
 
 THE EARLY TRAIN TO VERSAILLES. 
 
 "Droll people one meets travelling, — strange charac- 
 ters ! " was the exclamation of my next neighbor in the Ver- 
 sailles train, as an oddly attired figure, with an enormous 
 beard, and a tall Polish cap, got out at Sevres ; and this, of 
 all the railroads in Europe, perhaps, presents the most motley 
 array of travellers. The " niilitaire," the shopkeeper, the 
 actor of a minor theatre, the economist Englishman resid- 
 ing at Versailles for cheapness, the " modiste," the news- 
 paper writer, are all to be met with, hastening to and from 
 this favorite resort of the Parisians ; and among a people so 
 communicative, and so well disposed to social intercourse, it 
 is rare that even in this short journey the conversation does 
 not take a character of amusement, if not of actual interest. 
 
 " The last time I went down in this train it was in com- 
 pany with M. Thiers ; and, I assure you, no one could be 
 more agreeable and affable," said one. 
 
 " Horace Vernet was my companion last week," remarked 
 another; "indeed I never guessed who it was, until a 
 chance observation of mine about one of his own pictures, 
 when he avowed his name." 
 
 " I had a more singular travelling-companion still," 
 exclaimed a third; "no less a personage than Aboul 
 Djerick, the Arab chief, whom the Marshal Bugeaud took 
 prisoner." 
 
 " il/a foi! gentlemen," said a dry old lady from the 
 corner of the carriage, " these were not very remarkable 
 characters, after all. I remember coming down here with — 
 what do you think? — for my fellow-traveller. Only guess. 
 But it is no use ; you would never hit upon it, — he was a 
 baboon ! " 
 
 " A baboon ! " exclaimed all the party, in a breath. 
 
THE ROAD VERSUS THE RAIL. 273 
 
 " Sacrehleu ! Madame, you must be jestiug." 
 
 "No, gentlemen, nothing of the kind. He was a tall 
 fellow, as big as M. le Capitaine yonder ; and he had a tail 
 — iiiou Dieu ! what a tail ! When the conductor showed him 
 into the carriage, it took nearly a minute to adjust that enor- 
 mous tail." 
 
 A very general roar of laughter met this speech, excited 
 probably more by the serious manner of the old lady as she 
 mentioned this occurrence than by anything even in the 
 event itself, though all were unquestionably astonished to 
 account for the incident. 
 
 " Was he quiet, Madame? " said one of the passengers. 
 
 " Perfectly so," replied she, — " blen jioU." 
 
 Another little outbreak of laughter at so singular a phrase, 
 with reference to the manners of an ape, disturbed the 
 party. 
 
 "He had probably made his escape from the Jardin des 
 Plantes," cried a thin old gentleman opposite. 
 
 '• No, Monsieur; he lived in the Rue St. Denis." 
 
 '■'• Diable!" exclaimed a lieutenant; "he was a good 
 citizen of Paris. Was he in the Garde Nationale, Madame ? " 
 
 " I am not sure," said the old lady, with a most provoking 
 coolness. 
 
 " And where was he going, may I ask? " cried another. 
 
 "To Versailles, Monsieur, — poor fellow, he wept very 
 bitterly." 
 
 " Detestable beast ! " exclaimed the old gentleman ; " they 
 make a horrid mockery of humanity." 
 
 " Ah ! very true, Monsieur; there is a strong resemblance 
 between the two species." There was an unlucky applica- 
 bility in this speech to the hook-nose, yellow-skinned, 
 wrinkled little fellow it was addressed to, that once more 
 brought a smile upon the party, 
 
 " Was there no one with him, then? Who took care of 
 him, Madame?" 
 
 " He was alone, Monsieur. The poor fellow was a 
 * garcon ; ' he told me so himself." 
 
 ' ' Told you so ! — the ape told you ! — the baboon said 
 that ! " exclaimed each in turn of the party, while an out- 
 burst of laughter filled the carriage. 
 
 VOL. II. — 18 
 
274 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 " 'Tis quite true, — just as I have the honor to tell you," 
 said the old lady, with the utmost gravity; "and although 
 I was as much surprised as you now are, when he first 
 addressed me, he was so well-mannered, spoke such good 
 French, and had so much agreeability that I forgot my 
 fears, and enjoyed his society very much." 
 
 It was not without a great effort that the party controlled 
 themselves sufficiently to hear the old lady's explanation. 
 The very truthfulness of her voice and accent added inde- 
 scribably to the absurdity ; for while she designated her 
 singular companion always as M. le Singe, she spoke of 
 him as if he had been a naturalized Frenchman, born to 
 enjoy all the inestimable privileges of "La Belle France." 
 Her story was this — but it is better, as far as may be, to 
 give it in her own words : — 
 
 " My husband, gentlemen, is greffier of the Correctional 
 Court of Paris ; and although obliged, during the session, to 
 be every day at the Tribunal, we reside at Versailles, for 
 cheapness, using the railroad to bring us to and from Paris. 
 Now, it chanced that I set out from Paris, where I had 
 spent the night at a friend's house, b}^ the early train, 
 which, you know, starts at five o'clock. Very few people 
 travel bj' that train ; indeed, I believe the only use of it is 
 to go down to Versailles to bring up people from thence. 
 It was a fine cheery morning- — cold, but bright — in the 
 month of March, as I took my place alone in one of the 
 carriages of the train. After the usual delay (they are 
 never prompt with this train), the word 'En route' was 
 given, and we started ; but before the pace was accelerated 
 to a rapid rate, the door was wrenched open by the ' con- 
 ducteur' — a large full-grown baboon, with his tail over his 
 arm, stepped in — the door closed, and away we went. 
 Ah ! gentlemen, I never shall forget that moment. The 
 beast sat opposite me, just like Monsieur there, with his old 
 parchment face, his round brown eyes, and his long-clawed 
 paws, which he clasped exactl}^ like a human being. Mon 
 Dleu ! what agony was mine ! I had seen these creatures in 
 the Jardin des Plantes, and knew them to be so vicious ; 
 but I thought the best thing to do was to cultivate the 
 monster's good graces, and so I put my hand in my reticule 
 
THE ROAD \^RSUS THE RAIL. 275 
 
 and drew forth a morsel of cake, which I presented to 
 him. 
 
 " ' Merci, Madame,' said be, with a polite bow, ' I am 
 not hungry.' 
 
 "Ah! when I heard him say this, I thought I should 
 have died. The beast spoke it as plain as I am speaking to 
 you ; and he bowed his yellow face, and made a gesture of 
 his hand, if I may call it a hand, just this way. Whether 
 he remarked my astonishment, or perceived that I looked 
 ill, I can't say ; but he observed in a very gentle tone, — 
 
 " ' Madame is fatigued.' 
 
 " " Ah ! Monsieur,' said I, ' I never knew that you spoke 
 French.' 
 
 " ' Out, parhleu!' said he, ' I was born in the Pyrenees, 
 and am only half a Spaniard.' 
 
 " ' Monsieur's father, then,' said I, ' was he a French- 
 man? * 
 
 '■'■'• Paul' re hete^ said he; 'he was from the Basque 
 Provinces. He was a wild fellow.' 
 
 "'I have no doubt of it,' said I; 'but it seems they 
 caught him at last' 
 
 *' 'You are right, Madame. Strange enough you should 
 have guessed it. He was taken in Estremadura, where he 
 joined a party of brigands. They knew my father by his 
 queue ; for, amid all his difficulties, nothing could induce 
 him to cut it off.' 
 
 "'I don't wonder,' said I; 'it would have been very 
 painful.' 
 
 " ' It would have made his heart bleed, Madame, to 
 touch a hair of it. He was proud of that old queue ; and 
 he might well be, — it was the best-looking tail in the North 
 of Spain.' 
 
 " ' Bless my heart,' thought I, ' these creatures have their 
 vanities too.' 
 
 " ' Ah, Madame, we had more freedom in those days. 
 My father used to tell me of the nights he has passed on 
 the mountains, under the shade, or sometimes in the 
 branches of the cork-trees, with pleasant companions, fellows 
 of his own stamp. AVe were not hunted down then, as we 
 are now ; there was liberty then.' 
 
276 TALES OF THE TKAINS. 
 
 " '"Well, for my part,' said I, 'I should not dislike the 
 Jardin des Plantes, if I was like one of you. It ain't so 
 bad to have one's meals at regular times, and a comfortable 
 bed, and a good dry house.' 
 
 " ' I don't know what you mean by the Jardin des Plantes. 
 I live in the Kue St. Denis, and I for one feel the chain 
 about my ankles, under this vile rey'ime we live in at 
 present.' 
 
 "He had managed to slip it off this time, anyhow; for 
 I saw the creature's legs were free. 
 
 " ' Ah, Madame,' exclaimed Le Singe, slapping his fore- 
 head with his paw, ' men are but rogues, cheats, and 
 swindlers.' 
 
 " ' Are apes better?' said I, modestly. 
 
 " ' I protest I think they are,' said he. 'Except a pro- 
 pensity to petty pilfering, they are honest beasts.' 
 
 " ' They are most affectionate,' said I, wishing to flatter 
 him ; but he took no notice of the observation. 
 
 " ' Madame,' exclaimed he, after a pause, and with a voice 
 of unusual energy, ' I was so near being caught in a trap this 
 very morning.' 
 
 " ' Dear me,' said I, ' and they laid a trap for you? ' 
 
 "'An infernal trap,' said he. 'A mistake might have 
 cost me my liberty for life. Do you know M. Laborde, the 
 director of the Gymnase? ' 
 
 " ' I have heard of him, but no more.' 
 
 " < What a " fripon " he is ! There is not such a scoundrel 
 living ; but I '11 have him yet. Let him not think to escape 
 me ! Pardon, Madame, does my tail inconvenience you?' 
 
 " ' Not at all. sir. Pray don't stir.' 
 
 "I must say that, in his excitement, the beast whisked 
 the appendage to and fro with his paw in a very furious 
 manner. 
 
 " ' Only conceive, Madame, I have passed the night in 
 the open air ; hunted, chased, pursued, — all on account 
 of the accursed M. Laborde. I that was reared in a 
 warm climate, brought up in every comfort, and habitu- 
 ated to the most tender care, — exposed, during six hours, 
 to the damp dews of a night in the Bois de Boulogne. 
 I know it will fall on my chest, or I shall have an attack 
 
THE ROAD VERSUS THE RAIL. 
 
 277 
 
 of rheumatism. Ah, mon Dieu! if I shouldn't be able 
 to climb and jump, it would be better for me to be 
 dead.* 
 
 " ' No, no,' said I, trying to soothe him, ' don't say that. 
 Here am I, very happy and contented, and could n't spring 
 
 over a street gutter if you gave me the Tuileries for doing 
 it.' 
 
 " ' What has that to say to it? ' cried he, fiercely. ' Our 
 instincts and pursuits are very different.' 
 
 "'Yes, thank God,' muttered I, below my breath, 'I 
 trust they are.' 
 
 " ' You live at Versailles,' said he, suddenly. 'Do you 
 happen to know Antoine Geoffroy, gretRer of the Tribunal? ' 
 
278 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 *' ' Yes, parhleu!' said I ; ' he is my husband.' 
 
 " ' Oh, Madame ! what good fortune ! He is the only man 
 in France can assist me. I want him to catch M. Laborde. 
 When can I see him ? ' 
 
 " ' He will be down in the ten o'clock train,' said I. ' You 
 can see him then, Rue du Petit Lait.' 
 
 " ' Ah, but where shall I lie concealed till then? If they 
 should overtake me and catch me, — if they found me out, I 
 should be ruined.' 
 
 " ' Come with me, then. I '11 hide you safe enough.' 
 
 "The beast fell on its knees, and kissed my hand like a 
 Christian, and muttered his gratitude till we reached the 
 station. 
 
 * ' Early as it was — only six o'clock — I confess I did not 
 half like the notion of taking the creature's arm, which he 
 offered me, as we got out; but I was so fearful of provok- 
 ing him, knowing their vindictive nature, that I assented 
 with as good a grace as I was able ; and away we went, he 
 holding his tail festooned over his wrist, and carrying my 
 carpet-bag in the other hand. So full was he of his anger 
 against M. Laborde, and his gratitude to me, that he could 
 talk of nothing else as we went along, nor did he pay the 
 slightest attention to the laughter and jesting our appear- 
 ance excited from the workmen who passed by. 
 
 " ' Madame has good taste in a cavalier,' cried one. 
 
 " ' There '11 be a reward for that fellow to-morrow or next 
 day,' cried another. 
 
 " 'Yes, yes, — he is the biggest in the whole Jardin des 
 Plantes,' said a third. 
 
 " Such were the pleasant commentaries that met my ears, 
 even at that quiet hour. 
 
 "When we reached the Rue du Petit Lait, however, a 
 very considerable crowd followed us, consisting of laborers 
 and people on their way to work ; and I assure you I re- 
 pented me sorely of the good nature that had exposed me to 
 such consequences ; for the mob pressed us closely, many 
 being curious to examine the creature near, and some even 
 going so far as to pat him with their hands, and take up the 
 tip of his tail in their fingers. The beast, however, with 
 Admirable tact, never spoke a word, but endured the an- 
 
THE ROAD VERSUS THE RAIL. 279 
 
 noyance without any signs of impatience, — hoping, of 
 course, that the house would soon screen him from their 
 \'iew; but only think of the bad luck. "When we arrived at 
 the door, we rung and rung, again and again, but no one 
 came. In fact, the servant, not expecting me home before 
 noon, had spent the night at a friend's house ; and there we 
 were, in the open street, with a crowd increasing every 
 moment around us. 
 
 '''What is to be done?' said I, in utter despair; but 
 before I had even uttered the words, the beast disengaged 
 himself from me, and, springing to the ' jalousies,' scrambled 
 his way up to the top of them. In a moment more he was 
 in the window of the second story, and then, again ascend- 
 ing in the same vfSLj, reached the third, the mob hailing him 
 with cries of ' Bravo, Singe ! — well done, ape ! — mind your 
 tail, old fellow! — that's it, monkey!' — and so on, until 
 with a bound he sprung in through an open window, and 
 then, popping out his head, and with a gesture of little 
 politeness, made by his outstretched fingers on his nose, he 
 cried out, ' Messieurs, j 'ai I'honneur de vous saluer.' 
 
 ' ' If every beast in the Jardin des Plantes, from the giraffe 
 down to the cliimpanzee, had spoken, the astonishment 
 could not have been more general ; at first the mob were 
 struck mute with amazement, but, after a moment, burst 
 forth into a roar of laughter. 
 
 " ' Ah ! I know that fellow, — I have paid twenty sous to 
 see him before now,' cried one. 
 
 " ' So have I,' said another ; ' and it 's rare fun to look at 
 him cracking nuts, and swinging himself on the branch of a 
 tree by his tail.' 
 
 " At this moment the door opened, and I slipped in with- 
 out hearing farther of the commentaries of the crowd. In a 
 little time the servant returned, and prepared the breakfast ; 
 and although, as you may suppose, I was very ignorant 
 what was exactly the kind of entertainment to set before my 
 guest, I got a great dish of apples and a plate of chestnuts, 
 and down we sat to our meal. 
 
 " ' That was a ring at the door, I think,' said he ; and as 
 he spoke, my husband entered the room. 
 
 "'Ah! you here?' cried he, addressing M. le Singe. 
 
280 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 * Parhleu ! there 's a pretty work in Paris about you, — it is 
 all over the city this morning that you are off.' 
 
 " ' And the Director? ' said the ape. 
 
 " ' The old bear, he is off too.' 
 
 " ' So, thought I to myself, — ' ' it would appear the other 
 beasts have made their escape too.' 
 
 "'Then, I suppose,' said the ape, 'there will be uo 
 catching him.' 
 
 " ' I fear not,' said my husband ; ' but if they do succeed 
 in overtaking the old fox, they '11 have the skin off him.' 
 
 " Cruel enough, thought I to myself, considering it was 
 the creature's iustinct. 
 
 " ' These, however, are the orders of the Court; and when 
 you have signed this one, I shall set off in pursuit of him at 
 once.' So said my husband, as he produced a roll of papers 
 from his pocket, which the ape perused with the greatest 
 avidity. 
 
 " ' He '11 be for crossing the water, I warrant.' 
 
 "'No doubt of it,' said my husband. 'France will be 
 too hot for him for a while.' 
 
 "'Poor beast,' said I, 'he'll be happier in his native 
 snows.' 
 
 " At this they both laughed heartily; and the ape signed 
 his name to the papers, and brushed the sand over them 
 with the tip of his tail. 
 
 " ' "We must get back to Paris at once,' said he, ' and in a 
 coach too, for I cannot have a mob after me again.' 
 
 "'Leave that to me,' said m}^ husband. 'I'll see you 
 safely home. Meanwhile let me lend you. a cloak and a 
 hat ; ' and, with these words, he dressed up the creature so 
 that when the collar was raised you would not have known 
 him from that gentleman opposite. 
 
 "'Adieu,' said he, 'Madame,' with a wave of his hand, 
 ^ ail revoir. I hope, if it would give you any pleasure to 
 witness our little performances — ' 
 
 " 'No, no,' said I, 'there's a small creature goes about 
 here, on an organ, in a three-cornered cocked-hat and a red 
 coat, and I can have him for half an hour for two sous.' 
 
 " ' Yotre serviteur, Madame,' said he, with an angry whisk 
 of his tail ; for although I did not intend it, the beast was 
 annoyed at my remark. 
 
THE ROAD VERSUS THE RAIL. 281 
 
 "Away they went, Messieurs, and from that hour to this 
 I never heard more of the creature, nor of his companions ; 
 for my husband makes it a rule never to converse on topics 
 relating to his business, — and it seems he was, somehow or 
 other, mixed up in the transaction." 
 
 " But, Madame," cried one of the passengers, "you don't 
 mean to palm this fable on us for reality, and make us 
 believe something more absurd than ^sop himself ever 
 invented ? " 
 
 "If it be only an impertinent allegory," said the old 
 gentleman opposite, " I must say, it is in the worst possible 
 taste." 
 
 " Or if," said a little white-faced fat man, with spectacles, 
 — "or if it be a covert attack upon the National Guard of 
 Paris, as the corporal of the 95th legion, of the 37th arron- 
 dissement, I repel the insinuation with contempt." 
 
 " Heaven forbid, gentlemen! The facts I have narrated 
 are strictly true ; my husband can confirm them in every 
 particular, and I have only to regret that anj' trait in the 
 ape's character should suggest uncomfortable recollections 
 to yourselves." 
 
 The train had now reached its destination, and the old 
 lady got out, amid the maledictions of some, and the stifled 
 laughter of others of the passengers, — for only one or two 
 had shrewdness enough to perceive that she was one of 
 those good credulous souls who implicitly believed all she 
 had narrated, and whose judgment having been shaken by 
 the miraculous power of a railroad which converted the 
 journey of a day into the trip of an hour, could reall}' have 
 swallowed any other amount of the apparently impossible 
 it might be her fortune to meet with. 
 
 For the benefit of those who may not be as easy of belief 
 as the good Madame Geoffroy, let me add one word as the 
 solution of this mystery. The ape was no other than M. 
 Gouffe, who, being engaged to perform as a monkey in 
 the afterpiece of " La Perouse," was actually cracking nuts 
 in a tree, when he learned from a conversation in " the 
 flats," that the director, M. Laboi'de, had just made his 
 escape with all the funds of the theatre, and six months of 
 M. Gouffe's own salary. Several police-oflicers had already 
 
282 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 gained access to the back of the stage, and were arresting 
 the actors as they retired. Poor Jocko had nothing for it, 
 then, but to put his agility to the test, and, having climbed 
 to the top of the tree, he scrambled in succession over the 
 heads of several scenes, till he reached the back of the 
 stage, where, watching his opportunity, he descended in 
 safety, rushed down the stairs, and gained the street. By 
 immense exertions he arrived at the Bois de Boulogne, 
 where he lay concealed until the starting of the early train 
 for Versailles. The remainder of his adventure the reader 
 already knows. 
 
 Satisfactory as this explanation may be to some, I confess 
 I should be sorry to make it, if 1 thought it would reach 
 the eyes or ears of poor Madame Geoffroy, and thus dis- 
 abuse her of a pleasant illusion, and the harmless gratifica- 
 tion of recounting her story to others as unsuspecting as 
 herself. 
 
THE TUNNEL OF TRUBAU. 
 
 MR. BLAKE IN BELGIUM. 
 
 have not more 
 prejudices and superstitions 
 than railroad travellers. All the preferences for the winning 
 places, the lucky pack, the shuffling cut, &c., have their 
 representatives among the prevailing notions of those who 
 "fly by steam." 
 
 " I always sit with my back to the engine," cries one. 
 
 " I always travel as far from the engine as possible," ex- 
 claims another. 
 
 ^'■1 never trust myself behind the luggage train," adds a 
 third. 
 
 "There's notliing like a middle place," whispers a fourth : 
 and so on they go ; as if, when a collision does come, and 
 the clanking monster has taken an erratic fit, and eschews 
 the beaten path, any precautions or preferences availed in 
 
284 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 the slightest degree, or that it signified a snort of the steam, 
 whether you were flattened into a pancake, or blown up in 
 the shape of a human soujie. "The Rail" is no Whig 
 politician, no " bit-b3'-bit " reformer. When a smash hap- 
 pens, . skulls are as fragile as saucers, and bones as 
 brittle as Bohemian glass. The old ' ' fast coach " never 
 killed any one but the timid gentleman that jumped oflf. 
 To be sure, it always dislocated the coachman's shoulder ; 
 but then, from old habit of being shot out, the bone rolled 
 in again, like a game of cup and ball. The insides and out 
 scraped each other, swore fearful intentions against the 
 proprietors, and some ugly fellow took his action of 
 damages for the loss his prospects sustained by disfigure- 
 ment. This was the whole extent of the mishap. Not so 
 now, when four hundred souls are dashed frantically together 
 and pelt heads at each other as people throw bo7ibons at a 
 carnival. 
 
 Steam has invented something besides fast travelling; 
 and if it has supplied a new method of getting through the 
 world, it has also suggested about twenty new ways of going 
 out of it. Now, it 's the old story of the down train and the 
 up, both bent on keeping the same line of rails, and coura- 
 geously resolving to see which is the " better man," a point 
 which must always remain questionable, as the umpires never 
 sui'vive. Again, it is the engine itself, that, sick of straight 
 lines, catches a fancy for the waving ones of beauty, and 
 sets out, full speed, over a fine grass country, taking the 
 fences as coolly as Allan M'Donough himself, and caring 
 just as little for what "comes behind:" these incidents 
 being occasionally varied by the train taking the sea or 
 taking fire, either of which has its own inconveniences, more 
 likely to be imagined than described. 
 
 I remember once hearing this subject fully discussed in a 
 railroad carriage, where certainly the individuals seemed 
 amateurs in accidents, every man having some story to relate 
 or some adventure to recount, of the grievous dangers of 
 "The Rail." I could not help questioning to myself the 
 policy of such revelations, so long as we journeyed within the 
 range of similar calamities; but somehow self-tormenting 
 is a very human practice, and we all indulged in it to the 
 
THE TUNNEL OF TRUBAU. 285 
 
 utmost. The narratives themselves had their chief interest 
 from some peculiarity in the mode of telling, or in the look 
 and manner of the recounter ; all save one, which reall}^ had 
 features of horror all its own, and which were cousiderablj' 
 heightened by the simple but powerful style of him who told 
 it. I feel how totally incapable 1 am of conveying even the 
 most distant imitation of his manner ; but the story, albeit 
 neither complicated nor involved, I must repeat, were it 
 only as a reminiscence of a most agreeable fellow-traveller, 
 Count Hemi de Beulixitz, the Saxon envoy at Vienna. 
 
 THE TUNNEL OF TRUBAU. 
 
 " I was," says the Count — for so far I must imitate him, 
 and speak in the first person — "I was appointed special 
 envoy to the Austrian court about a year and a half since, 
 under circumstances which required the utmost despatch, 
 and was obliged to set out the very day after receiving my 
 appointment. The new line of railroad from Dresden to 
 Vienna was only in progress, but a little below Prague the 
 line was open, and by travelling thither en poste^ I should 
 reach the Austrian capital without loss of time. This I 
 resolved on ; and by the forenoon of the day after, arrived 
 at Triibau, where I placed my carriage on a truck, and com- 
 fortably composed myself to rest, under the impression that 
 I need never stir till within the walls of Vienna. 
 
 "If you have ever travelled in this part of Europe, I 
 need not remind you of the sad change of prospect which 
 ensues after you pass the Bohemian frontier. Saxony, rich 
 in picturesque beauty; the valley of the Elbe, in many 
 respects finer than the Rhine itself; the proud summit of 
 the Bastey ; the rock-crowned fortress of Koenigstein, — are 
 all succeeded by monotonous tracts of dark forest, or still 
 more dreary plains, disfigured, not enlivened by villages of 
 wretched hovels, poor, I have heard, as the dwellings of the 
 Irish peasant. What a contrast, too ! the people, the hag- 
 gard faces and sallow cheeks of the swarthy Bohemian, with 
 the blue eye and ruddy looks of the Saxon ! ' Das Sachsen- 
 land wo die hubsche mitdchen auf die Ballme wachsen.' 
 Proud as I felt at the superiority of my native country, I 
 
286 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 could not resist the depression, suggested by the mouotouy 
 of the scene before me, its dull uniformity, its hopeless 
 poverty ; and as I sunk into a sleep, my dreams took the 
 gloomy aspect of my waking thoughts, gloomier, perhaps, 
 because unrelieved by all effort of volition, — a dark river 
 uurufHed by a siugle breeze. 
 
 '' The perpetual bang ! bang ! of the piston has, in its reite- 
 rated stroke, somethiug diabolically terrible. It beats upon 
 the heart with an impression irresistibly solemn ! I remem- 
 ber how in my dreams the accessories of the train kept 
 flitting round me, and I thought the measured sounds were 
 the clickings of some infernal clock, which meted out time 
 to legions of devils. I fancied them capering to and fro 
 amid flame and smoke, with shrieks, screams, and wild 
 gestures. My brain grew hot with excitement. I essayed 
 to awake, but the very rocking of the train steeped my 
 faculties in a lethargy. At last, by a tremendous effort, I 
 cried out aloud, and the words broke the spell, and I awoke 
 — dare I call it awaking? I rubbed my eyes, pinched my 
 arms, stamped with my feet ; alas I it was too true ! — the 
 reality announced itself to ray senses. I was there, seated 
 in my carriage, amid a darkness blacker than the blackest 
 night. A low rumbling sound, as of far-distant thunder, 
 had succeeded to the louder bang of the engine. A dread- 
 ful suspicion flashed on me, — it grew stronger with 
 each second; and, ere a minute more, I saw what had 
 happened. The truck on which my carriage was placed 
 had by some accident become detached from the train ; 
 and while the other portion of the train proceeded on its 
 way, there was I, alone, deserted, and forgotten, in the 
 dark tunnel of Trtibau, — for such I at once guessed must be 
 the dreary vault, uuillumiued by one ray of light or the 
 glimmering of a single lamp. Convictions, when the work 
 of instinct rather than reflection, have a stunning effect, 
 that seems to arrest all thought, and produce a very stagna- 
 tion of the faculties. Mine were in this state. As when, 
 in the shock of battle, some terrible explosion, dealing 
 death to thousands at once, will appall the contending hosts, 
 and make men aghast with horror, so did my ideas become 
 fixed and rooted to one horrible object ; and for some time 
 I could neither think of the event nor calculate on its con- 
 
THE TUNNEL OF TRUBAU. 287 
 
 sequences, Happy for me if the stupefactiou continued ! 
 No sooner, however, had my presence of mind returned, 
 than I began to anticipate every possible fatality that might 
 occur. Death I knew it must be, and what a death ! — to 
 be run down by the train for Prague, or smashed by the 
 advancing one from Olmutz. How near my fate might be, 
 I could not guess. I neither knew how long it was since I 
 entered the tunnel, nor at what hours the other trains 
 started. They might be far distant, or they might be near 
 at hand. Near ! — what was space when such terrible power 
 existed ? — a league was the work of minutes — at that very 
 moment the furious engine might be rushing on ! I thought 
 of the stoker stirring the red fire. I fancied I saw the smoke 
 roll forth, thicker and blacker, as the heat increased, and 
 through my ears went the thugging bang of the piston, 
 quicker and quicker ; and I screamed aloud in my agony, 
 and called out to them to stop ! I must have swooned, for 
 when consciousness again came to me, I was still amid the 
 silence and darkness of the tunnel. I listened, and oh ! 
 with what terrible intensity the human ear can strain its 
 powers when the sounds awaited are to announce life or 
 death ! The criminal in the dock, whose eyes are riveted 
 in a glazy firmness on him who shall speak his doom, drinks 
 in the words ere they are well uttered, — each syllable falls 
 upon his heart as fatal to hope as is the headsman's axe to 
 life. The accents are not human sounds ; it is the trumpet 
 of eternity that fills his ears, and rings within his brain, — the 
 loud blast of the summoning angel calling him to judgment. 
 
 " Terrible as the thunder of coming destruction is, there 
 is yet a sense more fearfully appalling in the unbroken 
 silence of the tomb, — the stillness of death without its 
 lethargy ! Dreadful moment ! — what fearful images it can 
 call up ! — what pictures it can present before the mind ! — 
 how fearfully reality may be blended with the fitful forms 
 of fancy, and fact be associated even with the imjwssible ! 
 
 " I tried to persuade myself that the bounds of life were 
 already past, and that no dreadful interval of torture was 
 yet before me; but this consolation, miserable though it 
 was, yielded as I touched the side of the carriage, and felt 
 the objects I so well knew. No ; it was evident the dreaded 
 
288 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 moment was yet to come, — the shocking ordeal was still to 
 be passed ; and before I should sink into the sleep that 
 knows not waking, there must be endured the torture of a 
 death-struggle, or, mayhap, the lingering agony of pro- 
 tracted suffering. 
 
 " As if in a terrible compensation for the shortness of 
 my time on earth, minutes were dragged out to the space of 
 years, — amid the terrors of the present, I thought of the 
 past and the future. The past, with its varied fortune of 
 good and ill, of joy and sorrow, — how did I review it now ! 
 With what scrutiny did I pry into my actions, and call upon 
 myself to appear at the bar of my conscience ! Had my 
 present mission to Vienna contained anything Machiavelic in 
 its nature, I should have trembled with the superstitious 
 terror that my misfortune was a judgment of Heaven. But 
 no. It was a mere commonplace negotiation, of which time 
 was the only requisite. Even this, poor as it was, had some 
 consolation in it, — I should, at least, meet death without 
 the horror of its being a punishment. 
 
 " I had often shuddered at the fearful narratives of people 
 buried alive in a trance, or walled up within the cell of a 
 convent. How willingly would I now have grasped at such 
 an alternative ! Such a fate would steal over without the 
 terrible moment of actual suffering, — the crash and the 
 death struggle ! I fancied a thousand alleviating circum- 
 stances in the dreamy lethargy of gradual dissolution. 
 Then came the thought — and how strange that such a 
 thought should obtrude at such a time ! — what will be said 
 of me hereafter? — how will the newspapers relate the 
 occurrence? "Will they speculate on the agony of my an- 
 ticipated doom ? — will they expatiate on all that I am now 
 actually enduring? What will the passengers in the train 
 say, when the collision shall have taken place? Will there 
 be enough of me left to make investigation easy? How 
 
 poor G will regret me ! and I am sure he will never be 
 
 seen in public till he has invented a hon ^mof on my destiny. 
 
 " Again, I recurred to the idea of culpability, and asked 
 myself whether there might not be some contravention of the 
 intentions of Providence by this newly invented power of 
 steam, which thus involved me in a fate so dreadful? What 
 
THE TUNNEL OF TRUBAU. 289 
 
 right bad man to arrogate to himself a prerogative of motion 
 his own physical powers denied him ; and why did he dare 
 to penetrate into the very bowels of the earth, when his in- 
 stinct clearly pointed to avocations on the surface? These 
 reflections were speedily routed ; for now, a low, rumbling 
 sound, such as I have heard described as the premonitory 
 sign of a coming earthquake, filled the tunnel. It grew 
 louder and louder ; and whether it were the sudden change 
 from the dread stillness, or that, in reality, it were so, it 
 sounded like the booming of the sea within some gigantic 
 cavern. I listened anxiously, and oh, terrible thought ! now 
 I could hear the heavy thug ! thug ! of the piston. It was 
 a train I 
 
 " A train coming towards me ! Every sob of the straining 
 engine sent a death-pang through me ; the wild roar of a 
 lion could not convey more terror to my heart ! I thought 
 of leaving the carriage, and clinging to the side of the tun- 
 nel ; but there was only one line of rails, and the space 
 barely permitted the train to pass ! It was now too late for 
 any effort ; the thundering clamor of the engine swelled like 
 the report of heavy artillery, and then a red hazy light 
 gleamed amid the darkness, as though an eye of fire was 
 looking into my very soul. It grew into a ghastly bright- 
 ness, and I thought its flame could almost scorch me. It 
 came nearer and nearer. The dark figures of the drivers 
 passed and re-passed behind it. I screamed and yelled in 
 ray agony, and in the frenzy of the moment drew a pistol 
 from my pocket, and fired, — why, or in what direction, I 
 know not. A shrill scream shot through the gloom. Was 
 it a death-cry? I could not tell, for I had fainted. 
 
 "The remainder is easily told. Tlie train had, on dis- 
 covering my being left behind, sent back an engine to fetch 
 me ; but from a mistake of the driver, who was given to 
 suppose that I had not entered the tunnel, he had kept the 
 engine at half speed, and without the happy accident of the 
 pistol and the flash of the powder, I should inevitably have 
 been run down ; for, even as it was, the collision drove my 
 carriage about fifty yards backwards, an incident of which, 
 happily, I neither was constjious at the time, nor suffered 
 from afterwards." 
 
 VOL. II. — 19 
 
290 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 " That comes of travelling on a foreign railroad!" mut- 
 tered a ruddy-faced old gentleman in drab shorts. " Those 
 fellows have no more notion of how to manage an engine — " 
 
 " Than the Pope has of the polka," chimed in a very Irish 
 accent from the corner of the carriage. 
 
 "Very true, sir," rejoined the former. "English is the 
 only language to speak to the boiler. The moment they try 
 it on with French or German, something goes wrong. You 
 saw how they roasted the people at Versailles, and — " 
 
 "Ah! the devil a bit they know about it at all," inter- 
 posed the Emeralder. " The water is never more than luke- 
 warm, and there "s more smoke out of the chap's pipe that 
 stands in front than out of the funnel. They 've generally 
 an engine at each end, and it takes twenty minutes at every 
 station to decide which way they '11 go, — one wanting this 
 way, and the other that." 
 
 "Is it not better in Belgium? " asked I. 
 
 " Belgium, is it? — bad luck to it for Belgium : I ought to 
 know something of how they manage. There is n't a word 
 of truth among them. Were you ever at Antwerp?" 
 
 "Yes; I have passed through it several times." 
 
 "Well, how long does it take to go from Antwerp to 
 Brussels ? " 
 
 " Something more than an hour, if I remember aright." 
 
 " Something more! — on my conscience I think it does. 
 See now, it's four days and a half travelling the same 
 journey." 
 
 A burst of laughter irrepressible met this speech, for 
 scarcely any one of the party had not had personal experi- 
 ence of the short distance alluded to. 
 
 "You may laugh as much as you please, — you're wel- 
 come to your fun ; but I went the road myself, and I 'd like 
 to see which of you would say I did n't." 
 
 There was no mistaking the tone nor the intention of the 
 speech ; it was said without any elevation of voice or any 
 bravado of manner, but with the quiet, easy determination 
 of a man who only asked reasonable grounds for an oppor- 
 tunity to blow some other gentleman's brains out. Some 
 disclaimed all idea of a contradiction, others apologized for 
 the mirth at the great disparity of the two statements, — one 
 alleging an hour for what another said four days were re- 
 
THE TUNNEL OF TRUBAU. 291 
 
 quired; while I, anxious to learu the Irishman's explana- 
 tion, timidly hinted a desire to hear more of his travelling 
 experiences. 
 
 He acceded to my wish with as much readiness as he 
 would probably have done had I made overtures of battle, 
 and narrated the following short incident, which, for mem- 
 ory's sake, I have called 
 
 "MR. BLAKE IN BELGIUM." 
 
 " I was persuaded," quoth Mr. Blake, — " I was persuaded 
 by my wife that we ought to go and live abroad for economy, 
 — that there would be no end to the saving we 'd make by 
 leaving our house in Galway, and taking up our residence 
 in France or Belgium. Fu-st, we 'd let the place for at least 
 six hundred a year, — the garden and orchard we set down 
 for one hundred ; then we 'd send away all the lazy ' old 
 hangers on,' as my wife called them, such as the gate- 
 keepers and gardeners and stable boys. These, her sister 
 told her, were ' eating us up ' entu-ely ; and her sister was a 
 clever one too, — a widow woman that had lived in every 
 part of the globe, and knew all the scandal of every capital 
 in Europe, on less than four hundred a year. She told my 
 wife that Ireland was the lowest place at all ; nobody would 
 think of bringing up their family there ; no education, no 
 manners, and, worst of all, no men that could afford to 
 marry. This was a home-stroke, for we had five grown-up 
 gMs. 
 
 "'My dear,' said she, 'you'll live like the Duchess of 
 Sutherland, abroad, for eight hundred a year ; you '11 have 
 a beautiful house, see company, keep your carriage and 
 saddle horses, and drink Champagne every day of the week, 
 like small beer ; then velvets and lace are to be had for a 
 song ; the housemaids wear nothing but silk ; ' in fact, from 
 my wife down to little Joe, that heard sugar candy was only 
 a penny an ounce, we were all persuaded there was nothing 
 like going abroad for economy. 
 
 "Mrs. Fitzmaurioe — that was my sister-in-law's name 
 — explained to us how there was nothing so expensive as 
 Ireland. 
 
 " ' 'T is not, my dear,' said she, ' that things are not 
 
292 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 cheap; but that's the reason it's ruinous to live here. 
 There 's old Molly the cook uses more meat in a day than 
 would feed a foreign family for a month. If you want a 
 beefsteak, you must kill a heifer. Now abroad you just get 
 the joint you want, to the very size you wish, — no bone, if 
 you don't ask for it. And look at the waste. In the stables 
 you keep eight horses, and you never have a pair for the 
 carriage. The boys are mounted ; but you and the girls 
 have nothing to drive out with. Besides, what can you do 
 with that overgrown garden ? It costs you £50 a 3'ear, and 
 you get nothing out of it but crab-apples and cabbages. 
 No, no ; the Continent is the place ; and as for society, 
 instead of old Darcy, of Ballinamuck, or Father Luke, for 
 company, you '11 have Prince this, and Count that, foreign 
 ministers and plenipotentiaries, archdukes, and attaches 
 without end. There will be more stars round your dinner- 
 table than ever you saw in the sky on a frosty night. And 
 the girls. I would n't wonder if the girls, by giving a sly 
 hint that they had a little money, might n't marry some of 
 the young Coburgs.' 
 
 " These were flattering visions, while for me the trap was 
 baited with port, duty free, and strong Burgundy, at one and 
 sixpence a bottle. My son Tom was taught to expect cigars 
 at twopence a dozen ; and my second daughter, Mary, was 
 told that, with the least instruction, her Irish jig could be 
 converted into a polka. In fact, it was clear we had only 
 to go abroad to save two-thirds of our income, and become 
 the most accomplished people into the bargain. 
 
 " From the hour this notion was mooted amongst us, 
 Ireland became detestable. The very pleasures and pas- 
 times we once liked, grew distasteful ; even the society of 
 our friends came associated with ideas of vulgarity that 
 deprived it of all enjoyment. 
 
 " ' That miserable satin-turque,' exclaimed my wife, ' it 
 is a mere rag, and it cost me five and ninepence a yard. 
 Mrs. Fitz. says that a shop-girl wouldn't wear it in Paris.' 
 
 " ' Infernal climate ! ' cries Tom ; ' nothing but rain above 
 and mud beneath.' 
 
 " 'And, dear papa,' cries Sophy, ' old Flannigan has no 
 more notion of French than I have of fortification. He calls 
 the man that sells sausages the Marchand de combustibles.' 
 
MR. BLAKE IN BELGIUM. 293 
 
 "If these vreve not reasons for going abroad, I know 
 nothing of Ireland ; and so we advertised ' Castle Blake ' 
 to be let, and the farming-stock to be sold. The latter 
 wasn't difficult. My neighbors bought up everything at 
 short bills, to be renewed whenever they became due. As 
 for the house, it was n't so easy to find a tenant. So I put 
 in the herd to take care of it, and gave him the garden for 
 his pains. I turned in my cattle over the lawn, which, after 
 eating the grass, took to nibbling the young trees and bark- 
 ing the older ones. This was not a very successful com- 
 mencement of economy ; but Mrs. Fitz. always said, — 
 
 " ' What matter? you '11 save more than double the amount 
 the first year you are abroad.' 
 
 " To carry out their economical views, it was determined 
 that Brussels, and not Paris, should be our residence for the 
 first year; and thither my wife and two sons and five 
 daughters repaired, under the special guidance of Mrs. Fitz., 
 who undertook the whole management of our affairs, both 
 domestic and social. I was left behind to arrange certain 
 money matters, and about the payment of interest on some 
 mortgages, which I consoled myself by thinking that a few 
 years of foreign economy would enable me to pay off in full. 
 
 " It was nearly six months after their departure from Ire- 
 land that I prepared to follow, — not in such good spirits, I 
 confess, as I once hoped would be my companions on the 
 journey. The cheapness of Continental life requires, it would 
 appear, considerable outlay at the first, probably on the 
 principle that a pastry-cook's apprentice is always surfeited 
 with tarts during the first week, so that he never gets any 
 taste for sweetmeats afterwards. This might account for my 
 wife having drawn about twelve hundred pounds in that 
 short time, and always accompanying every fresh demand 
 for money with an eloquent panegyric on her own economy. 
 To believe her, never was there a household so admirably 
 managed. The housemaid could dress hair; the butler 
 could drive the carriage ; the writing-master taught music ; 
 the dancing-master gave my eldest daughter a lesson in 
 French without any extra charge. Everything that was ex- 
 pensive was the cheapest' in the end. Genoa velvet lasted 
 for ever ; real Brussels lace never wore out ; it was only the 
 
294 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 ' mock thiugs ' that were costly. It was frightful to thiuk 
 how many families were brought to ruin by cheap articles ! 
 
 " ' I suppose it's all right,' said I to myself; ' and so far 
 as I am concerned I '11 not beggar my family by taking to 
 cheap wines. If they have any Burgundy that goes so high 
 as one and eightpence, I will drink two bottles every day.' 
 
 "Well, sir, at last came the time that I was to set out 
 to join them ; and I sailed from London in the Princess 
 Victoria, with my passport in one pocket, and a written code 
 of directions in the other, for of French I knew not one 
 syllable. It was not that my knowledge was imperfect or 
 doubtful ; but I was as ignorant of the language as though 
 it was a dead one. 
 
 " ' The place should be cheap,' thought I, ' for certainly it 
 has no charms of scenery to recommend it,' as we slowly 
 wended our way up the sluggish Scheldt, and looked with 
 some astonishment at the land the Dutchmen thought worth 
 fighting for. Arrived at Antwerp, I went through the 
 ordeal of having my trunks ransacked, and my passport 
 examined by some warlike-looking characters, with swords 
 on. They said many things to me ; but I made no reply, 
 seeing that we were little likely to benefit by each other's con- 
 versation ; and at last, when all my formalities were accom- 
 plished, I followed a concourse of people who, I rightly sup- 
 posed, were on their way to the railroad. 
 
 "It is a plaguy kind of thing enough, even for a taciturn 
 man, not to speak the language of those about him ; how- 
 ever, I made myself tolerably well understood at this station, 
 by pulling out a handful of silver coin, and repeating the 
 word Brussels, with every variety of accent I could think of. 
 They guessed my intentions, and in acknowledgment of my 
 inability to speak one word of French, pulled and shoved me 
 along till I reached one of the carriages. At last a horn 
 blew, another replied to it, a confused uproar of shouting 
 succeeded, like what occurs on board a merchant ship when 
 getting under weigh, and off jogged the train, at a very 
 honest eight miles an hour ; but with such a bumping, shak- 
 ing, shivering, and rickety motion, it was more like travel- 
 ling over a Yankee corduroy road than anything else. I 
 don't know what class of carriage I was in, but the pas- 
 sengers were all white-faced, smoky-looking fellows, with 
 
MR. BLAKE IN BELGIUM. 295 
 
 very soiled shirts and dirty hands ; with them, of course, I 
 had no manner of intercourse. I was just thinking whether 
 I should n't take a nap, when the train came to a dead stop, 
 and immediately after, the whole platform was covered with 
 queer-looking fellows, in shovelled hats, and long petticoats 
 like women. These gentry kept bowing and saluting each 
 other in a very droll fashion, and absorbed my attention, 
 when my arm was pulled by one of the guai-ds of the line, 
 while he said something to me in French. What he wanted, 
 the devil himself may know ; but the more I protested that I 
 could n't speak, the louder he replied, and the more franti- 
 cally he gesticulated, pointing while he did so to a train about 
 to start, hard by. 
 
 " 'Oh! that's it,' said I to myself, 'we change coaches 
 here ; ' and so I immediately got out, and made the best of my 
 way over to the other train. I had scarcely time to spare, 
 for away it went at about the same lively pace as the last 
 one. After travelling about an hour and a half more, I be- 
 gan to look out for Brussels, and, looking at my code of 
 instructions, I suspected I could not be far off ; nor was I 
 much mistaken as to our being nigh a station, for the speed 
 ■was diminished to a slow trot, and then a walk, after a mile of 
 which we crept up to the outside of a large town. There 
 was no nse in losing time in asking questions ; so I seized my 
 carpet-bag, and jumped out, and, resisting all the offers of the 
 idle vagabonds to carry my luggage, I forced my way through 
 the crowd, and set out in search of my family. I soon got 
 into an inti-icate web of narrow streets, with shops full of 
 wooden shoes, pipes, and blankets of all the colors of the 
 rainbow ; and after walking for about three-quarters of an 
 hour, began to doubt whether I was not traversing the same 
 identical streets, — or was it that they were only brothers ? 
 'Where's the Boulevard?' thought I, 'this beautiful place 
 they have been telling me of, with houses on one side, and 
 trees on the other; I can see nothing like it;' and so I sat 
 down on my carpet-bag, and began to ruminate on my 
 situation. 
 
 "' Well, this will never do,' said I, at last; 'I must try 
 and ask for the Boulevard de Regent.' I suppose it was my 
 bad accent that amused them, for every fellow I stopped put 
 on a broad grin : some pointed this way, and some pointed 
 
296 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 that ; but they all thought it a high joke. I spent an hour 
 in this fashion, and then gave up the pursuit. My next 
 thought was the hotel where my family had stopped on their 
 arrival, which I found, on examining my notes, was called 
 the 'Hotel de SuMe.' Here I was more lucky, — every one 
 knew that ; and after traversing a couple of streets, I found 
 myself at the door of a great roomy inn, with a door like 
 a coach-house gate. ' There is no doubt about this,' said I ; 
 for the words ' Hotel de Suede ' were written up in big letters. 
 I made signs for something to eat, for I was starving ; but 
 before my pantomime was well begun, the whole household 
 set off in search of a waiter who could speak English. 
 
 " 'Ha! ha! ' said a fellow with an impudent leer, ' ros 
 bif, eh?' 
 
 " I did not know whether it was meant for me, or the bill 
 of fare, but I said ' Yes, and potatoes ; ' but before I let 
 him go in search of the dinner, I thought 1 would ask him 
 a few words about my family, who had stojjped at the hotel 
 for three weeks. 
 
 " ' Do you know Mrs. Blake,' said I, ' of Castle Blake? ' 
 
 " ' Yees, yees, I know her very veil.' 
 
 " ' She was here about six months ago.' 
 
 " ' Yees, yees ; she vas here sex months.* 
 
 " ' No ; not for six months, — three weeks.* 
 
 " ' Yees ; all de same.' 
 
 " ' Did you see her lately? ' 
 
 " ' Yees, dis mornin'.' 
 
 " ' This morning ! was she here this morning? ' 
 
 "'Yees; she come here vith a captain of Cuirassiera — 
 ah! droll fellow dat!' 
 
 " 'That's a lie anyhow,' said I, ' my young gentleman ; * 
 and with that I planted my fist between his eyes, and laid 
 him flat on the floor. Upon my conscience you would have 
 thought it was murder I had done ; never was there such yell- 
 ing, and screaming, and calling for the police, and Heaven 
 knows what besides ; and sure enough, they marched me off 
 between a tile of soldiers to a place like a guard-room, where^ 
 whatever the fellow swore against me, it cost me a five-pound 
 note before I got free. 
 
 "'Keep a civil tongue in your head, j'oung man, about 
 Mrs. Blake, anyway ; for by the hill of Maam, if I hear a 
 
MR. BLAKE IN BELGIUM. 297 
 
 word about the Cuirassier, I '11 not leave a whole bone in 
 your skin.' 
 
 " Well, sir, I got a roast chicken, and a dish of water-cress, 
 and I got into a bed about four feet six long ; and what be- 
 tween the fleas and the nightmare, I had n't a pleasant time 
 of it till morning. 
 
 " After breakfast I opened my map of Brussels, and, send- 
 ing for the landlord, bid him point with his finger to the 
 place I was in. He soon understood my meaning ; but, tak- 
 ing me by the arm, he led me to the wall, on which was a 
 large map of Belgium, and then, my jewel! what do you 
 think I discovered? It was not in Brussels I was at all, but 
 in Louvain ! seventeen miles on the other side of it ! Well, 
 there was nothing for it now but to go back ; so I paid my 
 bill and set off down to the station. In half an hour the 
 train came up, and when they asked me where I was going, 
 I repeated the word ' Brussels ' several times over. This did 
 not seem to satisfy them ; and they said something about 
 my being an Englishman. 
 
 " ' Yes, yes, ' said I, ' Angleterre, Angleterre. ' 
 
 " 'Ah, Angleterre! ' said one, who looked shrewder than 
 the rest ; and as if at once comprehending my intentions, he 
 assisted me into a carriage, and, politely taking off his hat, 
 made me a salute at parting, adding something about a 
 ' voyage.' ' Well, he '11 be a cunning fellow that sees me 
 leave this train till it comes to its destination,' said I; 'I'll 
 not be shoved out by any confounded guard, as I was yester- 
 day. ' My resolution was not taken in vain, for just at the 
 very place I got out, on the day before, a fellow came, and 
 began making signs for me to change to another train. 
 
 " 'I'll tell you what,' says I, laying hold of my cotton 
 umbrella at the same moment, ' I '11 make a Belgian of you, 
 if you will not let me alone. Out of this place I '11 not budge 
 for King Leopold himself.' 
 
 " And though he looked very savage for a few minutes, 
 the way I handled my weapon satisfied him that I was not 
 joking, and he gave it up for a bad job, and left me at 
 peace. The other passengers said something, I suppose, in 
 explanation. 
 
 " ' Yes,' said I, ' I 'm an Englishman, or an Irishman, — 
 it 's all one, — Angleterre.' 
 
298 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 " * Ah, Angleterre ! ' said three or four in a breath ; and 
 the words seemed to act like a charm upon them, for what- 
 ever I did seemed all fair and reasonable now. I kept a 
 sharp look-out for Brussels ; but hour after hour slipped past, 
 and though we passed several large towns, there was no sign 
 of it. After six hours' travelling, an old gentleman pulled 
 out his watch, and made signs to me that we should be in in 
 less than ten minutes more ; and so we were, and a droll- 
 looking place it was, — a town built in a hole, with clay 
 ditches all round it, to keep out the sea. 
 
 ' ' ' My wife never said a word about this,' said I ; ' she 
 used to say Castle Blake was damp, but this place beats it 
 hollow. Where's the Boulevards?' said I. 
 
 "And a fellow pointed to a sod bank, where a sentry was 
 on guard. 
 
 " ' If it 's a joke you 're making me,' said I, ' you mistake 
 your man ; ' and I aimed a blow at him with my umbrella, 
 that sent him running down the street as fast as his wooden 
 slippers would let him. 
 
 " ' It ought to be cheap here, anyhow,' said I. ' Faith, 
 I think a body ought to be paid for living in it ; but how will 
 I find out the family!' 
 
 " I was two hours walking through this cursed hole, always 
 coming back to a big square, with a fish-market, no matter 
 which way I turned ; for devil a one could tell me a word 
 about Mrs. Blake or Mrs. Fitz. either. 
 
 "'Is there a hotel?' said I; and the moment I said the 
 word, a dozen fellows were dragging me here and there, till 
 I had to leave two or three of them sprawling with my 
 umbrella, and give myself up to the guidance of one of the 
 number. Well, the end of it was — if I passed the last 
 night at Louvain, the present I was destined to pass at 
 Ostend ! 
 
 " I left this mud town, by the early train, next morning ; 
 and having altered my tactics, determined now to be guided 
 by any one who would take the trouble to direct me, — neither 
 resisting nor opposing. To be brief, for my story has grown 
 too lengthy, I changed carriages four times, at each place there 
 being a row among the bystanders which party should decide 
 my destination, — the excitement once running so high that 
 I lost one skirt of my coat, and had my cravat pulled off ; and 
 
MR. BLAKE IN BELGIUM. 
 
 299 
 
 the end of this was that I arrived, at four in the afternoon, 
 at Liege, sixty-odd miles beyond Brussels ! for, somehow, 
 these intelligent people have contrived to make their railroads 
 all converge to one small town called ' Malines : ' so that you 
 may — as was my case — pass within twelve miles of Brussels 
 every day, and yet never set eyes on it. 
 
 " I was now so fatigued by travelling, so wearied by anxi- 
 ety and fever, that I kept my bed the whole of the following 
 day, dreaming, whenever I did sleep, of everlasting railroads, 
 and starting out of my slumbers to wonder if I should ever 
 see my family again. I set out once more, and for the last 
 time, — my mind being made up, that if I failed now, I 'd 
 take up my abode wherever chance might drop me, and write 
 to my wife to come and look for me. The bright thought 
 
300 
 
 TALES OF THE TRAINS. 
 
 flashed on me, as I watched the man in the baggage office 
 labelling the baggage, and, seizing one of the gummed labels 
 marked ' Bruxelles,' I took oflf my coat, and stuck it between 
 the shoulders. This done, I resumed my garment, and took 
 my place. 
 
 ' ' The plan succeeded ; the only inconvenience I sustained 
 being the necessity I was under of showing my way-bill 
 whenever they questioned me, and making a pirouette to the 
 company, — a performance that kept the passengers in broad 
 grins for the whole day's journey. So you see, gentlemen, they 
 may talk as they please about the line from Antwerp to 
 Brussels, and the time being only one hour fifteen minutes ; but 
 take my word for it, that even — if you don't take a day's 
 rest — it's a good three days' and a half, and costs eighty- 
 five francs, and some coppers besides." 
 
 "The economy of the Continent, then, did not fulfil your 
 expectations ? " 
 
 -' Economy is it? " echoed Mr. Blake, with a groan ; "for 
 the matter of that, my dear, it was like my own journey, — a 
 mighty roundabout way of gaining your object, and " — here 
 he sighed heavily — " nothing to boast of when you got it." 
 
 1/ OF THE ^ 
 
 ( UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WrLL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 DtC 2 193. 
 
 DEC 
 
 fm. 
 
 \9%^i 
 
 5B?tl 
 
 
 -K 
 
 .^ 
 
 :^^ 
 
 .^" 
 
 r> 
 
 M 7'64-iopiii 
 AU6 9-196S7 6 
 
 11 '67 -5 P^ 
 
 LD 21-50m-8,-32 
 
193049 
 
 VV5LyA.r-^J~^<_ 
 
 » • • • » « ■ -^ 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILU BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 DtC 2 193J ftUGll't/ '^P^* 
 
 DEC 
 
 m. 
 
 ig^ep' 
 
 5S?tl 
 
 SIP ^'^ wia 
 
 N^ 
 
 ^/ Re:c'dld 
 
 M 7'64-iopn, 
 AUG 9 -1966 7 6 
 
 LD 21-50hi-8,'32 
 
193049 
 
 VaJL/^^t-^J^^s^